We didn't run right away.
We should have.
But none of us moved.
The boat drifted a few yards from the dock, rocking gently in the dark water.
Too gently.
No one would believe us if we told them what just happened.
No one spoke.
The screams from the village carried across the water—
distant.
Almost unreal.
I stared at the boat.
Waiting for it to stop moving.
Waiting for something to change.
My mind kept trying to make sense of it.
Sten.
The ink.
The way he moved.
It didn't fit.
None of it did.
People don't move like that.
Don't breathe like that.
Don't come back like that.
He had a harpoon in his midsection even as he crawled onto the boat, but he moved like it was nothing.
Torvin let out a breath beside me.
Slow.
Controlled.
Like he was trying not to lose it.
"What the hell," Torvin mumbled under his breath.
"No, seriously, what the hell just happened?".
No one answered.
Freya stood just behind us.
I could still hear her breathing—
steady, but shallow.
She hadn't taken her eyes off the water.
Not once.
He wasn't looking at the boat anymore.
He was looking at the water.
Like he expected it to move again. Like there were more lurking just beneath the surface.
"He didn't stop," I said.
My voice sounded wrong.
Distant.
"The harpoon… it didn't stop him."
Torvin shook his head slowly.
"It should have."
"He was still there," Malek said.
Not to us.
To himself.
"He said your name."
I didn't answer.
I wanted to believe that meant something.
That it meant he was still in there.
But I couldn't forget the way he looked at us.
Not seeing.
Not knowing.
Just finding.
Another scream cut through the night.
Closer this time.
Followed by shouting.
Running feet.
I turned toward the village.
The fires were still burning.
But the shapes moving between them—
weren't steady anymore.
Too fast.
Too uneven.
Wrong.
Torvin straightened.
"We can't stay here."
No one argued.
Malek grabbed another harpoon from the storage cabinet on the dock.
Then he turned.
"We go back," he said.
I looked back at the water one last time.
It was still.
Quiet.
Like nothing had ever been there.
We ran.
Not all at once—
The moment broke, and the world rushed back in.
The closer we got to the village, the louder it became.
Screams.
Shouting.
Wood splintering.
It didn't sound like Irinclad anymore.
The lower road came into view—
and everything was moving.
People ran in every direction, some toward the longhouse, others away from something behind them.
No order.
No plan.
"THIS WAY!"
The voice cut through the noise like steel.
I spotted him near the center of the square.
Chieftain Rorik stood planted in the dirt, unmoving while everything else shifted around him.
A spear in one hand.
Blood already streaked along the shaft.
"Inside!" he barked, pointing toward the longhouse.
"Move! Don't stop moving!"
People listened.
Not because they weren't afraid—
but because he wasn't.
Ylva knelt a few paces away, hands already pressed against a man's arm—
blood soaking through the cloth she had wrapped tight around it.
"EIRIKR!"
The shout cut through everything. There was a haunting tone to his voice, unsure if there would be a response.
Joren.
He stood in the middle of the road, turning wildly, scanning faces—
searching for someone who wasn't there anymore.
"Eirikr!" he shouted again.
His voice cracked this time.
Movement caught my eye.
Fast.
Low.
Bram.
Or what was left of him.
He moved between two houses, shoulders hunched, head twitching with every step like he was listening to something buried beneath the noise.
"Joren!" I shouted.
Too late.
Malek was already moving the moment he saw Bram closing in.
Joren didn't have time to react.
The impact drove him backward into the dirt, Bram on top of him—
jaw snapping, hands clawing for purchase.
Joren's head hit the ground with a dull thud, his eyes rolling back.
"Get him off!" someone shouted.
I moved—
too slow.
Malek wasn't though.
He stepped in hard, planting his foot beside Joren's shoulder—
grabbing Bram by the back of the neck and wrenching him up just enough to break the bite.
Bram twisted toward him instantly.
His head rotated—too far, too fast—until it faced Malek completely.
The sight sent a chill straight through me.
"Malek! Get out of there!" I yell at the top of my lungs.
Freya wasn't too far behind Malek.
The knife strapped to her leg flashed free—
quick.
precise.
She drove it into Bram's skull.
Her hand slipped slightly on impact—
blood spilling across her fingers.
Bram's eyes flickered—
glowing faintly for just a moment.
Then his body went slack.
I swear—
just for a second—
I saw something leave him.
Not smoke.
Not breath.
Something else.
And it didn't disappear.
It lingered.
Faint.
Like heat bending the air.
Then it shifted.
Not upward.
Not away.
Toward us.
I didn't move.
Didn't even breathe.
It passed through the space between us—
brushing past me like a cold draft—
and into Malek.
He didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even notice.
Then he dropped.
No resistance.
No movement.
Still.
I crouched beside Joren, pressing a hand to his chest.
He was breathing.
Barely—
but alive.
I pulled him up and threw him over my shoulder, adjusting his weight as I stood.
My eyes flicked back to Bram.
Waiting.
He didn't move.
Black ichor dripping from his mouth.
Freya wiped the blade clean against her dress, then slid it back into its sheath like muscle memory.
"If you run off by yourself one more time," she said, stepping closer to Malek,
"I am going to be the one that kills you."
She stared straight into his chest—
like she meant it.
"Seriously," Torvin added, stepping in beside them, a crooked smile on his face,
"you don't even know what we're dealing with, and you're already trying to be the hero."
He shook his head.
"How am I supposed to collect my coin if you go and die on me?"
He smiled—
but there was something tighter behind it.
Malek held Freya's gaze for a moment.
"I'm not afraid," he said quietly.
"Because I know you'll be right beside me."
Freya blinked—
just once.
A faint flush crept across her face.
Then she punched him in the side.
"Why can't you just be serious for once?"
Malek winced, recoiling slightly.
"Careful," he said, rubbing his ribs.
"You might kill me before I get the chance to run off."
"You're such an idiot."
She rolled her eyes—
but didn't step away.
"I know you two are having a moment," Torvin cut in, glancing back toward the street,
"but we should really get out of here."
Another scream echoed down the road.
Closer this time.
"Now," Torvin snapped.
That was enough.
We moved.
Fast.
Not running blindly—
but not slow either.
Joren's weight shifted on my shoulder as I adjusted my grip, his breath uneven against my back.
The village blurred past us—
movement in every direction.
Shouting.
Crying.
Something breaking.
Something worse.
"INSIDE!"
We broke into the square just as another wave of people pushed toward the longhouse.
Chieftain Rorik stood at the entrance—
unmoving.
A spear in his hand.
Malek stepped forward first.
"Father—"
"Inside," Rorik cut him off.
No hesitation.
No discussion.
Just command.
Malek held his gaze for half a second—
then nodded.
The longhouse was already filling.
Bodies pressed close.
Too close.
Ylva moved between them, hands already stained with blood.
"Sit him down here," she said, motioning toward a cleared space near the wall.
I lowered Joren carefully.
"He hit his head," I said.
"He's breathing," she replied.
"That's what matters right now."
The door slammed shut behind us.
The sound echoed through the room—
heavier than it should have been.
Like something sealing.
I turned.
People packed the space wall to wall.
Faces I knew.
Faces I didn't recognize anymore.
Some crying.
Some silent.
Some… just staring.
"Check the wounded," Rorik ordered from the front.
"Anyone bitten—separate them."
A murmur spread through the room.
Not loud.
Not yet.
But it was there.
"We don't even know what it is yet," Malek said.
Rorik didn't look at him.
"We know enough."
Same words.
Different meaning now.
Freya stood near the center of the room, scanning faces.
Not looking for danger.
Expecting it.
I thought about the boy.
The way he stared.
The way he didn't speak.
The way no one noticed—
until it was too late.
Somewhere in the room—
someone coughed.
Wet.
Thick.
Too familiar.
My head snapped toward the sound.
And I knew—
we hadn't made it to safety.