“Warm-lander!”Kragthar snarled, landing on top of Thor and pushing him down into the rushes that lined the floor, eyes blazing with fanatic zeal.He had his forearm across Thor’s throat, cutting off his air.
Thorgrin's vision tunneled, black spots dancing, but he kneed upward, connecting with Kragthar's groin.The grip loosened, and Thorgrin headbutted him, forehead smashing into nose with a wet crack.Blood exploded, and Kragthar reeled back.
Seizing the moment, Thorgrin rolled away, snatching a fallen torch from the floor.He swung it in a wide arc, flames trailing, forcing back a knot of attackers.The longhouse's hide walls caught a spark, smoke billowing thicker.Coughs erupted amid the shouts; from somewhere nearby, he heard the crone wailing incantations, trying to rally them.
Thorgrin focused on the exit and sprinted towards it, gripping the spear and torch with all his might, thrusting one or the other at anyone who came too close.He had reached the entrance, could feel the frigid air on his sweat drenched face when a huge man stepped in his way, an ax raised across his barrel chest, his face set into a furious snarl.
Without slowing down, Thor feinted one way then threw the torch into his chest.Furs ignited, and the man flailed away, batting at the flames.
He burst through the flap into the frozen evening, the cold slamming into him like a physical blow.Snow swirled in gusts, the settlement a cluster of glowing longhouses ringed by torchlight.Alarms blared—horns wailing like wounded beasts—and figures emerged from shadows, spears glinting.
Badly wounded, blood trailing from his side and leg, Thorgrin staggered into the wilderness.The frozen tundra stretched endless before him, a white void broken only by jagged ridges and howling winds.He had escaped death by fire, convinced these savages would have roasted him alive for their gods.But survival was fleeting; the cold would claim him if the pursuers didn't.
He ran, each step a torment, vanishing into the blizzard's embrace.
He knew what he was fleeing from, but was oblivious to what awaited him.
CHAPTER TWO
TheDawnbreakercleaved through the northern seas like a blade through thickening ice, her sails straining against the relentless wind that howled from the arctic wastes.Guwayne stood at the prow, his hands gripping the salt-crusted rail as if it were the only anchor in a world unraveling around him.The ship had been underway for days now, ever since that fateful vision on the deck, when he had seen his father, Thor, calling to him, compelling him to alter course northward, defying his mother's orders and the captain and crew's instincts.
The waters here were treacherous, a labyrinth of jagged bergs and hidden currents that could drag even the sturdiest vessel to the depths.And theDawnbreakerwas far from that.It was not designed for seas like this.For journeys like this.
Yet Guwayne's resolve burned brighter than the feeble lanterns swinging from the masts, a fire kindled by the Sorcerer's Ring on his finger and the echo of his father's voice in his mind.
"Come north, boy—wield the ring as I could not.Save the world...save me!"
Those words haunted him, replaying in the quiet moments between the creak of timbers and the slap of waves against the hull.But with them came a shadow: guilt, sharp as a dagger's edge, twisting in his gut.He had abandoned his mother, Queen Gwendolyn, in her hour of need.The Ring—the kingdom she had rebuilt from ashes—was creaking under the weight of breaches to the shield, invading horrors, and traitorous nobles.She had sent him south to the safety of an island fortress.And what had he done?Not only had he abandoned her, he had doubled down on it and turned tail on her command, chasing a spectral call into the unknown.What kind of son was he?What kind of heir?What kind of man?
Guwayne's stormy eyes scanned the horizon, where the sea met a slate-gray sky in an indistinct blur.The air grew colder with each league northward, biting through his fur-lined cloak like fangs of frost.He could almost hear Gwendolyn's voice, steady and wise, admonishing him from across the miles: "The throne demands sacrifice, my son, but not recklessness."Had he confused the two?The ring on his finger pulsed faintly, as if in reassurance—or warning.It had amplified his dreams, granted glimpses of power, but now it felt heavy, a reminder of the legacy he chased and the one he might be forsaking.
Footsteps thumped on the deck behind him, heavy and deliberate.Captain Stolk approached, his peg leg echoing off the wooden deck.The old sea dog was a weathered hulk of a man, his face a map of scars from storms and skirmishes, his salt-gray beard braided against the wind.He leaned on the rail beside Guwayne, staring out at the churning waters with a scowl that could curdle milk.
"Highness," Stolk grunted, his voice rough as gravel."We've passed the last charted markers.These seas ain't meant for sails like ours.Ice floes thicker than castle walls, currents that swallow ships whole.And the beasts—krakens, they say, or worse, things from the old tales that drag men to the abyss."
Guwayne turned to him, his blond hair whipping in the gale."We've discussed this, Captain.The vision—"
"Aye, the vision," Stolk interrupted, spitting over the side."Respectfully, lad, visions are for seers and madmen.I've sailed these fringes before, back when I had two good legs.The northern wastes don't forgive dreamers.Turn us back south, to the isle.Your mother's command was clear: safety first."
The words stung, fueling the guilt that gnawed at Guwayne.He pictured Gwendolyn in King's Court, her silver hair braided with gold, her face etched with worry.She had led their people through exile, rebuilt the Ring from ruin.And he, her only son, her only child, had left her to face the encroaching darkness alone."I can't," he said quietly, his voice firm despite the turmoil within."Father lives.I saw him, felt him.The ring showed me.If I turn back now, the breaches widen, the horrors consume everything.I’m doing this for the crown.I’m doing this for the Ring.For all of us.This isn't abandonment—it's duty."
Stolk eyed him sidelong, his one good eye narrowing."Duty or delusion?The crew murmurs, Highness.They're loyal to the crown, but fear eats at 'em.These waters...they're cursed.Fog rolls in unnatural, storms brew from clear skies.We've already lost a man to the swells last night—slipped on ice and vanished.The gods of the deep are hungry up here."
Guwayne felt a pang for the lost sailor, a reminder of the lives now tethered to his decision.But determination steeled him.He was no longer the restless prince sparring in the training grounds, measuring himself against myths.This was his epic, his chance to forge a legacy beyond his parents' shadows."We'll press on," he declared."Double the watches, ration the grog if need be.Father calls from the north—I'll answer, or die trying."
Stolk sighed, a gusty exhale lost in the wind."As you command, then.But mark me, lad: the sea don't care for kings or rings.She takes what she wants."He stumped away, bellowing orders to the crew—hardened sailors from the Ring's ports, their faces chapped and grim as they adjusted rigging and scanned the waves.
As the day wore on, the seas grew more belligerent, waves cresting higher, flecked with foam like rabid beasts.Guwayne retreated to his cramped cabin belowdecks, poring over faded maps by lantern light.The charts were sparse for these latitudes, marked with warnings in ancient script: "Here be voids" or "Winds of the unmakers."His mind wandered to Aiden, Marcus, Lila, and Toren—his friends, comrades, his training companions.What had happened to Aiden?Had he been killed with Thor and the rest of the expedition?Or, if his father still lived, did that mean his best friend was still alive, too?
Would he, would the rest of his friends, the people who understood him more than anyone else, would they understand his choice?Or see it as flight from responsibility?Or an ego trip purely for personal glory, justification.He remembered his words to Stolk.He wanted to believe them.He almost did.But…
Guilt surged again, a wave crashing over him.Gwendolyn had embraced him before his departure, her eyes fierce with love and command."Protect our future, Guwayne.The Ring endures through you."Instead, he sailed into peril, chasing a father's ghost.But the vision had been real—the glacial pit, Thorgrin's fevered gaze, the shadows coiling.To ignore it was to doom them all.
If he ignored his instincts what hope was there for him?
A shout from above pulled him from his reverie."Fog ahead!Thick as soup!"
Guwayne bolted topside, emerging into a world transformed.A wall of mist loomed on the horizon, not the natural haze of sea spray, but something denser, almost sentient.It rolled toward them with unnatural speed, tendrils questing like fingers across the water.The crew muttered prayers to the sea gods, crossing themselves as the fog enveloped the ship.
