The snow howled across the summit, swirling around the still-warm corpse of the Ice Giant. My boots crunched softly in the silence as I stood alone, watching the mist spiral up into the sky like smoke from a funeral pyre.
I didn't stay long.
My breath still felt different—deeper, cleaner. My skin thrummed beneath the rune marks etched across my body, the ones I still hadn't fully accepted. The Fifth Realm pulsed beneath my ribs like a second heartbeat.
But the mountain… it had no more to offer me.
I turned and began my descent.
—
The first hour was stiff. My muscles ached from the fight, but it was more than pain. My body had changed. Every step felt lighter. Every movement more deliberate. I didn't stumble—I glided.
Still, I stayed cautious.
Even if I'd slain the guardian at the summit, the mountain was far from tamed.
I passed the upper ridges where I'd first seen the Vetrbjorn, its frozen tracks still etched faintly into the snow. Further down, I recognized the remains of an old firepit I'd dug into a crevice. I stopped briefly there, took a breath, and let myself feel the quiet.
There'd been no time to reflect until now.
I crouched by the fire's remains and stared into the ash, remembering how I'd crawled across this mountain, half-dead. The agony. The hunger. The blood on my back.
And now?
Now I stood whole. No—more than whole.
Still, I didn't smile. Power came at a cost. And something in me knew that cost hadn't yet been paid.
—
As night fell, I made camp farther down the slope, just beneath a cliffside outcropping that shielded me from the wind. I roasted a chunk of Vetrbjorn meat, still preserved from the fight near the well. The taste was richer now, or maybe I just had my appetite back.
I sat there in the dark, eyes fixed on the flames.
The fight replayed in my head again and again—not the Ice Giant at the summit, but the one from before. The one that struck me down. It wasn't just a memory anymore. It was a scar.
But even worse… the Sisters' voices still echoed somewhere inside me. Like a whisper buried beneath layers of thought. I didn't understand them. Not yet.
I reached into my pack and took out the wrappings that had once held the Vetrbjorn heart.
Empty now.
"I wonder if Odin was watching," I murmured.
There was no answer. Only the wind.
I didn't sleep much that night. Not because I was afraid—because I was restless.
I needed to get home.
—
By the next afternoon, I was approaching the lower cliffs. The same stretch where I'd nearly died to the Haugrmenn. I moved faster now, leaping across jagged ridges and frozen ledges like my body weighed half as much.
Below me, the great valley came into view. Trees. Hills. Frozen rivers. And far beyond them—barely a silhouette against the gray horizon—stood the walls of Gisladir.
I stopped.
Something was wrong.
The city felt… off.
Where once there were distant trails of smoke and movement, now there was stillness. A dead quiet from miles away. And the roads leading up to the gates, once crowded with traveling merchants and warriors, were barren.
Even from here, I could tell.
It didn't look like a city celebrating the return of its prince.
It looked like a city preparing for war.
—
By dusk, I reached the base of the mountain and crossed into the flatlands. My pace slowed slightly, both from wariness and wonder. The forests here were familiar, but in the fading light they felt foreign. Not empty—guarded.
I followed the winding road that led toward the capital, the towering gates of Gisladir now visible in the growing dark.
Two guards stood atop the gate's wall, spears in hand, cloaks flapping in the wind. They hadn't noticed me yet.
Not until I was maybe fifty feet away.
One raised a hand to block the sun from his eyes. Then froze.
The other said something. They leaned closer.
Then—they both bolted out of sight.
Within moments, alarm bells began to ring.
I tensed, unsure what the hell was happening.
A moment later, the gates cracked open with a thunderous groan, and several guards burst out, weapons drawn—until they saw my face.
Then they stopped.
"…Gods," one of them breathed. "Prince Kyjell?"
I nodded slowly, eyes scanning them. "Yes. What's going on?"
They looked at each other like they'd seen a ghost. One stepped forward cautiously. "You were declared lost. Months ago."
My stomach tightened. "How long?"
"…Eight months," he said.
Everything around me went quiet.
Eight?
"How—?" I took a step back, the snow crunching beneath my heel. "It's only been one. A month."
"I swear it, my prince," the man said, voice strained. "You vanished. No body. No word. The mountain was searched… but nothing."
The world spun slightly.
Eight months.
I clenched my fists. The cold didn't even bite anymore. "What's the state of the kingdom?"
The man hesitated, then answered plainly. "We're at war."
I was already moving past him before he finished the sentence.
—
The city was a different place now. The streets weren't empty, but they were quiet. Patrols marched with grim faces. Shops were shuttered. Windows dark.
I passed citizens who turned to look—most of them in shock. I didn't stop for any of them.
I reached the castle gates and threw them open.
Inside, the great hall was dimly lit. Only a handful of servants and guards stood nearby. A woman gasped as I entered, covering her mouth.
Then I heard her voice.
"Kyjell?"
She appeared from a hallway, still dressed in her court robes, a ribbon half-tied in her hair.
"Kyjell!" she screamed, rushing forward.
My mother didn't hesitate. She didn't question. She threw her arms around me like I was a boy again. Her body shook. My shoulder dampened.
"I knew you were alive," she whispered, clutching me tighter. "I told them. I told them you'd come back."
I couldn't speak. My throat was tight.
"It's alright now," she said softly. "You're home."
But I wasn't. Not really.
Not until I knew where Rurik was.
Not until I knew why he was anywhere near a war.
"Where is he?" I asked, voice cracking.
My mother stepped back, eyes red. "Kyjell…"
"Where's Rurik?" I asked again, louder.
From behind her, another voice answered.
"On the eastern front. Alongside your father."
I turned.
An older man approached from the shadows of the corridor. Lean. Hard. Cloaked in gray. His beard was streaked with white, but his eyes burned sharp.
Captain Vosk. My father's old friend. Commander of the city watch.
"You'll want answers," he said. "We'll give you all of them. But not like this."
I didn't listen. My heart was thundering again—not with Æther, but rage.
"You put him in the field," I said.
"He volunteered," Vosk replied. "Your father refused to stop him."
"He's eleven!"
My mother stepped between us again. "Please, Kyjell. You've only just returned. At least rest—"
"I'm going to him," I said.
"You can't," she said, eyes wide. "Not like this."
"I have to."
She grabbed my arm. "Please. Just one night. Then you can leave. I won't stop you after that."
I stared at her, jaw tight.
Then I nodded.
But I already knew I wouldn't be waiting.
Not when my brother was out there.
Not when war had already stolen so much.