The air smelled of honey and fruit as it danced through the dining hall. Cups filled with mead were passed from servant to servant, and the soft clinking of metal echoed as more dishes were set upon the long tables. The warm, inviting scent of roasted meats and fresh bread mingled with the heady sweetness of fruit. It was meant to be a celebration. A moment of peace and pleasure, a break in the constant tension that loomed over the kingdom's walls.

  But to Thorkell, the feast felt like another world altogether, one where joy and laughter were at odds with the storm swirling inside him. The merriment around him seemed distant, like a dream he could not quite reach. His thoughts were still trapped in the prison made of trees and painted in blood, with the weight of the conversation he had left unknown entangling his mind.

  The voices of his people–once so familiar– now seemed muffled, like distant echoes of a life that no longer felt like his own. He watched as the people of all classes exchanged empty smiles, their laughter rang through the hall, they seemed like actors on a stage, performing a play he had no part in. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of their gazes as they glanced his way, the quiet whispers of awe and curiosity that followed him through the hall like shadows. They look at him as though he were something new, a mystery they couldn’t understand.

  He picked up a goblet of wine, its sweetness cloying against his tongue. The warmth of the liquid should have been comforting, but instead, it only highlighted the cold knot he had formed in his chest. The feast, the laughter, the mead–it all felt hollow to him, a mere distraction from the gnawing unease that consumed him. As he glanced at the full table before him, the platters of meat and fruit, the smiles and chatter, they felt so disconnected from the burdens he carried–the knowledge of the frost giants closing in on their borders, the weight of leadership pressing down on him, and the unspoken tension with his father.

  The warmth of the hall seemed almost suffocating now. He could feel the heat of the fire on his skin, the firelight flickering in the corner of his eye, and yet nothing to chase away the chill inside him. The distant sounds of the revelry were like a faraway hum in his ears as his thoughts spiraled back to the forest , to the thunderous steps of the frost giant. His father sat at the head of the table seemingly unphased by the commotions of the feast, still calm and dismissive of any lingering threats.

  Thorkell's leg shook rapidly as he quickly surveyed the room, the faces now seemed like monsters staring at him waiting for his next move. His hands shook erratically, spilling mead across the table in front of him. It was clear to Thorkell the room was ready to erupt, they just wanted him to make the first move.

  Thorkell threw his cup at the ground, ripping himself from his seat. He glanced at his father, the feeling of irritation built up inside him once again as he stared down the man who sat in his fathers throne. The Hamund he knew would not stand for such cowardice, nor would he allow such monsters to feast amongst him in such sacred halls. Thorkell stormed out of the hall, leaving a cold empty trail behind as the heavy wooden doors slammed behind him.

  Hamund watched as the doors closed on his son, he was hesitant to move. Hamund sat still, his eyes fixed on the door that had slammed shut behind his son. The hall, once filled with sounds of laughter and conversation, now fell to a dead eerie quiet, the murmurs of the guests drifting into uncomfortable silence. Even the flickering firelight seemed to hesitate, as if waiting for Hamund to speak, to react, maybe even scorn his son's actions.

  Hamund was frozen, for once he was unsure of how to react. Such an outburst by anyone else would be met with consequential actions, but this was his son, to take action against him would be to take action against himself.

  For a long moment, Hamund remained unmoving, the weight of his son’s anger settling heavily between them. He had known this day might come–had known the frustration in Thorkell’s heart would eventually have to find a release. The king's eyes remained fixed on the door, his mind distant, as he weighed his next move.

  Hamund watched as the feast itself had become a performance of its own, a fragile act that Thorkell could no longer play a part in. He had seen it in his son’s eyes–the restlessness that gnawed at him, the anger that simmered just beneath the surface. He had tried to shelter him from the full weight of leadership, that was why he had not chosen him to sit by his side. Leadership had a cruel reality to it, and to protect him from that was to protect him from the crushing weight of their world. But it was clear now that Thorkell had already crossed a threshold, which Hamund feared was too hard to come back from.

  Hamund’s mind drifted between the fleeting image of Thorkell storming out of the hall and the realization that his son was no longer the boy he had protected for so many years. The boy who had once spoke to him of hunting krakens and sought his guidance with every day choices. Now, he had become a young man, and Hamund couldn’t help but feel he hadn’t prepared him for this world.

  Hamund missed the years of sailing to cosmos, it seemed those times were easier. There was no politics, no hard choices, and he remembers the young boy who looked at him like a hero. As much as he wanted to chase his son down the hall, and try to save their fragile relationship, sadly this was one more thing the crown would threaten to take from him. To leave this feast, it would cost far more, he knew that his leaving would ruin months of planning and years of trying to save public relations.

  Hamund forced a smile as he looked out into the sea of faces, Hamund stood from his chair as raised his cup. “I have called you here for many reasons. I hope for us to stand, as friends, as a nation and most importantly as a kingdom united.”

  Hamund took a drink from his cup hoping to lift the heavy weight on his chest. “First let me inform you all, the kingdom will soon bear another member…” Hamund gestured towards Admadra “My soon-to-be queen,” his voice slightly more strained than he would have liked “is with child.”

  Murmurs rushed through the crowd like wildfire, some praising this moment, some whispered in fear of what could be. Hamund drowned out the useless commotions, he had hoped to have his son here for such a big announcement.

  In the midst of it all, he felt the heavy pain of loss–loss not just for Thorkell, but for the simpler days when he could be a father, not just a king. A hero, as Thorkell had once believed.

  He glanced at Admadra, who offered him a subtle smile as she stood amongst her guard. She didn’t need to speak for Hamund to understand the unspoken words: this child could bring the stability they both desperately needed. But the question loomed in Hamund’s heart: what would it cost?

  His eyes flicked briefly to the doorway where Thorkell had fled, and his thoughts drifted back to the boy he had failed to protect. The future seemed increasingly uncertain, and Hamund could only hope that, for once, fate would prove kinder than it had been to his family in the past.

  Hamund stood his heart pounding in his chest, he needed a reason to depart the hall, even if for a mere moment. Hamund raised his hand silencing the hall, no more whispers lingered in the air. “Bear with me, I must excuse myself temporarily.” Hamund walked towards the exit of the hall, its cold grip calling to him. “Please do enjoy the feast, I will return momentarily.”

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  Hamund forced his eyes to stay focused on the crowd, his thoughts slipping between his public face and the shadows of his heart. The murmurs, the whispers, the quick glance at Admadra–they were all signs of hope, yes, but they felt so far removed from the gravity of the moment. His son was not there. Thorkell was not there.

  His heart ached. Throkell should have been by his side, but he had failed his son once more.

  The noise in the hall seemed to grow, voices blending in a crescendo of praise and speculation. Some leaned in close, eyes alight with curiosity, while others exchanged subtle, nervous looks. The room was still a mass of movement and life, yet it felt as if Hamund were no longer part of it. Hamund shoved the halls' large doors open, he needed a second to breath, a mere moment of solitude.

  Hamund watched as the large doors closed behind him. Once he was sure that the watchful eyes of the kingdom no longer lingered on him, he felt tears stream down his face like rivers. Hamund leaned over the cold stone walls, his stomach turning as he tried to steady himself. The cold of the stone felt comforting as the world spun around him.

  The hall seemed so far away, but the echo of its noise still rang in his ears. The murmurs of the guests, the whispers of approval, the political machinations–none of it seemed to matter now. It was all a game to them, but for Hamund, it had become something much darker, something he could no longer control.

  His mind drifted back to the days when Thorkell was a chill, eager to please, always seeking approval. He remembered the way his son had looked up to him with such innocence, the way he had believed that his father could do no wrong. Those days felt like a distant dream now, replaced by the constant weight of failure.

  “I failed you, Thorkell,” Hamund whispered, as if saying it aloud could somehow ease the ache in his chest. The words felt like nails on stone–so hard, so final. Was it too late to make things right?

  The chill in the air bit at his skin, but it did little to numb the burning ache inside. His heart pounded as though trying to escape his chest, each beat a reminder of everything he had lost. His son had not just left the feast–he had left his life, if not physically, mentally he saw the chains shatter.

  The distant murmurs fell silent, replaced by bloody screams, and begs for mercy. Hamund snapped back to reality, hoping the screams were mere moments of mental illusion. As he turned back to the doors of the hall, the screaming intensified. It was clear the screams were real–something was off.

  As Hamund approached the doors, his hands shook, betraying the steely composure he tried so desperately to maintain. The weight of what layed beyond them pressed against his chest, threatening to crush him with its uncertainty. His feet slowed with every step as if the stones below him had a hold on his feet. He could feel his pulse all throughout his body, his blood rushed through him in waves, crashing and drowning out the murmurs from the hall. Every instinct told him to wait for Admadra to call, but the screams made it almost impossible to ignore.

  Hamund fought through his nerves, feeling his pulse through his hands as he gripped the doors, ready to face what beast awaited inside. As his mind told his body to rip the doors open, his muscles froze. Tightened and cold, he could see the goosebumps rising mountains across his arms. Hamund ripped the doors open, his elbows cracked as the cold of the outside collided with the heat of the dining hall. The room that was originally so lively now had the makings of a graveyard. The silver and gold of the royal guards armor that used to stand tall now laid across the ground tainted by the deep red of blood.

  A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft, wet sounds of the dying happening around him. Hamund could hear the slight breaths of those still clinging to life. The smell of blood, sweat, and fire mixed with the remnants of the feast. The firelight flickered, casting long, grotesque shadows on the walls as if the room itself mourned what had been lost.

  Hamunds eyes quickly snapped to his seat at the head of the table. Admadra stood there, hostage to a man dressed in rags, with a blade to her throat. She never showed her emotions well but Hamund could see the fear in her eyes.

  Hamund went to negotiate with the man who held her hostage but before he could talk, the man slid the blade across her throat. Blood poured out like a fountain of crimson, Admadra fell to the ground holding her throat, attempting to hold in as much blood as she could.

  Time seemed to freeze. The room–once filled with laughter, chatter, and merriment–now stood still in the grip of horror. Admadra gasped as she clung to life, she could feel her body growing cold.

  “No!” Hamund shouted, his voice hoarse with disbelief. He rushed forward, pushing aside the bodies of the fallen, not caring for the blood that stained his boots as he neared her. The man dropped to his knees, straddling her as he impaled the blade into her womb, cutting and slicing, killing any chance for Hamund’s kin to be born.

  Hamund received the message, the kingdom would be won, not with feasts and moments of honor, but with blood. Hamund drew his blade, it's cold grip felt warm in the moment. Hamunds grip tightened around his blade, the weight of it grounding him amongst the chaos. His mind was a whirlwind of rage, disbelief, and sorrow, but in this moment, his mission was certain, he had to kill the man who took everything from him. The warmth of the blade, though cold by nature, felt like an anchor, a cruel reminder of the violence that had become the only language he ever truly understood.

  Hamund hurled his blade at the man with everything he had, watching it slice through the air with deadly precision. The man, still crouched over Admadra’s body, barely had time to react before the blade embedded itself in his side. The man let out a sharp gasp, his hand clutching his wound as blood poured from it, staining Admadra’s golden prosthesis beneath him.

  Hamund slammed his fist against his chest, recalling his blade. The fangs of the blade stuck into the man, pulling the man through the air towards Hamund. As the hilt of the blade returned to Hamund’s hand, he peered into the man’s eye as he pulled the blade free in a single, violent motion. The man’s blood slicked the blade, dripping down in crimson lines as Hamund raised it once more. The man groaned, clutching his side, but it was clear his fight was over.

  As the man gripped to his life, he let out a faint whisper meant only for Hamund. “The serpent send’s his regards, soon you will lay next to your child and false queen.”

  Hamund placed the fang of the north onto the man's neck, he allowed the man one more breath before he sliced the blade straight through severing his head.

  The man’s body slumped lifeless to the ground, his head rolling away from his shoulders like a grotesque, lifeless trophy. The room fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Hamund stood over the corpse, his chest heaving, his pulse roaring through his body. Hamund could taste iron on his tongue as his rage lingered, and yet, as the chaos around him began to settle, the reality of the situation began to bore down on him, stealing the air from his lungs.

  He looked down at Admadra, her body ravaged by the blade. Her golden prosthesis still shimmered dimly in the low light, her body now floated in a pool of crimson, one that seemed to swim across the cold stone floors. Hamund knelt beside her, his hands trembling as he touched her face, her warmth was gone, replaced by the cold bite of death. He had failed her, just as he had so many before her. He placed his hands above her stomach, he thought about how fun it would have been, to have another chance to be a father.

  Hamund stood, as the image of the future that could have faded from his mind, he let out a singular warning to those that remained in the room. “Should you feel rebelion is your only option, I would leave now. Prepare your family for the harsh world outside our walls, because should you be here by the sun's end, you won't make it to dawn.” Hamund left the great hall, no words were spoken, no one dared move, neither friend or foe. As the great hall's doors slammed behind Hamund, Ken peeked out from under the dining table, he peered at Admadras golden leg. Ken knew that this would be the key to learning Hamunds deeper secrets.