This was supposed to be home—land I’d crossed my whole life.

  Yet tonight, everything felt unfamiliar.

  The sun hadn’t even set, but the thick spruce canopy turned the forest into near-midnight darkness. Good for hiding, sure, but its silence pressed down like wet soil. We’d been circling this damned place for far too long.

  How in the abyss did I get lost on my own territory?

  I yanked the reins and brought the horse to a halt. Enough wandering.

  Behind me, in the wagon, Erin was already asleep.

  Perfect. At this rate, we’d be spending the night in this cursed forest.

  I uncorked my waterskin for a drink—then froze.

  Someone was walking toward us.

  A lone figure drifted between the trees, head hanging, feet dragging as if he hadn’t even noticed us sitting here on the road.

  A lost drunk?

  Or a Roman scout?

  I reached behind me and tapped Ailin’s leg, waking her quietly.

  The man wandered within a few steps of the wagon before our horse snorted and jerked in alarm. The stranger snapped his head up, eyes wide. He muttered something in a tongue I barely recognized.

  Roman, maybe.

  His voice sounded older—middle-aged. Probably asking who we were.

  “We’re merchants from Alf,” I answered in Viking speech with a touch of Alf accent to muddy the truth. My other hand pulled a dagger from my belt, slow and silent.

  He paused.

  “No. I’m no Roman. What about you?”

  Damn it. He spoke Viking.

  “I told you—we’re Alf merchants.”

  “You’re lying,” he said, amused.

  Mocking me, huh? Fine.

  I lit the wagon lamp and raised my dagger.

  “Then you die by a Viking berserker tonight!”

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  He didn’t flinch. Instead he gave a small laugh.

  “Relax. I’m not here to harm you. Seeing you actually makes me feel better. Thought I’d talk for a moment.”

  “What are you blabbering about—”

  I leapt down from the wagon, ready to open his throat.

  I marched toward him, but he didn’t move.

  Under the lamplight his face came clear—not Viking, not drunk, not even aged.

  He was my age, wearing the calm of someone who had never feared anything.

  I was ready to spit threats before killing him.

  Then I saw the blood.

  Dark stains dried thick along his sleeves and coat—not his blood.

  He had killed something—or someone—and worse,

  shadows shifted around us.

  He had allies.

  We were surrounded.

  Before I acted, Ailin pushed aside the wagon canvas and spoke softly:

  “Kind sir, we truly mean no harm. We only want to return home with our spoils and share them with our poor friends and family. Perhaps you could guide us out of this forest? We can offer you three—no, five gifts from our wagon!”

  She even held up her hand like a child.

  The man nodded.

  “I lack nothing,” he said gently. “But if you want to leave this darkness, you must face your own breaking point.”

  We stared, confused.

  “What?”

  He pointed casually down the road.

  “Go that way. You’ll find the exit soon enough. Don’t worry about Romans; none will follow.”

  “Why?” I snapped. “Why should I trust you?”

  “No reason,” he said with a shrug.

  I hated him.

  Ailin, however, smiled. “Would you like a ride?”

  “No. I have my own path.”

  Fine. Separate roads, no quarrel.

  I sheathed my dagger and made a subtle gesture toward the shadows around him—telling his unseen crew we were done here.

  Whether they understood didn’t matter.

  If an arrow buried itself in my skull next, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  I climbed back into the wagon, hands shaking, trying to look calm as I flicked the reins and rolled forward.

  After a while, nothing followed—no footsteps, no whispers.

  I glanced back.

  He still stood there smiling.

  That smile should have been terrifying in the dark.

  But somehow, it felt warm… satisfied.

  Only once we were distant did he turn and melt into the trees.

  Ailin hummed beside me.

  She trusted him.

  I didn’t.

  I blew out most of our lamps, leaving only one dim flame.

  We rode in silence until—

  “J?rn! Look there!”

  Ailin pointed ahead.

  A brighter patch of forest.

  “An exit!” she gasped.

  “Maybe. Could be an ambush,” I muttered, though excitement boiled in my chest.

  I urged the horses faster—then slowed again.

  Fallen branches blocked the path.

  The place was brighter simply because fewer trees stood overhead.

  We climbed down to clear the way.

  The trunks were shattered—some crushed, some hacked clean, soil torn apart.

  Not a storm.

  A battle.

  While dragging branches aside, I scanned the ground for valuables.

  Maybe fortune would smile on us after all.

  But then I saw something better.

  Down a slope ahead lay a merchant road—

  the way out.

  That bastard had told the truth.

  We could finally go home.

  “Ailin! On the wagon—we’re leaving!”

  Silence.

  I turned.

  She stood rigid before a tree, face pale.

  I hurried toward her and stepped in something wet.

  Blood.

  I followed her gaze upward.

  A little girl was nailed to the tree by a long blade.