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The night was tense with the understanding of what was to come.

Aric sat on a cold stone, his armor discarded for the moment, his mind far away. He stared into the flames, the orange and gold light dancing across his pale face, his thoughts fixed on what lay ahead.

His body ached, not only from the brutal fight he had endured earlier but from the scar of every decision he had made since his rebirth.

"We are close," Yrsa\'s voice broke through the quiet, it was low…steady as she too stared into the fire. "We shall meet Aszer soon."

Aric\'s eyes flickered up to her, the light of the flames reflecting in their dark depths. He let out a slow breath, his chest tightening.

"And he shall die swiftly after," Yrsa added, her voice holding no uncertainty.

"Yes," Aric murmured, though his voice was softer, less sure. "But what if what you accuse him of was not his doing?"

Yrsa\'s gaze hardened, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at him. "He is king. He is responsible for the actions of his people… Does it matter even?" Her jaw clenched. "The Imperial Squad is coming. He has to die, or we all die."

Aric\'s gaze fell back to the fire, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Ysir had heard of the Imperial Squad—warriors so strong, so deadly, they could erase an entire army in the blink of an eye. Their arrival meant certain death, for Byzeth, for her, for anyone caught in the crossfire.

"You say that as though it is an easy task," he said, his voice barely more audible than the flames crackle, as though the flames themselves could carry his words away. "Aszer is of the Martial King realm."

Yrsa raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting ever so slightly as if mildly impressed.

"Oh, so the coward king is not as much of a weakling as we took him after all."

Aric stared at her, the flicker of surprise evident in his eyes.

"You didn\'t know his realm?" His voice rose slightly, disbelief creeping into his tone. "I don\'t think you and your legion can take him down."

Yrsa\'s lips curled into a small, confident smile, one that didn\'t reach her eyes. "We will. The Winterborne does not lose."

"He\'s of the Martial King realm," Aric repeated, a hint of fake frustration creeping into his voice, he was a good actor. Realistically still, the northmen\'s pride was admirable, but it bordered on foolishness.

"And? What do you expect we do then?"

"Turn around… abandon me," Aric said quietly, the words falling from his lips with a heavy weight. He glanced up at her, his eyes meeting hers. "That\'s the smart thing to do."

They shared a moment of silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound between them.

Yrsa didn\'t move, her gaze fixed on him, searching for something in his eyes. Aric felt the pull of it, the unspoken understanding, the detrmiantion that hung between them like a sword.

"But it\'s not honorable, is it?" Yrsa finally said, her voice soft, but there was a steel edge beneath the words.

Aric let out a laugh, though it lacked any real humor. He shook his head, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he leaned back, exhaustion pulling at his limbs.

"I guess we do our best to kill him then."

Yrsa\'s expression softened, and for a moment, the cold warrior he had known seemed to melt away. She stood, walking closer to where he sat, her heavy boots crunching softly against the frostbitten earth. Kneeling down before him, she reached for his arm, her touch surprisingly gentle as she rolled up his sleeve.

Aric\'s breath hitched, his body tensing. He watched her warily as she pulled out a small stone blade, its edge gleaming faintly in the firelight. Before he could ask what she was doing, she pressed the blade to his skin, slicing it open with a quick, precise motion.

A sharp sting shot through him, and Aric grunted, his muscles tightening.

Panic flared for a brief moment, but then, almost as quickly, the pain began to fade. He watched in stunned silence as a soothing warmth spread from the wound, the edges of the cut glowing faintly as a strange liquid on the blade seeped into his blood. His wounds from the fight with her, raw and aching moments ago, began to heal right before his eyes.

Yrsa stood, watching him closely as he flexed his fingers, the pain dissipating, replaced by an unexpected surge of energy. "If we fight him, you need to be at your best," she said simply, her tone matter-of-fact.

Aric stared at his arm, still processing the sensation. He clenched his fist, feeling strength returning to him that he hadn\'t felt in hours. He met Yrsa\'s gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment.

Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he rolled his sleeve back down and stood.

The fire between them still crackled, leaving shadows across the snow-covered ground, but the air was diffrent. They both knew what came next. No more words needed to be spoken.

Aric donned his armor once more, the familiar weight of it grounding him, reminding him of what he needed to do. The mask, still stained with blood, fit perfectly over his face, hiding the man beneath as he became something else—something more heartless.

Together, they prepared to move again, the camp slowly coming to life as the soldiers gathered their things, the quiet replaced by the soft murmur of voices and the rustling of gear.

The night had fully descended now, the stars twinkling above them in the vast northern sky, but there was no peace in their beauty.

Only the promise of bloodshed and death.

By the time they reached the settlement, it was the dead of night. The moon hung low in the sky, offering a pale light over the land. The camp ahead was eerily silent, the air thick with the scent of something dark, something wrong.

As they approached, the first thing Aric noticed was the bodies.

Corpses, littering the ground, their faces twisted in pain and terror. The soldiers who had once lived here were no more than broken remnants of flesh and blood, strewn about like discarded toys, but it wasn\'t just the soldier—civilians to.

Tortured captives hung limply from makeshift gallows, their eyes vacant, their skin marred with unspeakable wounds.

Aric\'s stomach churned from the smell, bile rising in his throat as he walked through the camp, his boots crunching on the snow that was now stained red.

The silence was loud, broken only by the occasional creak of wood or the distant howl of the wind. This looked no battlefield. This was a slaughter.

He glanced over at Yrsa, but her face was as hard as ever, her eyes cold and focused. She didn\'t flinch, didn\'t waver. This was the world she knew, the world she had been born into.

But for Aric, it was different, darker perhaps.

The settlement was deathly quiet, the only sound the faint crackle of torches as Aric and Yrsa strode through the blood-soaked camp. The smell of blood and burning flesh lingered in the air, thick and suffocating.

As they neared the heart of the settlement, the sound of movement echoed through the night. In the distance, shapes emerged from the shadows. Soldiers—armed and ready—gathered in disciplined ranks, their armor glinting in the firelight.

And at their center stood a figure, tall and proud, flanked by his generals. Aszer Hait.

Aszer stepped forward, his cloak of deep crimson trailing behind him like a pool of blood. His armor was polished, his hair pulled back tightly, his expression smug as his gaze fell upon Aric and Yrsa.

His lips curled into a small, arrogant smile.

He looked directly at Aric first, his eyes lingering on the blood-splattered mask that covered the prince\'s face, then slowly shifting to his armor, the dents and scratches telling their own story.

"You must have fought hard to reach me," Aszer remarked, his voice smooth and filled with false admiration. "I see you wear your battles well, General."

Aric said nothing, his eyes cold behind the mask, he remained still, letting the silence between them linger.

Aszer\'s gaze drifted past him to Yrsa, and his smile widened, taking on an almost proud tone. He gestured with a sweep of his hand to the bloodied ground around them, the broken bodies of his enemies scattered like discarded trash.

"And you, Lady Yrsa," he continued, his voice filled with a sick kind of pride. "Do you not like what I have done here? Do you not find it… impressive?" His words hung in the air, thick with arrogance as if expecting her admiration.

Yrsa\'s expression remained stone-cold, her eyes hard as iron, unmoving as she stared back at him. She said nothing, her silence a sharper rebuke than any words she could have spoken.

Aszer\'s smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly recovered, bowing deeply before her, his tone dripping with false courtesy.

"It is a pleasure meeting you again, great princess," he said, the slight fear in his voice barely concealed. Explore stories on M V L

\'Princess??\' Aric thought, turning to Ysir with a raised brow.