Best. Sister. Ever.
The bathing chamber is a marvel of Norse engineering. It is a mega stone pool carved directly into the mountain, fed by hot springs that heat the water perfectly. Steam rises in lazy spirals, making the air thick and humid. Ornate dragon heads are carved into the walls, their eyes set with gems that catch the light of dozens of tallow candles. The ceiling stretches high above, lost in shadows where elaborate wooden beams cross like ancient branches.
I sink deeper into the hot water, letting it ease my battle-worn muscles while taking another sip of honey-sweet mead from my carved horn. After the fight, Bryn ordered the wards to be kept down just in case we get any more uninvited guests looking for a throwdown.
The guys are in their own bathing chamber across the compound—probably enjoying the same luxurious hot springs while plotting battle strategies or whatever it is warriors do during spa time.
"So, tell me, sister, how fares the mantle of savior?" Bryn asks, lounging against the pool's edge. Her wings tucked against her back, hair loose and long. "Is it all the skalds claim it to be?"
"It's... not exactly what I expected," I admit, tracing patterns in the water's surface. "Don't get me wrong—the power is incredible, and I've found an amazing family. But sometimes..." I trail off, thinking of my father's absence, of the constant danger of watching people I love get hurt. Always saying goodbye to new friends and allies. "It's complicated," I finish lamely, taking another drink.
"By the Norns, you're quite the warrior, though," Bryn grins, splashing water in my direction. "I saw you out there, wielding fire like Surtr himself. And your mate—Rhyland's command of the dark skies rivals the stories of Thor's might. We haven't seen such power since the Thunderer himself blessed these mountains."
I smile into my mead horn at the mention of Rhyland. "He's something else," I say, warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the hot water. "Though don't let that whole warrior-god thing fool you. Under all that brooding and those intimidating muscles, he's actually a teddy bear."
"Yeah," Bryn's eyes sparkle with mischief as she refills our horns from a silver pitcher. "I see the way he watches you, sister. Even a blind draugr could see the bond between you two."
I feel my cheeks flush, and it's not from the steam. "Yeah, well..." I trail off, absently running my fingers through the warm water. "He keeps me grounded, you know? When everything else is pure chaos, Rhyland's my constant."
As we soak in the steaming water, the scent of herbs and minerals rising with the mist, my mind drifts to a nagging worry. Despite Bryn's reassurances earlier, I can't help but wonder if she harbors any resentment about Rhyland being destined for her before fate decided to play musical chairs with our lives. I'm about to voice my concern when Bryn beats me to the punch.
"What of the silver-haired one?" she asks, swirling her mead with curiosity. "Erik, was it?"
"Yeah, Erik," I nod, a fond smile tugging at my lips as memories flood my mind. "He's like this perfect blend of badass warrior and secret marshmallow. Tough as nails on the outside, but once you're in his inner circle? Total softie."
I think back to all the times Erik's had my back—grueling training sessions that left me bruised but stronger, late-night talks when the weight of destiny felt too heavy to bear alone, and keeping me sane when Rhyland was taken and held captive. He's shown unwavering loyalty and support time and again."He's been a true brother to me," I continue, my voice soft with affection. "Always ready to jump into the fray to protect the people he cares about."
Bryn hums, her eyes alight with interest as she leans forward slightly. "And his tale? Every warrior has one."
I pause, my brow furrowing, as I realize how little I actually know about Erik's past. Sure, I know he's a vampire and that Lilith's fangs left their mark on him like the rest of my guys. But the details? The path that led him to this life? It's a mystery wrapped in an enigma, sealed with the wax of Erik's ironclad reserve.
"Honestly? I'm not sure," I admit, my shoulders slumping slightly. "Erik plays things pretty close to the vest. He doesn't talk much about his life before, you know..." I make a vague fang gesture. "But I do know he's fiercely loyal. Like ride-or-die level. I'd trust him with my life without question."
"Avampire, though?" Bryn presses, her tone unreadable.
"I hope that's not a problem," I say quickly, my shoulders tensing. The last thing I need is some supernatural prejudice to dampen this whole sisterly bonding thing.
But Bryn just waves a hand dismissively, her bracelets clinking. "No, I hold no ill will towards the fangborn. In Zephyria, a warrior's merit is measured by their deeds, not the ichor in their veins."
Relief washes through me, and I sink deeper into the water. "Good. Because that doesn't define him; he's family, plain and simple."
Bryn nods slowly, her expression thoughtful as she leans back against the pool's edge. Her eyes hold a glimmer of something I can't quite place—curiosity, appraisal, maybe even a hint of admiration.
It's clear my assessment of Erik has piqued her interest, but I'm not sure to what end. But one thing I do know? If Bryn's looking for a character reference, she couldn't do better than my silver-haired brother-in-arms. Erik's the kind of guy you want in your corner when the chips are down and the world's going to Hell in a handbasket.
"Does this Erik make a habit of playing the gallant savior?" Bryn's tone shifts from curious to annoyed faster than a Valkyrie's sword strike.
I blink, taken aback by the sudden change. "What do you mean?" I ask, my brow furrowing in confusion.
Bryn sighs, draining her mead horn in one impressive gulp. "Pay it no mind," she mutters, reaching for the pitcher to refill her drink.
But my mind is already whirring, pieces clicking into place. I think back to the battle, how Bryn took that nasty hit, and Erik was ready to play the hero. Does she resent him for stepping in? Is it some warrior pride thing?
"Hey, don't take it personally," I say gently, trying to smooth over the sudden tension. "That's just how Erik is. He's hardwired to protect the people he cares about, no matter how badass they are."
To my surprise, a flush creeps up Bryn's neck, staining her cheeks pink. She quickly looks away, suddenly fascinated by the intricate carvings on the wall.
"Yes, well, perhaps he should learn to read the battlefield better," she grumbles, a defensive edge to her words. "I am no swooning maiden in need of rescue."
