The forest had grown still, the kind of silence that carried weight. Even the wind seemed hesitant to stir the frost-laden branches. Snow lay in uneven sheets across the underbrush, broken only by the two prone figures who pressed themselves into the drift. Brynhild shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot against a mound of frozen earth, but her gaze never left the monstrous silhouette ahead.
The Citadel dominated the horizon like a wound in the land.
Once, it had been the Winter Castle of Skjoldur's royal family—a fortress of pale stone that gleamed like a crown against the snowbound north. Its towers had risen proudly, round and regal, their battlements catching the light of fire festivals. Broad courtyards had once bustled with merchants, guards, children chasing each other beneath the banners of the house of Stormrann. The heart of a nation.
Now, it was a carcass dressed in steel.
Black alloy plating had been fused over ancient masonry, choking the graceful towers in choking girders. Turrets that once bore pennants now bristled with rail cannons and resonance pylons, their glow pulsing in a sick rhythm like veins of a diseased heart. Spotlights cut white knives through the falling snow. Patrol drones whirred across the air in endless orbits, their silver eyes glimmering like carrion birds.
The castle was no longer a seat of kings. It was a **hive**, a Draugr stronghold that reeked of occupation and corruption.
Brynhild whistled low, though she kept her voice just beneath the wind. "Would you look at that? It's like someone took a fairytale castle and force-fed it to a forge. Ugly as sin."
Elin, crouched beside her, did not answer immediately. Her eyes, pale as frozen rivers, tracked the Citadel with a sharpness that felt surgical. She said nothing of its beauty, nor of its fall. She simply breathed, the faint plume of vapor curling out into the dark.
The tone between them was clear: awe, dread, and the weight of centuries, all twisted into one.
Elin finally broke her silence, her voice clipped and cold. "I had Runa run a probe. Into their network."
Brynhild's head tilted. "Oh? When did our favorite tin-sister have time for that little joyride?"
"Three nights ago," Elin said. "She breached for fifteen seconds before the system purged her. Fifteen seconds was enough."
"The perimeter is laced with resonance scanners—woven into the walls. Anything that breathes differently than a Draugr gets flagged. Patrol units rotate every nine minutes on a precise cycle. Drones above keep constant coverage, overlapping arcs. Inside… thermal nodes. Anything that radiates body heat in the wrong corridor will summon defense constructs automatically."
Brynhild let out a long whistle, eyebrows raised. "So, basically, it's a wedding invitation for me. All eyes on the bride, every step a trap. I like it."
Elin gave her a sidelong look, unimpressed. "This isn't a joke."
"It never is," Brynhild said, smirk widening. "That's why I keep making them."
"Fine," Brynhild went on, brushing snow from her gauntlet. "So how do we get in then? Or are we just going to sit here freezing our asses off, admiring the decor?"
Elin exhaled slowly, her breath hanging like a cloud. "I've been studying the ruins for days."
She pointed toward the shadow of a river that ran like a dark scar near the base of the fortress. Beneath its frozen surface, stone arches could just be glimpsed—ancient, half-submerged.
"The aqueduct," she said. "It once fed the castle gardens and kitchens. The Draugr sealed most of the entrances, but one grate remains cracked beneath the river ice. Small, forgotten. But it leads to the storage halls."
Brynhild squinted. "So, crawling through a frozen gutter. Charming. Guess it wouldn't be a real date without sewage."
"It won't be sewage," Elin corrected, the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth betraying a suppressed smile. "Just ice and rubble. But it's narrow. And cold. Once we're inside, the real danger begins."
"Stealth mission, then," Brynhild mused, rolling the word in her mouth like she was testing it for flavor. "Avoid fighting, slink around, pinch what we need, slip back out. Sounds boring."
"Boring is survival," Elin said flatly.
Brynhild grinned wider. "You and me must have different dictionaries."
Brynhild tilted her head, studying Elin with the gleam of someone who was both amused and curious. "Alright then, soldier. We get inside, crawl through your little rat tunnel. What exactly are we here for? What are we even stealing?"
Elin's eyes didn't waver. "Information. From the **Power Complex**."
"Sounds important."
"It is," Elin said. "The Power Complex isn't Tyrakos itself—the supercomputer is hidden, location unknown, veiled even from its own subroutines. But the Complex is a conduit. A junction. Think of it as an artery. Tyrakos's thoughts flow through there, at least partially. If we tap into it, we can siphon fragments of data."
Brynhild let out a low laugh. "So we're sneaking into the brain of the biggest bastard alive. Love it."
Elin didn't flinch at the bravado. Her hands were steady, her expression a mask carved in stone. "If we succeed, the rebels may finally understand the Draugr's next move. If we fail—"
"Then it'll be one hell of a story," Brynhild cut in. "Dead or alive, I want people whispering it in taverns. 'Did you hear about the two lunatics who tried to rob Tyrakos's brain?'"
For a time, silence returned between them. Only the faint hum of the pylons reached their ears, the low thrum of power running through the corrupted Citadel.
Elin's voice, when it came, was quieter. Almost hesitant. "Tyrakos is smarter than we can ever be. It evolves faster. Learns faster. It outpaces us before we can even take our first step. Every attempt to trap it, to outthink it, ends in failure. And still we fight."
Her breath fogged the air, and she stared at the fortress as if it might look back. "Because if we don't… no one will."
Brynhild studied her for a long moment, then snorted. "Good. Then let's rob a god."