Chapter 6: The Girl Who Knew
The Baldurian prince floated toward. His voice cut through the smoke and ruin.
"This ends now. There's no more prophecy. You die here,."
He charged, fists glowing with divine fire, about to strike the final blow.
But then—clang!
A Silver Anvil.
Thunder cracked through the clearing as the cloaked woman swung her glowing anvil with divine fury.
The Baldurian was fast—but she was faster.
Her strikes pushed him back, moment after moment, matching strength that few had ever challenged.
Fen could barely breathe, still half-crushed from the fall. His axe lay glowing beside him, pulsing gently, almost as if urging him to stay conscious.
The Silver Anvil nvil, summoned in a flash of magic, slammed into the prince midair, knocking him back through the flames. The impact was brief—but just enough.
Fen groaned, trying to rise. "Who... are you?"
The woman turned, pulling her hood down at last.
A young woman.
Not old. Not wrinkled.
Not even past her twenties.
Bright silver eyes.
A knowing smile.
And that voice…
"I told you," she said softly, walking toward him, helping him sit up. "This is your lucky day… and your unlucky one."
Fen's eyes widened. "You… You're the fortune teller?"
She chuckled. "Disguises are useful. Especially when Baldur's kin are hunting anyone who smells like prophecy."
"You knew? You knew who I was the whole time!?"
"More than you did," she said, brushing mud from his shoulder. "I've been watching you for a while, Fen. Just lately."
"That's not creepy at all," he muttered.
Her smile turned sad.
"I watched because I had to. You were born under a sky that cracked with fate. Your blood isn't normal. Your soul isn't safe. You are the last blood of Fenrir. That means something."
Fen's fists clenched.
"My mother… she tried to protect me. And now she's—"
He couldn't finish.
"I know," the girl said gently
"You fight. You awaken. You learn who you truly are. And if we're lucky—you bite back
Get ready!
The Baldurian prince Ascended slowly, Up dust swirling around his boots as he never touched the broken ground of Littleroot. His presence bent the air—not magical, not divine—just pure, overwhelming power. A living wall of muscle, purpose, and cruelty.
"You've fought well," he said coldly. "But this ends now."
His boots cracked the ground with every step. His eyes never glowed. His body didn't shimmer. He didn't need to.
He was a Baldurian prince—born stronger than any man could ever train to be.
Fen stood his ground, axe shaking in his grip.
"You got the wrong kid," he growled. "I'm not some prophecy—"
The prince blurred—faster than thought, fist raised to crush him.
And then—BOOM!
Lightning split the sky.
A bolt of pure thunder slammed into the prince's path, cracking the earth and forcing him to skid back. Wind howled around Fen as a figure landed between them, trailing arcs of electricity that danced across her cloak.
Thory stood tall, eyes glowing white-blue, her hammer pulsing with lightning.
"Touch the boy," she growled, "and I'll fry you where you float."
The prince's expression didn't change. "You can't hurt me."
"No," Thory said, spinning her hammer as lightning coiled tighter around her. "But I can slow you."
The sky roared again. Thunder rolled down from the clouds as Thory raised her hammer high and slammed it into the ground.
CRACK!
A surge of storm-force magic erupted, blinding and deafening. The Baldurian prince grunted, staggering for the first time—not injured, but momentarily thrown off balance.
"NOW!" Thory shouted.
She dropped to her knees and carved a rune circle into the scorched earth beneath her. Symbols lit in pale blue as she grabbed Fen's arm.
"What are you—"
BOOM!
The teleportation rune activated, swallowing them in a flash of crackling thunder.
---
Miles away, on a winding dirt road surrounded by wide hills and distant trees, Fen and Thory reappeared with a sharp burst of static. The scent of ozone hung in the air. Thunder still echoed faintly behind them.
Fen dropped to his knees, coughing.
Thory stood tall, though she breathed heavy, sparks fading from her fingers.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I think so," he said. "We… got away."
"For now," she said, pulling a dark hooded cloak from her pack and tossing it to him. "Put this on. We're not going back to Littleroot. Not yet."
She nodded toward a worn road, where a covered horse cart rattled in the distance.
Fen stared at the horizon, his voice raw. "He was too strong. I couldn't even scratch him."
"You're not supposed to yet," Thory said. "But one day you will. And when you do…"
She smiled, lightning flickering in her eyes.
"Even the gods will flinch."
She raised her hand, signaling the cart.
"Come. We've got miles to go and an empire to tear down."