"The earth's wounds," Lirna said, her voice tight.She scattered herbs into the fissure, chanting a ward, but the glow only intensified briefly before subsiding."The Titans dream, and their thoughts bleed through.This crack appeared last moon—wider now.If it spreads..."
Thor approached the edge cautiously, peering into the abyss.Far below, amidst the violet haze, he glimpsed movement—shadowy forms twisting, not quite solid, like echoes of colossal limbs stirring in sleep.A wave of dread washed over him; this was no natural phenomenon.It was a harbinger, a tear in the world's fabric.Something inside him recoiled, sensing the corruption."How many such cracks?"he asked, dreading the answer.
"More each season," Grimolf replied."We seal what we can, but the old magic fades.Your Shield breaches—they are echoes of these.The prisons weaken, and the world weakens with them."
They skirted the fissure, but the tremors persisted, growing more frequent as they journeyed northward.By evening, as they set camp in a sheltered hollow, another anomaly appeared.The ground shuddered again, and from a nearby snowbank erupted a creature that defied nature—a beast resembling a wolf but twisted, its fur matted with crystalline shards that gleamed like jet.Its eyes burned with the same violet fire as the fissure, and it moved with unnatural speed, leaving trails of frozen spikes in its wake.Halvok shouted a warning, nocking an arrow, but the thing lunged at Thor, jaws gaping to reveal teeth like jagged amethysts.
Thor reacted on instinct, drawing on the lessons.He channeled the earth's pulse, slamming his spear into the ground.A shockwave rippled outward, runes flaring along the haft, and the snow erupted into a barrier of ice thorns.The creature impaled itself, shattering with a crystalline screech, its form dissolving into violet mist that reeked of ancient malice.The Iceborn cheered, but Thor's heart pounded.This was no wild animal; it was a manifestation, a dream-spawn of the Titans, leaking into reality.
"More will come," Lirna warned as they huddled around a fire conjured from Grimolf's chants."The stirrings birth them.Time shortens, Thorgrin.The unmaking accelerates."
That night, under a sky ablaze with aurora lights, Grimolf shared the oral traditions by the flickering flames.The Iceborn gathered close, their faces solemn, as he began the tale in his guttural tongue, translating haltingly for Thor."Long ago, before the Druids bound them, three Titans ruled above all.Greatest of the makers, destroyers of balance.We name them in whispers, for words wake echoes."
He raised a hand, carving shapes in the air."First, Vorath the Shaper.He molded mountains with fists, rivers with breath.But his greed twisted creation—lands barren, seas poisoned.His prison lies deepest, under the eternal ice, where chains of stone hold him.If he wakes, the earth reshapes itself, swallowing cities, birthing wastelands."
Thor listened intently, the fire's warmth a frail shield against the chill of the words.The aurora danced overhead, as if illustrating the tale, greens and purples mirroring the violet glows they had seen.
"Second, Elyndra the Weaver.She spun skies, wove storms, and stars.Beautiful, but cruel—her threads ensnared souls, bent minds to madness.Her cage is wind-woven, high in frozen peaks.Her awakening brings tempests that shatter minds, illusions that devour reality."
Lirna nodded, adding softly, "We feel her dreams in the winds—whispers that drive men mad, beasts to frenzy."
Grimolf's eyes gleamed with the fire's reflection as he continued."Last, and most feared, Kalthor the Devourer.He consumed light, fed on magic and life.Shadows his domain, voids his hunger.His prison is shadow-bound, in abyssal depths beneath the tundra.If he rises, darkness spreads, swallowing sun, draining spirits.No light endures."
Thor felt a chill deeper than the north's cold.These were no mere legends; the paintings in the cave had depicted them, godlike and terrible.The fissures, the tremors, the crystalline beasts—they were symptoms of these beings stirring."And the others?"he asked."The lesser Titans?"
"Many bound," Grimolf said."But the three—they lead.If even one breaks free..."He paused, his voice dropping to a grave whisper."It triggers the awakening of the others.Chains linked, spells intertwined.One rises, all rise.The unmaking begins in full.World's end."
The words hung heavy in the air, the aurora flickering as if in agreement.Thor stared into the flames, the weight of it pressing on him.Time was running out—the signs were everywhere, convincing him beyond doubt.The Ring, his family, the world—they teetered on the brink.He must learn faster, push harder, or all would be lost.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The grand hall of King's Court, once a bastion of royal splendor, now echoed with the sharp tones of discord under Lord Aldrich's iron-fisted rule.Tapestries depicting the Ring's storied victories hung askew, their colors dulled by neglect and the smoke from hastily lit braziers that warded off the unseasonable chill seeping through the stone walls.Aldrich sat at the head of the long oak table, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the arm of the throne-like chair he had claimed as his own.His face, sharp and angular like a hawk's, was framed by a neatly trimmed beard streaked with silver, a calculated affectation to convey wisdom and authority.But beneath the veneer, his mind churned with calculations, weaving threads of alliance and betrayal to secure his grasp on the power he had seized.
Moving into King's Court, to the seat of kings and queens, had been a calculated move.To show the people that they were the rulers now.Not just in name, but in actions, too.It was the Aldrich coat of arms that now hung off the flagpoles.
The Council of Protectors—his euphemism for the cabal of nobles who had orchestrated the coup—had convened at his summons, but the air simmered with tension rather than unity.Seven lords and ladies filled the seats around the table.
"We were promised swift victory," Varis growled, breaking the uneasy silence as Aldrich called the meeting to order.His fist slammed the table, rattling goblets of mulled wine."Yet here we sit, weeks into this 'stabilization,' and the peasants grow bolder by the day.Effigies burned in Barrowford, taxes unpaid in the western holds— and now whispers of loyalist gatherings in the shadows.Where is the iron fist you vowed, Aldrich?Or do you intend to let the rabble undo us all?"
Aldrich's eyes flicked to Varis, a flash of irritation hidden behind a mask of calm.He had anticipated pushback; alliances forged in greed were fragile as autumn ice.But Varis's open challenge stung, especially with the others nodding in agreement.Lady Elowen leaned forward, her voice silky but edged with venom."Indeed, my lord.The queen's guard dogs still bark from their cells in Larkridge, and we've no word on the princeling's fate.If Guwayne lives, he could rally the remnants of the Silver or worse, summon aid from abroad.We demand action—raze the villages if need be, root out the dissenters.Your caution borders on cowardice."
The room erupted in a chorus of assent, lords pounding the table and voices overlapping in a cacophony of demands."Send the mercenaries to crush them!"one shouted."Double the garrisons!"another added.Aldrich raised a hand, his voice cutting through the din like a whip's crack."Enough!You forget yourselves.This council exists by my design, and the throne will be mine—ours—only if we maintain order.Rash action invites rebellion; precision ensures victory.The queen will be banished to the Wilds at dawn, isolated and forgotten.As for the prince, I have news.”A smile spread over his features.He had wanted to reveal what he had discovered about Guwayne as his coup de grace, but he would have to deliver it now to quell the dissent.
All eyes were on his and there was silence in the room apart from Garrick’s heavy breathing.
“I have had word that the princeling fled aboard a ship.TheDawnbreaker.Under, ahem, questioning, the captain revealed that in a storm, the prince fell overboard.He swears no one could have survived it.We need to worry no more about him."
There was a murmuring of assent, but the reaction was not what he had hoped.
Varis snorted, leaning back with crossed arms."The death of the child changes nothing.You've hoarded the treasury while our lands suffer from these...anomalies.Beasts breaching the Shield unchecked, fields turning to ash without flame.If you won't act, perhaps another should lead."The threat hung in the air, unspoken but palpable.Aldrich's jaw tightened; he could ill afford a mutiny now.He met Varis's gaze with a steely one of his own."Question me again, Varis, and you'll find your eastern keeps garrisoned by my men.We proceed as planned—consolidate power, divide the spoils.You say you wanted victory.Look around.Look where we are.This is victory…”
“With you on the throne,” Varis snarled.
Aldrich took a deep breath.Nothing has changed; you just grow impatient.We have achieved so much.Together.That is how we will continue.Together.And that way we will all benefit.Everyone one of us.”He made a point of looking into the eyes of everyone in the room.“Dismissed."
The nobles filed out grudgingly, murmurs trailing them like smoke.Aldrich remained seated, his mind racing.The dissension was spreading like rot in timber; he had underestimated the cabal's impatience.Garrick had been quiet in the meeting, but that had worried him more.And Elowen.There was something about her he had never fully trusted.She was the kind of women who would whisper words of encouragement in your ear while stabbing you in the back.Varis, with his private armies, posed the greatest threat.Aldrich would need to deal with him soon—perhaps a convenient accident in the Wilds.
But first, other matters pressed.He gestured to a shadowed alcove, where his most trusted servant, a wiry man named Silas, emerged like a ghost.
