Vladimir Vulpesson looked out upon the city of Bernis, the lights of its districts and harbor twinkling in the twilight of the dying day. Snow fell around him, the flakes melting as soon as they made contact with his fur cloak. The old Jarl sighed at the numb cold that seeped through, bringing a reminder to his aging bones that his time drew near.

Vladimir did not have long left in this world. He was ripe in his age, reaching his sixty-eighth year not even a month ago. Every new age felt like his last, every Frost threatening to choke the life out of him. Clan politics also threatened to drown him, the oppressive weight of the looming Lumen Kingdom spurring every important Jarl in Valenfrost to scramble and panic. Betrayals, raids, and even the burning of cities.

Not to mention that cursed clan. The White Raven. After everything Vladimir had done and sacrificed to ensure his clan's future—including marrying his daughter off to that bastard Villtur—that accursed Outlander had come to ruin everything. Parading himself as some hero and moralist, spieling about uniting the South whilst forcing Vlad's own son into a binding contract. A contract that was sure to bring the fall of his family name.

"You're scowling more than usual, old friend," a man called out from the Jarl's right. Vladimir turned to see someone walking up to his spot on the balcony, hand carrying a horn full of wine. He was dressed in fine clothes, his dark green cape swept back to reveal an expensive white and gold tunic. Jewelry adorned him, gold and valdoran rings accompanied by silver necklaces that held glinting stones. Among it all, however, was the telltale golden pin by his collar, its shape representing a feline maw with strange ears. A Kerryn.

Jarl Halsten wasn't young—closer to Vladimir's age, actually—but his features and strong build would lead some to believe otherwise. He had a full head of hair, Valian black with silver notes at the sides. His beard, while mostly gray, had a section of black that surrounded his chin and lips. Halsten was a warrior, and his rise to strength empowered him with youth. Rune Marks and magical skills did that to a man. If they were lucky enough to avoid dying before their thirtieth year, warriors like Halsten were almost guaranteed extended youth.

"See?" Halsten pointed out as he leaned against the railing in front of Vlad. "There's that scowl again. I swear, old friend, that's going to wilt you faster than the passing of ages itself."

"My time is overdue," Vlad growled. He closed his eyes as he leaned back against his chair, hand fiddling with a small half-valdora. "I should've passed on years ago, but these cursed islands keep me in this world. Every year, it threatens all I have built. Right when I think I can move on in peace, something else comes to drag my name down to the depths of Helheim."

"This about that Holter boy?" Halsten asked, his horn brought to his lips. "He shouldn't be that much of a problem. Don't tell me you think he'll actually live long enough to destroy your clan?"

"He used dark magic to put my boy into a binding pact," Vlad said with a tired breath. "I've had witches look at the mark. Do you know what they told me?"

"Humor me."

"They don't recognize it," the disgruntled Jarl revealed. "They said they had never seen such magic before. One Witch told me that pact magic usually binds a person's ley lines for a limited time. Depending on how many reserves are invested into the pact, it could last up to years or until one of the parties dies. The one that binds my son, however, does not lie within his ley lines. I was told that it was bound to his heart. His fucking heart."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Vladimir clenched his half-valdora in his fist, his teeth grinding as he recalled what the woman had told him. Not even death would break the pact. At least, not immediately. Whatever magic Holter had used on the young Siegfried was enough to both confuse and scare off the Witch Vladimir had hired.

"I'm not surprised, honestly," Halsten said after a pause. "Holter is from another world. Logically, it makes sense that he would incorporate dark magic into our own world. Heinous, if you ask me."

'No, dear friend. I don't think it is from his world. Hel, I don't even think it is from ours.'

Vladimir did not say anything. He kept his disagreements to himself, his thoughts racing as he focused on the one man who he believed was the real problem. The old Jarl believed that the culprit was the Necromancer, who was kept in Holter's company. His son had told him about that day, about how the maniac had cackled after everyone was swindled into the pact. All while they were all held at knifepoint.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, old friend, the endeavor draws nearer," Halsten said, interrupting the Jarl's thought process. "I hear that it is due to arrive in the next two years. Everyone is preparing, my clan included. If this Holter of yours is as ambitious and naive as you say he is, then I have no doubts he'll attend. I'll kill him for you then."

"What of Villtur and Olafson?" Vlad pointed out. "They are pacted with him. I don't doubt that their bindings will force them to act in favor of him."

Halsten laughed at that, his hand swirling the wine in his horn. "I can take them on just fine. While my clan isn't as prolific as they, I can assure you that my sword will cut through them the same. Olafson is laughable, and I don't doubt I can take on Lukas Villtur when the time comes."

"Even Lukas?" Vlad said with audible surprise.

"Of course," Halsten said as he downed the rest of his wine. "His bark is worse than the bite. Lukas is more of an acting philosopher, clinging to the dredges of the past for comfort and guidance. While strong, his conviction is held back by his foolish ideals and idolization of Yorn. He'll fall all the same as Halvorson did."

"That's bold, even for you," Vlad muttered.

Halsten did something that surprised the old Jarl. He scowled. It was, for a split second, barely noticeable, but his lips and brow curled downward in clear anger. It went away before Vlad could process the image.

"I'm sick of the worship around that cursed bastard," Halsten said with deaf calmness. "Yorn was a strong man. Great even. But he was a failure of a Jarl. A weakling who couldn't maintain his own lands and ideals. Deimos is proof that he was never the man anyone thought he was. Yet they worship him like he was a herald of the gods themselves. No, one day they will all see what true strength is." Halsten grinned as he raised his horn, his hand crushing it without any effort. Pieces of it fell to the ground in a clatter, no liquid left within them.

"I'll be seeing you, old friend," Halsten said after a moment. He turned and left the old Jarl, returning the inside of the keep. "I wish you a proper New Year. I have a feeling that this Age will be one for the scribes."

He left, and Vladimir was somehow more aware of the cold that threatened to choke the air from him.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.