The silence in Greyreach was too thick.
It clung to Eirik's skin like frostbite.
Eyes watched from behind curtains.
No one smiled.
No child played again after that first glance.
And then, Eirik heard it.
A whimper.
Muffled.
Fragile.
He turned his head slightly. The sound came from behind the chapel. No footsteps. Just that sound—raw and terrified.
He didn't say a word. He moved.
Sigrin followed.
The Broken Barn
The door creaked open on rusted hinges.
Inside, the stench hit them first—mildew, sweat, and something sour, something wrong. In the dim light, children huddled in corners. Silent. Bruised. Chained.
A tall man loomed over one of them, hand raised, belt coiled in his fist.
He never saw Eirik coming.
The light erupted—blinding and furious.
Eirik struck with wild, savage force, fists and magic tearing through the slaver before he could cry out.
The others rushed in—thugs with brands on their necks, drawn swords, and cruel eyes. But Eirik didn't hesitate.
He fought like a storm.
Like an animal cornered.
Each strike was fueled by something deeper than rage. Memory.
Of fear.
Of chains.
Of betrayal.
The Echo of the Past
As he struck the last slaver down, something within him cracked—and he fell to his knees.
The children stared in silence. Sigrin stepped forward to guard them, to soothe them—but Eirik trembled.
He could hear the cries.
He could see himself among them.
Alone. Cold. Powerless.
Then—
A hand touched his shoulder.
Not rough.
Not heavy.
Just… there.
Eirik didn't flinch. He looked up at Sigrin. For a moment, neither said anything.
And then—
> "My father," Sigrin whispered, "once brought me to the palace. We saw the prince—just a baby then. Wrapped in golden cloth. His hair was white as snow. My father said, 'That boy will carry a burden none of us can see.'"
Eirik's breath caught.
> "He was strong," Sigrin continued, "but sad. Even as a child. Like he already knew the world would betray him."
Eirik turned his head, eyes wide.
Sigrin just smiled softly.
> "I think I met that boy again."
And for the first time, Eirik spoke—not to answer, but to confess.
> "They left me there," he muttered. "Like garbage. He looked me in the eyes before he did it."
Sigrin didn't ask who.
He didn't need to.
> "I don't know if I want to kill him because he betrayed me…"
"…or because part of me still wants to believe he didn't."
The night was cold.
But inside that broken barn, the first ember of brotherhood began to flicker.
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