Hrafnholm was nothing like the sagas promised.
Once, it had been the forge-heart of Skjoldur, where hammer-strikes rolled like thunder and raven banners snapped proudly above endless forges. Now, Brynhild and Runa walked through streets that looked more like tombs than avenues — carrying with them the grim truth the rebels could no longer deny: the machines were learning magic.
The black cliffs on the city's northern rim rose like jagged teeth, their shadows stretching long over the ruins. Ravens covered every rooftop in restless flocks, their caws echoing through the air like a dirge. To Brynhild, it sounded as if the birds themselves knew the city was already half-dead.
The markets were hollow. A few vendors still pushed bruised apples or dried fish, but most stalls stood abandoned, their wares long stripped. Taverns had become shelters, Some still spoke of waiting out the war, but most whispered only of Draugr — iron corpses that now wielded sorcery.
Soldiers patrolled in pairs on every street, eyes darting not just to alleyways but to the skies, as if expecting magic to fall like rain. The fear was raw, heavy. No Draugr showed themselves, yet everyone acted as though they could be watching from behind every shadow, every bird, every stone.
And under it all lingered the thought Brynhild could not shake:
If the machines have already mastered runes and spells… What chance do we have unless we learn them too?
Brynhild tilted her head, scanning the rooftops. Her grin was sharp, but her voice was flat with disappointment.
"Dead city. Smells worse than Runa after a long march."
Beside her, Runa adjusted the hood of her disguise, tugging it lower over her face. Dressed as a girl, she blended in well enough — slender, soft-featured, her eyes hidden in shadow. But her mouth was tight, and her tone sharper than usual.
"You didn't come here to smell the air."
Brynhild flashed her teeth. "Of course not. I came to clear my head. A little change of scenery."
Her gaze lingered on a passing group of Skjolduric women, pale-eyed and long-haired, wrapped in rough furs against the cold. Her smirk widened.
"And the view's not bad, eh?"
Runa's jaw tightened. She knew exactly where Brynhild's mind was drifting. And she also knew "clearing her head" meant trouble.
She kept close, thinking grimly: Someone has to keep her from burning this city down in her own way.
They hadn't walked two streets before Brynhild started.
"So shy, little one." She leaned in, voice low enough for Runa alone. "You'd be cuter if you smiled for me."
Runa's head snapped toward her. "Stop that. We're in public."
Brynhild only leaned closer, breath tickling Runa's ear. "What's the matter? Afraid someone will think you're actually mine?"
Runa flushed scarlet beneath her hood, fists balling. "You'll blow my cover, idiot!"
Brynhild chuckled, unbothered. "Don't worry. Nobody's looking at me." Her eyes glinted, wicked. "They're too busy looking at you."
Runa nearly tripped. She hissed through her teeth: "I swear, one day—"
"—You'll kill me?" Brynhild finished, laughing. "Promise?"
The banter drew a few curious looks from bystanders, but Brynhild carried herself with such careless swagger that most dismissed it. Runa, on the other hand, walked like a pot about to boil over.
By dusk, hunger gnawed at them both. Brynhild dragged Runa toward a side street where a crooked sign hung from rusted chains: a raven painted in peeling black above a cracked door.
Inside, the eatery was dim and shabby. Cracked plaster bled down the walls, and smoke clung in the rafters. A weak fire smoldered in the hearth, giving off more smoke than heat. The stew smell was strong — meaty, but old.
The tables were warped, the benches creaked, and the handful of customers ate in silence.
The owner, a heavyset man with a gruff beard, grunted when they entered. But it wasn't him that drew Brynhild's gaze.
It was the daughter who carried the bowls. She was young, strikingly beautiful despite the weariness in her eyes — a face made for laughter, but hardened by long days and restless nights. Her pale hair caught the firelight as she leaned to set stew before them.
Brynhild's eyes never left her.
Runa noticed. Of course she noticed. She kicked Brynhild under the table.
"Don't. Even. Think about it."
Brynhild only grinned, ladling stew. "Think about what?"
Runa muttered, "You're insufferable."
Yet beneath her irritation, she also felt something else: the faintest buzz. A low hum that vibrated against her senses — not sound, but signal. She stiffened, scanning the dim corners, the rafters, the street outside through the crooked window.
Draugr signals. Faint… but close.
She said nothing yet.
Halfway through the meal, Brynhild pushed back her chair.
"Back in a moment. Don't miss me too much."
Runa narrowed her eyes. "Stay out of trouble."
Brynhild winked, striding toward the back.
The toilet was a crooked little room, half-rotted wood and cracked stone. Inside, the owner's daughter was already there, washing her hands at a chipped basin.
Brynhild slid in behind her, shameless as ever. Her voice was low, husky with amusement.
"Didn't expect to find a beauty like you in a place like this."
The girl startled, eyes widening. "What are you—"
Before the girl understood what was going on Brynhild had grasped her breast, the girl screammed.
The door slammed open. The owner himself stood in the frame, eyes blazing.
"You filthy witch!"
The girl gasped, stumbling back.
Brynhild only smirked, hands raised as if in mock surrender. "What? Just getting to know the locals."
The man roared, grabbed her by the arm, and all but threw her out of the back door into the filthy alley.
Brynhild hit the ground laughing. She dusted herself off, unfazed, and leaned against the wall like she owned it.
Runa stormed out moments later, furious.
"Can't you keep your hands to yourself for one damn meal?!"
Brynhild shrugged, grin wide. "Worth it."
"Worth it?! You nearly got us killed!"
Around them, a few bystanders had gathered, whispering and pointing. The sound of ravens overhead seemed louder now, harsher, like mocking laughter.
Runa's fists clenched, but before she could continue, something made her freeze.
The buzzing returned — stronger now, pulsing against her bones. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes narrowing.
It was everywhere.
The air itself thrummed with it, like invisible wires humming through the streets. The signals spiked in every direction — rooftops, alleys, even beneath the stones of the street.
Brynhild noticed the shift in her face.
"What is it?"
Runa's voice was low, grim, and shaken.
"I sense them everywhere…"
She scanned the street again. people shuffled past, vendors shouted weakly at corners, a beggar girl tugged on a soldier's cloak. All ordinary. All human.
"…but where are they?"