"But you are no Sieg Brandt, Erik."
The King's voice was steady, almost amused.
"Take as many armies as you wish. You may even have one of the twins behind me. Do what you must."
I shook my head.
"Thank you, my King, but I have set my mind."
I straightened my back, meeting his gaze without hesitation.
"I am the one who wants your ring, not any of your soldiers. I will be the one responsible for this task. And I will be the one to see it through."
A pause.
Then, firmly—
"It is my choice and my consequence alone."
The King regarded me for a moment, then let out a short chuckle.
"Spoken like a true hero."
He leaned back in his throne.
"But I must insist—take Astrid with you."
His gaze flickered toward her.
"Despite her appearance, she is very strong. She will be useful."
I turned to Astrid, who met the King's stare with an unreadable expression.
She didn't react. Didn't argue.
Maybe she was fine with it.
Or maybe she simply had no choice.
Either way, I gave a small nod.
"I'll take her, my King."
"Next time we meet… I'll bring you the head of the Skarnhaal."
We found ourselves outside the palace, back on the streets of Drakenburg, the midday bustle surrounding us once more.
Astrid walked beside me, silent, unreadable.
I didn't speak either.
Not at first.
But then—my mind snapped.
My feet halted, realization crashing into me like a hammer to the skull.
"Shit."
I almost yelled as I turned back toward the palace.
"I don't even know where the hell these creatures are!"
I spun on my heel, already preparing to run back to demand answers—
But then, a hand caught my wrist.
Firm. Steady.
I looked down.
Astrid was holding me in place again, just like before.
Her crimson eyes met mine, calm and certain.
"The reason the King wanted you to take me," she said quietly, "is because I know everything there is to know about the Skarnhaal."
I stood still for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"Well then, you can start by telling me who they were."
Astrid tilted her head slightly, but instead of answering, she said, "Sure. But aren't you hungry?"
I blinked.
She was right.
I hadn't eaten in almost a full day—adrenaline must have kept me going. But now that she mentioned it, the exhaustion settled into my bones, and hunger hit me like a hammer to the gut.
"Yeah… I guess I am."
"You just killed The Mother, right?" she continued, almost amused. "You should eat."
I exhaled. "Any idea on where?"
Astrid's lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile.
"I got just the right place."
The scent hit me before I even stepped inside.
Roasting meat, seared with firewood smoke. Freshly baked black bread with thick layers of butter. Spiced potatoes sizzling in lard.
It was the kind of smell that sank into your bones and made you forget you were ever tired.
The restaurant itself—Hagen's Hearth—was nothing fancy, but it was warm. Lived-in. Real. The walls were made of dark oak, the floor slightly uneven from years of boots and laughter. Iron lanterns flickered overhead, casting a golden glow over the packed wooden tables.
Men and women sat in clusters, laughing, eating, drinking—some still in armor, some already deep into their third or fourth mug of ale.
The air was filled with chatter, clinking tankards, and the occasional bark of a waitress shouting an order over the noise.
It wasn't the kind of place nobles dined in.
It was the kind of place warriors came to feel human again.
"Sit anywhere," Astrid said, already moving toward a table in the corner.
I followed, taking in the warmth, the noise, the life of it all.
And for the first time in a long while—I felt like I wasn't carrying the weight of a battlefield on my shoulders.
We sat at a corner table, tucked away from the noisier parts of the tavern.
It wasn't long before the food arrived.
And the moment it hit the table, I realized just how starving I really was.
A thick, charred steak, still sizzling from the fire, juices pooling at the base of the wooden plate. A side of buttered black bread, crisp on the edges but soft in the center, the butter melting into the cracks. A bowl of roasted root vegetables, spiced and steaming, the smell alone making my mouth water. And to wash it all down—a tankard of dark ale, its surface frothing over the rim.
The first bite of steak was heaven.
Smoky. Tender. Juices bursting across my tongue, rich with fat and fire.
I didn't realize how fast I was eating until I reached for the bread, tearing off a chunk and dragging it through the steak's juices before shoving it into my mouth.
Gods.
It was the best thing I'd tasted in weeks—maybe months.
For a moment, I didn't think about the battle, the King, the Skarnhaal, or even Astrid sitting across from me.
I just ate.
Astrid ate in silence, barely making a sound.
She didn't rush. Didn't even look at me while I practically devoured my plate like a starving dog.
She just sat there, chewing slowly, waiting.
Waiting for me to finish.
And when I did, when the last bite was gone and I leaned back in my chair, satisfied—that's when she spoke.
Her own meal was still half-finished, but she didn't stop eating as she talked.
"The Skarnhaal," she said, casually slicing into her steak, "were the first to walk Valkthara."
She lifted the bite to her mouth, chewed, swallowed.
"Before humans. Before elves. Before anyone else."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, exhaling.
"First?" I muttered. "Didn't think we were dealing with history's leftovers."
Astrid didn't even look up.
"Not leftovers. Owners."
She took another bite, eyes calm, voice steady.
"Valkthara was theirs, long before it was ours."
"Okay, so what do they look like?" I asked, leaning forward slightly. "Like us?"
Astrid sliced off another piece of steak, chewed, then finally shook her head.
"Not exactly."
She set her fork down, fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table.
"They're taller. Bigger. Their bones are heavier, denser—built for war. Their skin ranges from pale gray to deep black, almost like slate, rougher than a human's. Their eyes? Always sharp. Always alert. A mix between an elf's precision and an orc's brutality."
She took another slow bite, then continued.
"They have elongated ears, though not as pointed as elves. Their jaws are stronger, their teeth sharper. Some have tusks, but not like orcs—smaller, more like fangs."
I frowned slightly, letting the description settle in my mind.
And then—something hit me.
The broad shoulders. The compact, powerful build.
The way Astrid carried herself.
I hadn't noticed it before—or maybe I didn't want to.
But something about what she was describing felt uncomfortably familiar.
I glanced at her again, taking in her frame, her presence.
She wasn't just strong.
She was built different.
Bigger than most women I knew. Stronger than a lot of men.
And yet, I knocked the thought away almost as quickly as it came.
No. That was ridiculous.
She was just born big.