Chapter 6: Shadows of Fate

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The days after Skaldar’s revelation were marked by a tense stillness. The fortress of Vigrid Hold, once bustling with the routine of training and preparation for battle, now felt different. Every warrior, every scout seemed on edge, as if they could sense the invisible hand of fate pressing down on them all. Eirik felt it too—a cold weight in his chest that no amount of swordplay or sparring could shake.

The attacks hadn’t ceased. If anything, they had grown more frequent. But there was a difference now. The fire giants no longer led their assaults recklessly. The shadow creatures moved with purpose, targeting specific sections of the walls, seeking vulnerabilities. It felt coordinated, deliberate, as though the enemy was testing their defenses, preparing for something greater.

Eirik stood at the edge of the battlements, staring out over the snow-covered landscape. The cold wind bit at his face, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were elsewhere—on the whispers, on the strange messages left behind at the battle sites, on the words that echoed in his mind every night.

He is not ready.

Valka stood beside him, her presence a steadying force as always. They had been spending more time together since his confession, their bond deepening, though they rarely spoke of what lay between them. Their feelings seemed both vital and secondary, like a hidden current running beneath the surface of the storm that now threatened to consume them all.

“Do you believe it?” Eirik asked, his voice quiet. “What they say? That I’m not ready?”

Valka didn’t answer immediately. She watched the horizon, her sharp eyes scanning for any sign of movement. “You’ve fought in more battles than half the men in this hold. You’ve faced giants, shadow beasts, and gods know what else. If you’re not ready, then none of us are.”

Her words were practical, but they didn’t ease the weight on his chest.

“But this is different,” Eirik said. “This isn’t just a battle. This is… destiny. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be ready for. How can I fight something when I don’t understand it?”

Valka turned to him, her gaze fierce. “You’re not alone, Eirik. No matter what comes, we face it together. Remember that.”

Eirik nodded, appreciating her strength. But the doubt gnawed at him. How could she understand? How could any of them understand the burden of being the offspring of a god, of carrying the weight of a prophecy he hadn’t even heard in full?

Before he could respond, a horn sounded from the watchtower. The sharp, urgent call echoed through the air, and Eirik’s heart dropped.

“Raiders,” Valka muttered, already moving. “Let’s go.”

They descended the stairs quickly, gathering with Bjorn, Astrid, Leif, and the others in the courtyard. Skaldar was already on horseback, his expression grim but focused. “They’re coming from the north. Scouts say it’s a small force, but they’re moving fast.”

Eirik drew his sword, the familiar weight of it in his hand grounding him. He glanced at Valka, who gave him a quick nod before they mounted their horses and rode out through the gates.

---

The raiders weren’t giants or shadow creatures, but they were no less dangerous. Wild men from the northern territories, clad in furs and wielding crude axes and spears, their faces painted with war symbols. Their attack came swift and brutal, crashing against the warriors of Vigrid Hold with savage intensity.

Eirik found himself in the thick of the battle, his sword flashing as he cut through the chaos. His movements were automatic now, each strike of his blade honed by years of training and experience. The fire in his blood burned hotter, his divine lineage giving him strength as he fought, but the whispers never left him.

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