This place is a wreck, Eirik thought, scanning the devastation. Half the walls had crumbled sections where stones had been pulled out for who knows what purpose. The barracks roof had caved in under snow weight. The armory was a blackened shell. Even the central keep had gaping holes.
"Commander," Leif approached. His face was pale from blood loss. "We've secured the prisoners. Eighty-seven total. Mostly women and children. Some elderly." He paused. "What do we do with them?"
Eirik didn't answer immediately.
His mind was elsewhere, focused on the system notification that had been pulsing at the edge of his vision since Grakk'Thor's death.
[Tutorial Quest #7: Roots of Power - Progress Update]
[Objective 1 of 5: Control territory with defined borders]
[Status: COMPLETE]
[Fort Abercrombie is now under your authority]
[Borders defended by force: Confirmed]
One of five objectives, Eirik noted. The system's breaking this quest into phases. Building a settlement from nothing would be impossible in thirty days. But if each phase unlocks tools to help with the next...
"Commander?" Leif pressed.
"Keep them under guard for now," Eirik said. "Separate the wounded from the healthy. Anyone with medical knowledge gets put to work helping Fisk with our injured. The rest..." He trailed off, another notification demanding his attention.
[Phase One Reward Unlocked: Kingdom Core (Level 1)]
[Installing Kingdom Management System...]
[Installing Construction Interface...]
[Synchronizing with user abilities...]
A sudden warmth spread through Eirik's chest. It was like drinking hot soup after days in the cold. The sensation centered just below his sternum, then pulsed outward in waves. He gasped, stumbling slightly.
"Commander!" Olaf rushed over, axe raised, looking for threats.
"I'm... fine," Eirik managed. The warmth was fading, replaced by something else. A new awareness. Like a sixth sense had just opened up. He could feel the fortress around him.
[Kingdom Core Successfully Installed]
[Current Level: 1]
[Core Anchor Point: Fort Abercrombie Central Keep Foundation]
[Area of Influence: 1 Mile Radius]
[Influence radius measured from historical fortress center]
[Note: Core location cannot be relocated at the current level]
[Available Functions: Basic Construction, Resource Overview, Population Management]
The information flooded his mind like opening a perfectly arranged ledger.
This is incredible, Eirik thought. The system just gave me administrative control over the entire area. I can sense everything within a mile of here.
"Eirik?" Leif's voice was tight with concern. "Your eyes..."
"What about them?"
"They're glowing. Blue. Like frost crystals."
Instead of explaining, Eirik raised his hand. He focused on the new Construction Interface that had appeared in his mind. It was like a mental blueprint overlaying his vision.
[Construction Mode Activated]
[Available Structures: Ice Wall (Basic), Ice Shelter (Basic), Ice Storage (Basic)]
[Required Resources: Mana Fragments]
[No traditional materials required]
No wood. No stone. No iron, Eirik realized with growing excitement. Everything built from ice and frost. My element. This completely bypasses normal construction limitations.
Eirik stared at the number glowing in his vision: He had 4,000 Mana Fragments, which he'd almost forgotten about. He'd been hoarding them for days, intending to finally upgrade his Frost Realm to Rank 2.
And now, apparently, this Kingdom Core had its own appetite for them.
"Watch," he said to his lieutenants.
He focused on a section of collapsed wall twenty feet away. In his mind's eye, he could see the overlay - a ghostly blue outline showing where a new wall could go. He selected it mentally.
[Construct Ice Wall (F-Grade)?]
[Cost: 300 Mana Fragments]
[Construction Time: Instant]
He confirmed the construction.
The reaction was immediate and spectacular.
The ground where the collapsed stones lay began to frost over. Then, with a sound like breaking glaciers, ice erupted from the earth.
The ice rose in perfect blocks, each one fitting seamlessly with the next. In seconds, a twenty-foot section of wall stood where rubble had been. It was translucent blue, shot through with white veins like marble. The surface was smooth but not slippery. Small details emerged - handholds for defenders, drainage channels for melt, even crude arrow slits.
[Ice Wall (Basic) Constructed]
[Current Mana Fragments: 3,700]
Leif's jaw dropped. "By the Frost Mother..."
"You just... built a wall," Olaf said slowly. "Out of nothing."
"Not nothing," Eirik corrected. He studied the structure. We don't need supply wagons full of timber. Don't need weeks of masonry work. I can rebuild this entire fortress.
"How... how did you do it, commander?" Yorick had joined them, ledger clutched to his chest.
"Why don't you leave that part to me?" Eirik gave him a devious smile. He's not going to share what he was seeing, explaining the Kingdom Core's functions.
The core has levels. Right now I'm level one. Limited structures, high mana costs. But if I can level it up...
[Kingdom Management Tab Accessed]
[Current Population: 273]
[Talons (Veterans): 38]
[Talons (Recruits): 92]
[Civilians: 116]
[Prisoners (Skarl): 27]
Civilians? Eirik focused on that number.
[Civilians: Non-combatant members of your force including support staff, families of soldiers who followed from Frostholme, and rescued prisoners who have sworn allegiance.]
He hadn't realized they'd picked up so many people from Frostholme. That'd probably be those desperate enough to follow his warband rather than stay in Frostholme's decay.
Good job, Leif.
[Settlement Requirements Check:]
[? Defined Borders - COMPLETE]
[? Habitable Structures - 0% Complete]
[? Population 1000+ - 27.3% Complete]
[? Income Source - 0% Complete]
[? Basic Defenses - 21% Complete]
So we're nowhere close to finishing the quest, Eirik analyzed. But we only have eighteen days left. The Kingdom Core is the key. If I can level it up...
"Commander," Fisk approached, his thin frame shivering despite multiple cloaks. "The wounded. We've lost twelve more. The cold is killing them faster than their injuries."
"Shelter," Eirik said immediately. "We need warm shelter now."
He scanned the courtyard, selecting a clear area near the intact keep. The Construction Interface activated again.
[Construct Ice Shelter (F-Grade)?]
[Cost: 100 Mana Fragments]
[Capacity: 20 people]
[Features: Insulated walls, frost-locked entrance, internal temperature regulation]
Again the ground frosted. This time the ice rose in a dome shape, like an enormous igloo. But the construction was far more sophisticated than any snow shelter. The walls were double-layered with an air gap for insulation. The entrance was a clever airlock design that would trap warm air inside. Small vents near the top would let smoke escape if they lit fires within.
[Current Mana Fragments: 3,600]
"Get the wounded inside," Eirik ordered. "Start fires using whatever wood we can scavenge." Hopefully the system-constructed ice meant it wouldn't melt. But even if it melts, he can just build it up again.
Fisk stared at the ice shelter with awe.
"Commander, this is... do you realize what this means? We can build a city. A proper city. Without waiting for supply trains or skilled workers."
"If I don't die from mana exhaustion first," Eirik said dryly. "I'm nearly empty. And these are just basic structures."
[Kingdom Core (level 1) ]
[Level Up Requirements: (0/5,000) Mana Fragments]
So Mana Fragments just got a lot more precious than it already was. I need to grind. Sleep is probably a luxury in these eighteen days.
But first, he needed to secure the surroundings.
"Leif," he said. "Send scouts out. I want to know about every cave, every ruin, every possible threat."
Leif nodded slowly. "I'll send trackers. They know these mountains."
"Good. Olaf, I want you to start organizing the prisoners. Anyone willing to swear loyalty gets food and shelter. Anyone who refuses stays under guard."
"And if they try to escape?"
"They won't," Eirik said with certainty. "Where would they go? Their warband is dead. The mountains are full of monsters. And winter's getting worse." He looked at the huddled Skarl survivors. "They'll come around. People always choose survival."
Plus the system counts them as population, he added mentally. Every person here gets us closer to that thousand person requirement.
Yorick cleared his throat. "Commander, about resources. We're burning through our supplies fast. Food for nearly two hundred people..."
"I know," Eirik said. "The Kingdom Core shows resource generation at zero percent. We need income. Trade. Production." He studied the interface again.
[Kingdom Management System]
[Available Tabs: Overview | Construction | Population | Economy | Military]
He'd already seen Overview and Construction. Population showed the breakdown of his people. Military was grayed out - probably needs a higher Kingdom Core level. That left Economy.
[Economy Tab Selected]
[Current Treasury: 5,127 Silver Talons]
[Daily Income: 0 Talons]
[Daily Expenses: - 187 Talons]
[Production Facilities: None]
[Trade Routes: None]
[Resource Generation: None]
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Eirik frowned.
The tab was almost empty. No automated systems. No passive income. Everything's manual right now, he realized. The Kingdom Core gives me the framework, but I have to build the actual economy from scratch.
"Commander!" Fisk shuffled over, his thin frame bundled in three cloaks. "The ice shelter - it's perfect! The temperature inside stays constant! My equipment won't freeze!"
"Your equipment?" Eirik raised an eyebrow.
"Well..." Fisk wrung his hands. "What's left of it. Some vials. My notes. The emergency supplies I always keep." He patted his satchel protectively. "But Commander, if I had a proper workshop..." His eyes gleamed with that familiar manic energy. "Think of the Frostfire we could produce! The profits!"
There it is, Eirik thought. Fisk never misses a chance to talk about money.
"How much Frostfire can you make with what you have?" Eirik asked.
Fisk's face fell. "Maybe... five flasks per day? Ten if I stretch the components. But that's it. I need proper equipment. Distillation apparatus. Mixing vats. Storage for volatile components." He gestured wildly. "A real workshop, Commander! Not a tent or a corner of someone's shelter!"
Eirik pulled up the Construction Interface again. He scrolled through the basic options.
[Ice Wall (Basic)] [Ice Shelter (Basic)] [Ice Storage (Basic)]
Nothing specifically for alchemy. But maybe...
"System," he thought, focusing on the interface. "Can I customize structures?"
[Customization Available]
[Warning: Custom structures cost 50% more Mana Fragments]
[Specify requirements for: Custom Ice Structure]
Interesting. The system's more flexible than I thought. He looked at Fisk, who was practically vibrating with nervous energy.
"Describe your ideal workshop," Eirik said. "Every detail."
Fisk's eyes widened. "You mean... you can build one? Like the shelter?"
"Maybe. But I need specifics."
"Oh! Oh!" Fisk bounced on his heels. "First, ventilation! Critical! One wrong mixture and boom - everyone's choking on toxic fumes. Multiple vents, controllable. Then workspace - at least three separate areas. One for mixing, one for heating, one for storage. The storage needs to be cold but not frozen. Some components crystallize if they get too cold."
He's really thought about this, Eirik noted. Probably been planning his dream workshop for years.
Fisk continued, barely pausing for breath. "Shelving! Lots of shelving. And work benches at different heights - some processes need you standing, others sitting. A water source would be ideal but I can work around that. Oh! And reinforced walls. Sometimes experiments get... energetic."
Eirik focused on the Construction Interface, feeding it Fisk's requirements.
[Custom Structure: Alchemical Workshop]
[Specifications Accepted]
[Cost: 450 Mana Fragments]
[Features: Triple ventilation system, compartmentalized workspace, reinforced walls, temperature-controlled storage, integrated shelving and work surfaces]
[Warning: This structure requires specialized knowledge to operate safely]
Four hundred and fifty fragments, Eirik calculated. That's expensive. But if Fisk can produce Frostfire...
"How many Frostfire flasks could you make per day with a proper workshop?" he asked.
Fisk's eyes darted upward, his lips moving silently as he calculated. "With good equipment? Steady supplies? Twenty. Maybe thirty on a good day. Each flask sells for what, three talons to merchants? More to desperate buyers?"
Sixty to ninety talons per day income, Eirik thought. The workshop pays for itself in a week. And that's just Frostfire. Fisk makes healing salves, poisons, all sorts of useful things.
"Yorick!" Eirik called. The scribe hurried over, ledger in hand. "What's our supply situation for alchemical components?"
Yorick flipped through pages. "We salvaged some from the Skarl stores. Herbs, dried fungi, some mineral salts. Maybe enough for... fifty doses of various potions?"
"And the components for Frostfire specifically?"
"The base oil we can render from animal fat. The accelerant..." Yorick frowned. "Fisk knows the formula better than I do."
"Saltpeter, sulfur, pine resin, and my special catalyst," Fisk said quickly. "The catalyst is the tricky part. I need specific mushrooms that grow in caves. But!" He held up a finger. "The Skarls had some in their stores. Dried, but usable."
So we have materials for maybe a week of production, Eirik analyzed. Need to find more sources soon. But it's enough to start.
"Stand back," Eirik ordered. He selected a spot near the main keep, sheltered from wind but with good access to the courtyard.
[Construct Alchemical Workshop?]
[Cost: 450 Mana Fragments]
[Confirm: Y/N]
He confirmed. The ground instantly frosted over in a perfect rectangle, thirty feet by twenty. Then the ice began to rise.
This construction was different from the simple shelter. More complex. The ice formed in layers, each one precisely shaped. The walls were thicker at the base, tapering as they rose. Three chimney-like vents emerged from the roof, each with an adjustable iris design that could open or close to control airflow.
The really impressive part is the interior, Eirik thought, watching through the translucent walls as furniture formed from ice itself. Work benches at exactly the heights Fisk specified. Shelving units with lips to prevent bottles from sliding off. Even small indentations in the benches to hold equipment steady.
The storage area materialized last - a separate compartment with walls that shimmered differently. Some kind of temperature barrier, Eirik realized. The Kingdom Core is implementing magical insulation.
[Alchemical Workshop Constructed]
[Current Mana Fragments: 3,150]
Fisk stood frozen, mouth hanging open. Then he let out a shriek of pure joy and rushed toward the entrance.
"CAREFUL!" Eirik shouted. "The ice might be-"
But Fisk was already inside, running his hands over the work benches, testing the shelves, opening and closing the vents.
"It's perfect!" His voice echoed from inside. "Commander, it's absolutely perfect! The ice isn't even that cold! It's like... a little bit chilly somehow!"
System magic, Eirik thought. The structures adapt to their purpose. Wouldn't be much of a workshop if everything froze.
He followed Fisk inside. The light filtering through the translucent walls created an even, diffused glow perfect for detailed work.
"How soon can you start production?" Eirik asked.
"Now! Immediately! Well, I need to set up my equipment, organize the components..." Fisk was practically dancing between the work stations. "Give me two hours to establish my workspace, then I can start the first batch. Ten flasks by nightfall!"
"Good. Yorick!"
The scribe appeared in the doorway, already scribbling notes. "Commander?"
"I want you working with Fisk. Track every component used, every flask produced. Set up an inventory system." Eirik turned to Fisk. "And you - no experiments without clearing them with me first. We can't afford to lose this workshop to an 'energetic' accident."
"Of course, of course!" Fisk was already unpacking his satchel, pulling out wrapped vials and packets. "Only proven formulas! Safe as houses! Well, safer than most houses!"
Eirik left them to it, stepping back into the courtyard. The Kingdom Core pulsed, drawing his attention to a new notification.
[Production Facility Registered: Alchemical Workshop]
[Daily Production Capacity: 0-30 units (dependent on materials and operator)]
[Economic Impact Calculated...]
[Projected Daily Income: 60-90 Silver Talons]
[Economy Tab Updated]
He checked the Economy tab again.
[Economy Tab]
[Current Treasury: 5,127 Silver Talons]
[Daily Income (Projected): 75 Talons]
[Production Facilities: Alchemical Workshop (Operational in 2 hours)]
[Trade Routes: None]
[Resource Generation: Alchemical Products (Limited by materials)]
Better, but still basic, Eirik thought. We need trade routes to sell the Frostfire. And suppliers for raw materials. Can't run an economy on what we scavenged from the Skarls.
Eirik touched the Kingdom Core interface one more time.
[Settlement Progress: Tutorial Quest #7]
[Time Remaining: 17 days, 18 hours]
[Objectives:]
[? Defined Borders - COMPLETE]
[? Habitable Structures - 10.0% Complete]
[? Population 1,000 - 27.3% Complete]
[? Income Source - 20.6% Complete]
[? Basic Defenses - 24.3% Complete]
Eirik allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. The framework was in place. They had shelter, they had production beginning, they had the bones of something sustainable.
His body, however, was screaming at him. He needed rest. Just an hour. Maybe two. Long enough to let his body relax and his thoughts settle.
He turned toward the ruined keep, intending to find a quiet corner away from the courtyard.
Then he saw the man cowering by the wall.
Dren.
The traitor was a pathetic sight. He’d tried to shrink into the shadows after the monstrosity fell, after Borvak’s death, after the Skarls surrendered. He hadn’t fled; fear, or perhaps the certainty that there was nowhere to run in the frozen wastes, kept him rooted.
His Northman clothes, mixed incongruously with Skarl furs, were stained with vomit and filth. His eyes darted constantly between Eirik, Olaf, and the glowering faces of the Skarl prisoners nearby. He flinched whenever one of them spat in his direction.
Eirik’s gaze remained fixed on him. "Olaf!"
The big lieutenant looked up from shoving a reluctant Skarl prisoner towards a group. "Aye?"
"Bring him." Eirik nodded towards Dren. "And gather those he wronged. The woman he marked for himself. The one whose son died under his knife today. The others he tried to sacrifice. Bring them to the center of the yard."
"About damn time." Olaf strode towards Dren, who whimpered and tried to scramble backward. Olaf grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him upright like a sack of grain.
Panic flared in Dren’s eyes.
"No! Please! I helped! I told you everything! About the shaman! The signal! I helped you!"
Olaf shook him roughly.
"Shut yer hole." He dragged Dren towards the cleared space where the monstrous remains of Grakk’Thor had lain.
Word spread quickly. Talons paused in their work. Frostholme peasants murmured. Skarl prisoners, under guard, watched with dark, unreadable eyes. They saw Dren dragged and understood.
Soon, a small group was assembled before Eirik, facing Dren who was forced to his knees by Olaf.
There was the woodsman’s wife, the young boy's mother. A few others shuffled forward – former captives who had suffered under Dren’s petty tyranny as the shaman’s mouthpiece.
And then there was the young woman from the pen. The one Dren had almost singled out for his perverse appetites. She didn’t look at Dren. Her gaze was fixed on the bloody stones near her feet. She was utterly, profoundly silent.
Eirik stood before them all.
"Dren of Frost Pine," Eirik began. "You stand accused. By these people." He gestured to the small group. "And by every soul in this fortress who witnessed your treachery."
Dren trembled, tears streaming down his face.
"Mercy, Lord Commander! Please! I had no choice! They took me! They tortured me! They made me serve!" He babbled, gesturing wildly towards the Skarl prisoners.
Olaf cuffed him hard on the back of the head. "Liar! Ye groveled! Ye enjoyed the power! Picking out sacrifices, pawing at women!"
Eirik silenced Olaf with a look. He turned to the accusers. "Speak. Tell the fortress what Dren did."
The woodsman’s wife stepped forward first. "He... he pointed at my Hendrik. Said he was strong. Pure. Good blood for the Sky Father." Her voice cracked. "They dragged him to the stone... his screams... I heard them." She pointed a shaking finger at Dren. "YOU! You picked him out!"
Dren flinched. "I had to! The Wise One demanded it!"
"SHUT UP!" Olaf roared.
Eirik gestured to the mother whose boy had died. The mother didn't speak. She just stared at Dren. She didn’t need words. The image of Olaf’s descending blade and his son's falling body was seared into everyone’s memory.
One by one, the others spoke. Small cruelties amplified by captivity. Extra rations withheld. Forced labor for Dren’s comfort. Threats delivered with relish. Names whispered to the shaman as potential offerings. Dren denied nothing, merely offering frantic, contradictory excuses – fear, coercion, survival.
Finally, Eirik turned to the young woman. Her head remained bowed. She didn’t step forward.
"Lady," Eirik said. "What about you?"
She flinched as if struck. A single tear traced a path through the grime on her cheek.
Dren saw the judgment hardening on every face, Talon, Frostholmer, and Skarl alike. He saw the silent woman’s tear. "Please! Lady! You understand! I... I wouldn't have let him... really! I was just... following orders!"
A collective murmur of disgust rippled through the crowd. Even some of the Skarl prisoners looked away in contempt.
Eirik looked down at the groveling traitor. Dren embodied the rot that could destroy this fragile holdfast before it even truly began – opportunism, betrayal, cruelty dressed up as necessity. He was a walking infection. Mercy would be seen as weakness, an invitation for others to follow his path. Justice needed to be immediate, brutal, and memorable. It needed to fit the crime and serve as a lesson.
Eirik raised his hand. The murmurs ceased instantly.
"You speak of choices, Dren," Eirik stated. "You claim you had none. But that's not true, is it? You chose servitude to power, no matter how vile. You chose cruelty over compassion. You chose to point the finger of death at your own kin. You chose to see others not as people, but as offerings, or playthings, or stepping stones for your own survival."
He took a step closer. Dren shrank back, whimpering.
"But perhaps worst of all," Eirik continued, "you chose to see weakness not as something to protect, but as something to exploit. You used your eyes to mark victims for the shaman's knife or your own lust. You used your eyes to appraise, to select, to condemn."
The courtyard was deathly silent.
"There is an old saying, Dren. From a harsh land, much like this one. It speaks of the price of temptation, of the cost of letting a part of yourself become a tool for evil. It says: 'If your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and cast it from you. For it is better that one part of your body perish than for your whole body to be cast into hell.'"
A collective gasp went up.
Dren froze, his pleading eyes widening in sheer, uncomprehending terror. The meaning slammed into him a moment later.
"NO! NOOOO! PLEASE! NOT MY EYES! COMMANDER, MERCY! I'LL SERVE! I'LL DO ANYTHING!" He tried to scramble back, but Olaf’s boot planted firmly between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the cold stone.
Eirik’s expression didn’t change.
"Your eyes saw only victims. They saw only opportunity for betrayal and cruelty. They led you, and others, down a path of sin and death. They are unfit to see the dawn of this new holdfast."
He turned specifically to the group of victims. To the young lady, who still hadn’t looked up, but whose knuckles were white where she gripped her own arms. To the grieving widow. To the furious mother. To the others who had suffered under his gaze.
"The justice belongs to them," Eirik declared. "The sentence is pronounced. Let the eyes that chose darkness see it no more."
He nodded to Olaf.
The big lieutenant needed no further instruction. He hauled Dren up onto his knees, gripping his hair and the back of his neck in one massive hand, forcing his head back. Dren screamed, a high-pitched, animal sound of pure terror, thrashing wildly but utterly powerless against Olaf’s iron strength.
"Hold him!" Olaf growled to two nearby Talon veterans who stepped forward instantly, grabbing Dren's flailing arms and shoulders, pressing him down.
Dren’s babbling turned into shrieks of pure terror. "NO! NOT THE EYES! PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THAT! I'LL SERVE! I'LL—"
"Bjorn," Eirik commanded. "The irons. Heat them."
Bjorn didn’t hesitate. He strode to one of the courtyard fires where a few Skarl cooking implements lay scattered. He found two sturdy iron tent pegs, their ends thick and roughly pointed. He thrust them deep into the glowing coals.
Dren’s screams reached a new pitch of hysteria. He thrashed against Olaf’s immovable grip, kicking snow and filth.
"NOOO! MERCY! I BEG YOU! I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING! STORMCROW! I HELPED YOU KILL THEM!"
Eirik stood over him. "That's why you'll live. That is the extent of my mercy."
He watched Bjorn pull the tent pegs from the fire. The tips glowed cherry red, radiating intense heat that made the air shimmer around them. Bjorn approached, his face set like stone.
The crowd watched, mesmerized. Some turned away. Others leaned forward. The silent woman also watched.
"Proceed," Eirik said.
Olaf clamped his free hand over Dren’s mouth, muffling his shrieks into choked gurgles. With his other hand, he held the traitor's head immobile, fingers digging into his temples. Dren’s eyes rolled wildly, tears streaming, fixed on the approaching brand.
Bjorn knelt. He was precise. With one swift, brutal motion, he pressed the glowing tip of the first peg directly into Dren’s right eye socket.
Hsssssssss.
The sound was sickening, like meat dropped on a griddle. A plume of acrid steam rose, mixed with the nauseating stench of burning flesh and sizzling fluid. Dren’s entire body convulsed violently, a strangled scream ripping past Olaf’s hand. His limbs thrashed against the snow, heels digging furrows.
Bjorn held the iron steady for a count of three, ensuring destruction. He pulled it back. The socket was a smoking, blackened ruin.
Without pause, he moved to the left eye.
Hsssssssss.
Another convulsion. Another choked shriek that dissolved into ragged, wet sobs. The second socket joined the first – a grotesque, charred hollow steaming in the cold air.
Bjorn stood, tossing the cooling irons aside with a clatter. Olaf released his grip on Dren’s head and mouth. The traitor collapsed onto his side, curling into a fetal position, hands instinctively flying towards his ruined face before flinching away with a fresh whimper of agony. Terrible, guttural moans escaped him, bubbling with fluids.
The courtyard was utterly silent except for Dren’s suffering and the crackle of the nearby fires.
Eirik looked down at the writhing, blinded traitor. The silent woman’s gaze was fixed on Dren, a flicker of something – satisfaction? Pity? – passing through her eyes before they shuttered closed.
She turned and walked away.
daily updates resumes for next 10 days or so! Thanks for your patience ??
12:36 PM PST going forward.
