“Closed,” spelt the sign hanging from the door.

  Ceasing trade, the bookkeeper invites his guests to stay the night at his abode. He leads them through a doorway erected past the counter into a surprisingly commodious space. The ground-floor area behind the back wall was large enough to host a sizeable dinner table and a fully decked kitchen.

  Eskel was insightful enough to acknowledge the travellers’ grave condition and thus offered the famished trio dinner. Without a second thought, they accepted the giant’s offer, each claiming their respective seats at the table.

  Soon, their meals would be ready, and they would each be presented with a platter of hard cheese, fresh bread and thinly-sliced meat. The boys were particularly hungry, wasting no time to gorge themselves on their assortment of dinner items with their bare hands. Fjalla, however, had her mind set on a completely different goal, ignoring her dish as she watched Eskel chow down his final morsels.

  Noticing the girl’s intrigue, he swallows his bite and smiles in her direction.

  “Mr Eskel”, she begins.

  “Yes, miss,” he responds in a soft tone.

  “Did you really know my Papa?” she asks the large man.

  “Hmm,” he replies, nodding in confirmation, “the Badg… Oleg and I go a long way back. In fact, your Papa was only a little older than you were when I first met him.”

  “Whoa,” expressed the girl in excitement,” what was he like back then, Mister?”

  “Same as he always is,” he responded, smiling down at his empty plate, “ stoic, simple, and kind.”

  Fjalla just stared back at the giant in bewilderment. She’d never met someone who potentially knew more about her father than she did.

  “He spoke a lot about you, Fjalla,” continued Eskel.

  “How so?” replied a confused Fjalla, “He never mentioned travelling to Dansfurt.”

  Viktor did his best to keep his food in his mouth as a chuckle fought its way out of his chest. Having no such issue, Eskel exploded into hearty laughter, puzzling the girl further.

  “Letters, miss,” he explained, realising the girl's hermitic upbringing had kept her blind to many of the normalities the common folk partook.

  “ You write your message on a piece of paper and have a courier deliver it anywhere you would like,” Eskel went on.

  “Anywhere?” asked the oblivious girl.

  “Most places, at least, ” responded Eskel, correcting his earlier statement,” You can send more than just letters. I used to send your father books.”

  “Whoa,” exclaimed Fjalla.

  “Sent him most of the books you read,” boasted Eskel, “Like your favourite, The Epics of Skadi.”

  “THAT WAS YOU?” asked Fjalla, raising her voice in excitement.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Eskel,” picked that one out myself.”

  “Damn good book,” remarked Viktor, swallowing a bolus of food.

  Eskel grinned before asking, “Tell me, how was your trip on the way here?”

  Fjalla bounced in her chair, breathing deeply to detail every step she took on her way to Dansfurt. She went over her journey across South Rock to Tir Albis with Rosie, whom she sold to the stables. Then she talked about her travel across Mokosh with Walshland and the ambush in the marshes by little demons. She mentioned how Viktor had come to save her from the demons’ lair to escort her on her travels. And finally, she explained how they’d run into Brandt, hiding in the cellar of a chapel to the south.

  As she recounted the past months of her life, she reminisced about the friends she’d made and lost along the way. Her heart ached in unbearable pain every time she mentioned Rosie, Walshland or even her father. The whole room had been silent, observing the girl as excitement left her visage, replaced with a look of deep sorrow.

  “You’ve been very brave, Fjalla,” Eskel hailed, reminding her of her father’s words when they’d last met.

  “Mr Eskel,” Fjalla paused to prepare another question,” do you think we can send Papa some of those letters?”

  Viktor looks up from his plate towards Eskel, his eyes suggest he has something to add that he can’t quite say at the moment.

  “Sure,” replied Eskel, “But let’s get done with dinner for now. I’ll prepare your room for you in the meantime.”

  Fjalla nodded to the giant, allowing him to take his leave and head upstairs to arrange the chambers. A few moments later, Eskel would return to see the trio slouched back in their seats, half asleep, their bellies full and their mouths agape, heaving for breath.

  With a booming clap, he rouses the travellers awake.

  “Come on now, we can sleep upstairs,” Eskel calls out, gesturing for the trio to follow him upstairs.

  He shows them to a relatively smaller chamber, roomy enough to accommodate a single adult but not much more. It contained a single bed, a wooden cabinet and many mounted bookshelves, and had one window embedded into its far wall.

  “These,” he elaborated,” are Miss Fjalla’s personal chambers. A lady needs her privacy afterall.”

  Fjalla walks into her humble room, inspecting the space in an expression of awe one would have seeing the royal court of New Asgaard for the first time.

  “As for the men,” Eskel continued, opening the door to a much larger and densely furnished room,“ you will be sharing my chambers.”

  Brandt dashed right past his seniors, eager to explore his new living space. He marvelled at all the unique pieces of decor, from the bearskin rug to the silver candlabrums to the ornate reading chair. He sat up on his dedicated sleeping sheet and then pointed at Fjalla.

  “I got the COOL room,” he teased.

  “Well, I got a bed,” responded Fjalla

  Poking their tongues out to taunt one another, the children went back and forth comparing their dwellings.

  “Now now, be nice to one another,” requested Eskel,” Mr Viktor and I will be leaving you two to get settled into your rooms, while we head downstairs.”

  He peered at the hunter, who stared him right back in the eyes.

  “I believe we have important matters to discuss,” he ominously continued, before leading his contemporary downstairs.

  As they made contact with the bottom of the stairwell, Viktor chose to interrupt the awkward silence over the creaking of the wooden boards,

  “Thank you, by the way,” begins Viktor, ”for taking in the boy. I was afraid–”

  “Oh, please, it is nothing, ” Eskel interrupted. “If anything, it is I who should thank you, Mr Viktor.”

  Eskel opened the door to a kitchen compartment, producing a bottle of rich amber fluid and a pair of glasses.

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  “Who knows what could have happened in those swamps, had you not come to the rescue,” he continued, placing the items atop the table.

  Viktor nodded,” Guess we were lucky.”

  “Hmm,” hummed Eskel, inviting the hunter for a drink, “Are you a drinking man, Mr Viktor?”

  “At times like these, who isn’t?” responds Viktor, taking up the giant’s offer and drawing a chair to sit at the table.

  As he poured the liquor, Eskel’s face took a much more sincere expression.

  “Dark skin, curved-sword, Aegean accent,” Eskel whispers, “ and a pretty good hunter according to the girl. If I had to guess, I’d wager I was sitting opposite none other than Viktor Von Eirick.”

  Pulling his glass from the end of the table, Viktor responds, “ So you’ve heard of me.”

  “Every man who’s ever held a sword has heard of The Panther of Elysium,” Eskel replies, sniffing the aroma of his drink, ” slayer of the manticore, former knight prospect, and sworn brother of Theseo Von Eirick, the first elven tempest.”

  Viktor did not respond to Eskel; instead, he gazed right at him as he downed his glass in one go.

  “I assume that’s why you took pity on the kids?” Eskel asked.

  Viktor still refrains from responding, gritting his teeth behind his lips.

  “No matter, your past does not concern me, Mr Viktor,” Eskel explains as he sips on his liquor, ” what does concern me, however, is who sent you to collect the girl?”

  Intrigued, Viktor huffs at the notion.

  “Because I know it’s not her father,” Eskel surmises, leaning over the table to close in on the hunter, “and it certainly wasn’t me.”

  “Tsk, I usually don’t disclose my clients,” the hunter retorts, unintimidated by the giant’s approach,” but I guess I’ve already breached the terms of that contract, so I might aswell tell you.”

  Pleased, Eskel leans back into his chair.

  “It was actually not A client,” explains Viktor, “ It was a whole bunch of guys. Shady fellows, dressed in black, seem to have some sort of mystic mind connection.”

  Eskel sighs.

  “The call themselves–,” Viktor goes on.

  “The Crows,” Eskel and Viktor both spell out the words together, which catches the hunter slightly off-guard.

  “So you know them,” enquired Viktor.

  “I do,” replied Eskel, whose expression had suddenly soured,” should’ve figured it out myself. If Oleg sent the girl here, then they must’ve found him.”

  Reflecting on his first meeting with the crows, Viktor remembers an important detail.

  “When they first contacted me, they gave me a tracking item,” the hunter recalls, “ a severed hand. I’d hate to assume the worst, but I am guessing it belonged to–”

  “Oleg,” Eskel concluded, ”that is most likely. The crows are a ruthless bunch. We’d be lucky if all they did were sever his hand.”

  “I am curious about one thing, Mr Eskel,” began Viktor, staring at his empty glass, ” What could these crows possibly want with a little girl from the countryside? “

  Eskel stared blankly at the hunter as he leaned onto the table, crawling up to get in the giant’s face.

  “What was that whole thing that happened with the chorts?” Viktor kept questioning, his voice getting coarse and more aggressive,” And why are two old men sending the poor lass halfway across the continent all on her own?”

  “That’s way more than one thing, Mr Viktor,” responded Eskel.

  “Well, something ain’t right and I ain’t leaving until I know exactly what it is!” Viktor demanded, slamming his fist furiously onto the table.

  Eskel sighs and rubs his temple before replying softly,” Alright, Mr Viktor. But I must warn you, your answer is quite a long one.”

  “Well,” responds Viktor, sitting back into his chair and sliding his glass across the table, “I've got a long night ahead of me.”

  Pouring Viktor his second shot, Eskel begins with a question, “Have you heard about the nine tribes of the North?”

  “Who hasn’t?” answered Viktor, stretching out his arm to receive his glass of spirit, “bunch of xenophobic barbarians who raped and killed each other for a very, very long time.”

  Viktor paused, raised a finger to ask for a moment to chug his drink, then continued.

  “Then one day, a rich fanatic decided it was time they should stop and become buddy-buddy,” Viktor kept rambling cynically, “ so by the Will of the Gods, they became one united nation that... rapes and kills other people instead. The end.”

  Viktor put his glass down and spread his arms wide as if to gloat in his storytelling and historical knowledge.

  Shrugging and pulling a face, Eskel replied cordially, “Well, you’re not entirely wrong, but you seem to have missed a crucial detail.”

  Raising his eyebrow, Viktor closes in to listen carefully.

  “When Haalund the First united the North and created the confederacy”, noted Eskel,” he only rallied eight of the nine tribes.”

  Viktor pondered what Eskel was getting to in silence.

  “The Pvask were only a recent addition to the confederacy,” he continued, “and as you might have heard from the Lukkens and Skalds, they aren’t even Northern to begin with.”

  Rolling his eyes, Viktor nodded in agreement.

  “You might wonder what happened to the ninth tribe,” Eskel posits.

  Viktor didn’t really care much for history, but he did want to know what Eskel was trying to get to. Thus, he decided to nod and stay silent, holding back any snarky remarks.

  “Some say they were wiped out before Haalund even had the chance to unite them,” the giant went on,” others claim that they did exist at first but diluted into other clans, due to a weak bloodline. There have been many claims about the mysterious ninth clan, but none are true. For as long as the shadows reign this land, the truth would never be allowed to see its way into the light.”

  Viktor slides the glass back at Eskel to request a third drink.

  “You see, the ninth tribe,” Eskel continues as he pours another round,“ was known as the Thruds. Descendants of the mighty Thor and the unblemished Sif, the finest of the Aesir bloodlines.”

  Eskel glides the glass back towards Viktor.

  “It was fabled by the fates that it would be a Thrud who would inherit Mjolnir, and by extension, that it would be a Thrud who would be the rightful ruler of Asgaard,” Eskel claimed.

  As he begins to put the pieces together, Viktor decides to silence himself by skulling his third glass immediately, then returning it to Eskel.

  Holding the glass, Eskel continues before going for a fourth pour, “ But you see, there were a few problems. Haaland, the great uniter, was a descendant of Modi, not Thrud. Which meant the tribe would eventually pose a threat to his family's rule.”

  Eskel pours the glass and glides it back to Viktor.

  “Second,” he continues,” the Thruds were no fighters despite their immense strength. They were few in numbers and preferred living in the hinterlands, as far away from conflict as they possibly could. And if you can put two and two together, you can guess the third point.”

  Viktor once again slides the drink down his gullet in one go, before slamming his glass onto the table and muttering “Elves…”

  “Precisely,” answers Eskel, grabbing the glass but refraining from pouring a fifth, “ and the Northmen could accept no Elf as ruler. So what was their solution to this?”

  Shaking his head, Viktor surmises,” Find and kill every last one of them. Typical Northmen.”

  Eskel glides another full glass across the table before countering, “Typical men.”

  “But that girl up there, Mr Viktor,” Eskel elaborates, pointing upstairs,” she’s no man. She’s an elf, the last of Thrud’s, and if our predictions are correct, she’s the rightful heir of Asgaard.”

  Viktor chugs his drink again.

  “Mr Viktor,” Eskel breathes in before exploding into a burst of declarations, his voice crescendoing with every statement, “She might just be the key to toppling this corrupted system, to exposing centuries of lies and abuse, to rebuilding the very foundations of the foul world we live in! She, Mr Viktor, is the truth!”

  CRASH

  The empty glass shatters as a drunk Viktor slams it onto the wooden surface.

  “I don’t fuck-i-nnng give a shit!” Viktor sputters, “Fuck your truth!”

  Eskel recoils, shocked by the hunter’s remarks.

  “I just want to make sure, sh-she’s ok,” blabbers the intoxicated hunter, ”because if you hur-rt her, I will-l kill you.”

  Relieved that the hunter’s outburst was one of innocent concern, Mr Eskel laughs.

  “You’re a good man, Mr Viktor,” he states.

  Shaking his head in disagreement, Viktor responds,” I am a drunk man, and I need to go. They can’t –”

  Unfortunately for Viktor, the exchange seemed to grab the attention of the young elf girl who came rushing down the stairs.

  “Mr Viktor!” she screamed as she saw his hand bleeding amidst shards of broken glass, “Are you alright? You’re bleeding!”

  Viktor’s eyes flashed a bright gold, activating his body rune and rousing him into sobriety.

  “Heyyy, kiddo,” he responded, feigning surprise as he shook the glass from his hand,” Yeah, I’m fine! I just dropped a glass. I’ve been through worse.”

  The exchange warmed Eskel’s heart, who smiled as he asked, “Will you be staying here tonight?”

  “No, I uh, I really must get going,” replied a dejected Viktor, “work awaits.”

  “Please don’t leave, Mr Viktor,” posited Fjalla, her soft voice cracking as she refused terms with having to lose another person.

  “I really have to,” Viktor explained, “I have people back home, you know. They’re waiting for me right now, just like you’re waiting for Papa.”

  Viktor felt dirty bringing up her father as part of this half-lie he was brewing up, but he would be stuck here forever if he didn’t.

  Fjalla sniffled and held back tears.

  “Listen, kiddo, it’s not like I’ll be gone forever,” Viktor contended,” I’ll come to visit.”

  Having heard this far too many times, and being let down every single time so far, she insisted on a guarantee, “You promise?”

  “I–,” Viktor hesitated, he didn’t want to sink too deep in his own lies, but he also wasn’t too sure he was lying, “I promise.”

  Throwing herself onto the hunter, she tightly wraps her hands around her waist and places her head firmly below his chest. Surprised by the gesture, Viktor takes a moment to embrace the girl back, placing his hands behind her shoulders.

  “In the meantime, we can send Mr Viktor some letters,” suggests Eskel, grinning as he watches the intimate moment.

  Fjalla rubs her head against Viktor’s shirt as she nods, “Yes, loads of letters.”

  Shaking his head at Eskel, Viktor mutters, “loads of letters.”

  “I’ll miss you,” whimpers Fjalla, breaking into tears as she sobs into Viktor’s shirt.

  The gesture had an odd warmth to it, a warmth he hadn’t felt for so long, one that the harsh realities of his life on the roads had taught him to forget. He was grateful to experience once again, but fearful it might render him weak.

  Pulling himself out of the embrace, he holds the girl by the shoulders and stares into her innocent blue eyes one last time.

  “I’ll miss you too, kiddo,” he forces the words out of his mouth as he backs off,” you be brave.”

  Nodding at Eskel, he turns to take his leave, first making his way through the shop before stepping out into the open, free of his quest at last.

  The hour was quite late, late enough for the otherwise noisy slums of Dansfurt to reach an unusual state of tranquillity. There were no sounds to speak of, save for the occasional vermin scampering in an alley and the consistent howling of wind. Cold and quiet, the chill night air could perhaps have sobered the drunken Viktor had he not done so himself.

  A nocturnal predator by nature, Viktor loved the witching hours, especially when left to his own accord. Relishing the environment, Viktor peers at the ever-dark heavens, only to be met by a flurry of white particles hovering towards the ground below. As one delicately besets the tip of his nose, he feels a soft stinging sensation as it melts into cold dew running down his lips.

  One after another, flakes of frost descend onto the mesmerised hunter, making it difficult to discern the tears from the snow melting down his cheek. Casting out his arms, he relished winter’s grace as the Dansfurt marked its first snow of the year. The beginning of a new season and a fitting end to a journey he would never forget.

  “MR VIKTOR!” yelled out a voice from behind.

  Caught short within his moment of victory, the hunter turns to see Mr Eskel waving at him from the store’s entrance. Annoyed, Viktor scoffs and heads over to see what the giant could want.

  “Mr Viktor, I have something for you,” Eskel claims, “consider it a form of reward for your troubles.”

  He produces a steel chain necklace hoisting a bizarre carnelian-stone pendant roughly resembling an eye with a sun engraved in its pupil. Viktor inspected the trinket with a puzzled expression; he’d surmised the item couldn’t possibly be worth much.

  “The owner of this necklace has quite the bounty on his head,” explained Eskel, “I picked it up back when I was, in service, you could say.”

  Tempted, Viktor grabbed the trinket to take a closer look.

  “I tried tracking them down many times myself, but alas, I am no hunter,” Eskel went on,” You, however, Mr Viktor, are. Quite a good one, as it seems. I’m sure you’d have better luck with it than I”

  Viktor nodded, thanking Eskel for the gesture before heading back across the road to his stead. He held the pendant between his thumb and index finger, grinning deviously.

  Usually, he wasn’t fond of quests that didn’t involve a preliminary location. He was a tracker, not a magician.

  But this time, this time, he might just know the right guy.