Grimolf shook his head.“Not gods.Makers.The brood of the White Mother, Eyldra.But greedy.Their power broke the balance.Earth wept, skies screamed.Mortals suffered.”He pointed to a new scene, where robed figures—human, yet glowing with an inner light—stood against the Titans.Their hands wove patterns of energy, runes flaring like stars.“First Druids,” Grimolf said.“Our ancestors.Yours too, Thorgrin.They heard the earth’s cry.They fought.”
Thor’s heart quickened, recognizing the druidic power in the painted figures, the same spark he carried.The next panel showed a great battle: Druids wielding staffs and blades of light, clashing with Titans whose fists shattered mountains.The cost was staggering—fields of fallen warriors, skies blackened with ash.But the Druids prevailed, binding the Titans in chains of glowing runes, dragging them into vast prisons beneath the earth.The final image showed the prisons sealed under ice, the Druids standing guard, their faces etched with sorrow and resolve.
“They locked them away,” Lirna said, her voice heavy.“Titans too strong to kill.Prisons of ice and stone, deep in the north.Spells to hold them, woven by blood and sacrifice.The world healed, but the cost…” She trailed off, her hand brushing a painting of a lone Druid, head bowed, a staff broken at their feet.
Thor’s mind raced, piecing together the implications.“The breaches,” he said slowly, his voice echoing in the cavern.“The Shield in my Ring—it’s tied to these prisons, isn’t it?They’re failing.”
Grimolf nodded gravely.“The ice weakens.The runes fade.Titans stir, their dreams leaking into the world.Beasts come through breaches, shadows walk.Your Shield… it is one lock among many.All are cracking.”
Thor’s stomach twisted as he studied the final panel—a prophecy, etched in stark, violent strokes.It showed the Titans rising again, their chains shattered, the world engulfed in fire and shadow.Cities crumbled, seas boiled, and a lone figure stood against them, wielding a staff that glowed with light.But the figure was blurred, their fate unclear.Was it victory—or doom?
“The unmaking,” Lirna whispered, her eyes fixed on the prophecy.“The Titans’ return.It begins now, warm-lander.Your breaches are the first fissures.If the prisons fail, the world falls.”
Thor’s hand clenched into a fist.He thought of the Ring, of Gwendolyn and Guwayne, of the horrors spilling through the Shield.He had thought the breaches a failure of his kingdom’s magic, a flaw to be mended with steel and sorcery.But this—this was a wound in the world itself, a threat that dwarfed empires and thrones.The Titans, godlike beings of unimaginable power, locked away by his ancestors’ kin.And now, their prisons were crumbling.
“Why show me this?”Thor asked, turning to Grimolf.“Why save me, bring me here?”
Grimolf’s eyes gleamed with a fierce intensity.“You are spirit-touched.The fire in you—it is the Druids’ fire, old as these stones.We fight the breaches, but we are few.You, Thorgrin, you carry the old power.The Titans’ dreams call to you, as they call to us.You can help seal the prisons—or fight when they break.”
Lirna stepped closer, her torch casting her face in sharp relief.“The cave speaks truth.Your ring, your Shield—they are echoes of the Druids’ work.But the Titans’ power is waking, and it hungers.You must learn our ways, Thorgrin.The chants, the runes, the fire of Vyrka.Only then can you stand against the unmaking.”
Thor’s gaze returned to the prophecy, the lone figure facing the Titans.Was it him?Guwayne?Another yet to come?The weight of it pressed against him, heavier than any crown.He thought of his escape from the longhouse, the desperation to return to his family, his kingdom.But this truth changed everything.The breaches weren’t just a threat to the Ring—they were a harbinger of annihilation.If the Titans rose, no kingdom would stand, no matter how fiercely he fought.
“I’ll learn,” he said at last.“Teach me your magic, your history.But I must return to my people.The Ring needs me.”
Grimolf placed a hand on Thor’s shoulder, a gesture of kinship.“You will return, warm-lander.But first, grow strong.Learn.The cave has spoken—you are part of this now.”
As they left the cavern, the torchlight fading behind them, Thor felt the message of the paintings linger in his mind.The Titans, the Druids, the prophecy—it was a history he’d never known, a truth that reframed his purpose.The Shield’s breaches were no accident; they were the first tremors of a world on the brink.He stepped back into the blizzard’s howl, the clanhold’s fires a distant glow, and vowed to master the Iceborn’s ways—not just for the Ring, but for the world they all shared.
CHAPTER NINE
The wind howled outside Calista’s cliffside cottage, a restless spirit clawing at the stone walls of Nymbrax, as if the island itself knew the importance of what was to come.Inside, the fire in the hearth burned steadily, its flames casting shifting patterns across the rune-etched walls, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow.Guwayne sat cross-legged on a woven reed mat, his hands resting on his knees.Across from him, Calista stood with the poise of a monarch, her emerald robe catching the firelight, her blue eyes piercing him with an intensity that made his skin prickle.The air thrummed with unseen energy, a silent chorus of power that seemed to emanate from her, the island, and the very stones beneath them.
He had decided to stay.To learn.To become not only the person who could save his father but save the world.To become the person he was born to become.
If he needed help to do that, that was simply part of his destiny.And if this Calista was the person to give him that help, then that was part of his destiny, too.But that didn’t stop him being impatient.His father was out there, wounded and alone among northern tribes, and his mother languished in chains, betrayed by her own nobles.Every moment spent here, on this forgotten island, felt like a betrayal of his duty.Yet Calista’s unshakable certainty held him fast.
“Close your eyes,” Calista commanded, her voice calm but unyielding, like the tide shaping a shore over centuries.“Feel the ring.Feel the earth.They are not separate.”
He shut his eyes, letting the world fade to darkness, and focused on the ring’s subtle pulse against his skin.It was like a heartbeat, steady and warm, resonating with something deep within him—a spark he’d always felt but never fully understood, even with Alistair’s guidance.
“Good,” Calista said, her voice closer now, as if she’d moved to stand over him.“The ring is a conduit, but the power is yours.Reach for it.Not with your hands, but with your will.Find the thread that binds you to the earth.”
Guwayne frowned, his brow furrowing in the darkness behind his lids.He’d trained with Aunt Alistair, learned to sense the druidic currents in the Ring’s forests and rivers, but this felt different—wilder, more primal.He inhaled deeply, the scent of herbs and woodsmoke grounding him, and let his awareness drift inward.The ring on his finger grew warm, gradually spreading through his hand, up his arm, until it settled in his chest like a glowing ember.Images flickered in his mind: a storm-tossed sea, a warrior’s rune-etched blade, his father’s face in a blizzard.Then, something deeper—a pulse, not his own, but vast, like the heartbeat of the island itself.
“Yes,” Calista murmured, her voice a guide in the void.“That’s the earth’s song.Follow it.”
The pulse grew stronger, a rhythm that vibrated through his bones, resonating with the ring’s energy.He saw it in his mind’s eye: threads of light, gold and green, weaving through the darkness, connecting him to the stone beneath, the sea beyond, the sky above.It was overwhelming, a torrent of sensation that threatened to sweep him away.His breath hitched, his fingers twitching as he struggled to hold onto the connection.
“Steady,” Calista said sharply.“You are not a leaf in the wind.You are the root, the anchor.Command the flow.Don’t let it dictate to you.”
Guwayne gritted his teeth, forcing his will to focus.The threads of light coalesced, forming a single cord that tethered him to the island’s heart.He felt its power—ancient, raw, alive.It was like standing at the edge of a chasm, both terrifying and exhilarating.He reached out, not physically but with his mind, and the cord flared brighter, sending a surge of heat through him.His eyes snapped open, and he gasped, the room swimming into focus.
Calista stood before him, her expression unreadable, but her eyes gleamed with something new—surprise, perhaps, or recognition.The fire in the hearth had flared, its flames licking higher, the sound competing with that of the wind and the sea.The air crackled with energy, and the ring on Guwayne’s finger glowed faintly, its runes shimmering.
“Well,” Calista said, her voice softer now, tinged with a note of wonder.“That was… unexpected.”
Guwayne’s chest heaved, sweat beading on his brow despite the cool air.“What was that?”he asked, his voice hoarse.“I felt… everything.The island, the sea, something older.Like it was alive.”
