The fire crackled inside the small hunter's hut they had claimed for the night. Eirik sat sharpening his blade, while Sigrin stared into the flames, fingers laced under his chin.
Outside, the wind howled—a mournful song that sang of blood and snow.
> "We need to wipe them out," Eirik said, voice low and sharp. "Every last one."
Sigrin nodded slowly.
> "Yes. But not like today."
"You charged in like a feral hound, Eirik. If I hadn't followed, you might be dead."
Eirik's eyes narrowed.
> "They were hurting kids. I couldn't just wait."
> "And if you die," Sigrin replied, his voice calm but heavy, "they'll hurt even more. We fight for them. Not our anger."
Eirik looked away, ashamed but quiet. He didn't argue.
The Kid's Tale
The youngest of the children they rescued, a trembling boy no older than six, sat near the hearth wrapped in furs. He had finally stopped crying.
> "Th-the others," he stammered, "they're up there. At the peak… the one with no trees."
> "The cursed one?" Sigrin asked.
The boy nodded.
> "Papa said no one comes back from there. That the snow doesn't melt. That the wind talks to you."
Eirik stiffened. He knew that place. The villagers whispered its name like a warning: Blóðfjall — Blood Mountain.
> "The leader," the boy added, barely a whisper now, "his skin's like steel. His arms like iron logs. He… bends iron with his hands."
Sigrin stood and rolled out a rough map across the table.
> "We'll climb through the southern ridge," he said. "Less guarded. Trees will give us cover."
> "And then?" Eirik asked.
> "We wait for night. We scout. We strike when we know where the children are."
Eirik nodded but gripped his blade tighter.
> "If I see him," he muttered, "the one with iron arms… I'm not holding back."
Sigrin gave him a knowing look.
> "Then you better be strong enough to survive."
March to Blóðfjall
The next morning, the snow was thicker. The air colder.
As they ascended the cursed peak, the world grew quieter. Even the wind sounded different—whispering, like it remembered the cries of those who never left.
Eirik didn't speak. He couldn't. The silence reminded him too much of his own past—when he waited in darkness, hoping someone would come.
Now he would be the one coming.
And when he did, he would bring fury.
Iron would meet Light.
And one of them would break.
---