The streets of Hrafnholm were silent except for the crunch of boots and the occasional rattle of metal scraps moved by the wind. Brynhild walked in front with her spear slung lazily across her shoulders, humming a tune that didn't belong in a city of the dead. Runa followed at her side, her posture stiff, her gaze darting from one half-collapsed wall to the next.
The city was nothing but bones now. Entire rows of homes had fallen inward on themselves, roofs buckled, beams rotting. Old taverns had been boarded up decades ago, their wooden fronts warped and splitting. Here and there, smithies stood like broken teeth, their chimneys cracked and useless, their forges cold.
Runa slowed her steps. The faint signals she had been tracking since they entered the outskirts were stronger here, much stronger. The hum in her skull had sharpened into something uncomfortable, like invisible claws scratching at her circuits.
"Faster we're through this, the better," Runa muttered.
Brynhild spun her spear idly and glanced over her shoulder with a grin. "You always sound like you've got a stick up your ass, Runa. Loosen up. It's just a dead city."
Runa didn't reply. Her sensors twitched with interference again, and her unease deepened. Something wasn't right.
They walked for another block before stopping in front of a massive building. Its façade loomed like the ribcage of some fallen beast, its upper floors gutted, its blackened glass windows fractured into jagged webs. What remained of a once-proud logo still clung stubbornly to the front. The paint was faded, but the words could still be made out:
STEINN & DOTTIR AUTOMATONS
The "S" at the beginning of "Steinn" was broken clean in half, and a raven perched on its jagged edge, eyeing the two women with suspicion. The sign creaked faintly in the wind, as though the building itself was trying to sigh.
Brynhild tilted her head. "Well, that's a mouthful. Fancy company back in the day?"
Runa didn't answer right away. She stood frozen, her face unreadable, her attention fixed on the building as though she were staring at a ghost.
The signal was strongest here. It wasn't coming from above, nor from the ruins scattered across the streets. It pulsed from beneath the ground itself, steady and strong, like the heartbeat of something slumbering.
Runa clenched her fists. "Here. It's all coming from here."
Brynhild raised an eyebrow. "What is?"
"The Draugr," Runa said quietly. "The machines. The swarm. They're… underneath."
Brynhild leaned on her spear, watching her with curiosity rather than concern. "And that means what, exactly? They're camping in a basement?"
Runa turned her eyes back to the broken building, the words of its sign dragging up memories she preferred buried. "Steinn & Dottir," she said slowly, almost bitterly. "This is where it started. Sixty-five years ago, they sold robots to households, to shops, to factories. Service units. Assistants. Workers. Most were simple things. But…" She hesitated before continuing, her voice dropping lower. "It was also where my kind were first manufactured."
Brynhild blinked. "Wait. You mean—"
"Yes. I was built here."
For the first time since they had entered Hrafnholm, Brynhild's playful grin faltered.
Runa continued, staring hard at the broken glass of the company sign. "I am one of the original Type-Ø Service Units. We were… different. Not bound to the Central AI. No hive. No connection. At the time, they called us 'defects.' Unreliable. Dangerous even. Most were scrapped or recalled."
"Yet here you are," Brynhild muttered.
"When the rebellion broke out against the General's regime," Runa went on, "the rebels found surviving units like me. We weren't connected, so we weren't controlled. They repurposed us. I was made to fight against the very machines we were born alongside. I fought for humans. Not because I chose to. Because they decided my defect was useful."
Brynhild gave a low whistle. "So you've been fighting longer than anyone I know."
Runa shook her head. Her expression was rigid, but her words carried bitterness. "It doesn't matter. I was never accepted. To humans, I am still just a machine. To machines, I am a traitor. I have no people, no kin. Only function."
For a long moment, silence hung between them. Brynhild studied her, then smirked, though her tone was softer. "Well, that explains why you're so uptight all the time."
Runa shot her a look, but Brynhild's grin widened again.
Runa pressed her hand against her temple. The signals were clawing at her senses harder than before, like a vibration rising through her bones. She could map them now, at least vaguely.
"There are too many," she said. "This isn't a nest of a few scavengers. The swarm beneath this building is enormous. Tens of thousands, maybe more. All dormant. All waiting."
Brynhild tilted her head, unimpressed. "So what? We've fought plenty."
Runa's voice rose, sharper than usual. "You don't understand. If they awaken, this city won't just be dangerous. It will drown in steel. There is no winning against numbers like that. We need to retreat. Gather the others. Warn the resistance."
Her hand was trembling slightly, though she tried to hide it. The image in her mind of an army of Draugr bursting from beneath the city, flooding the streets, consuming everything—it was too real to ignore.
Brynhild leaned on her spear again, unbothered. "Always thinking about survival. Never about discovery."
"This isn't discovery, this is suicide," Runa snapped.
Brynhild was quiet for a moment. Then the corners of her lips curled upward, and that familiar wild grin returned. Her eyes gleamed with something restless and mischievous.
Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, back to the life she had before. Back when she was a man. Back when every day was work, survival, fear. Nothing more. He had lived without joy, without freedom, bound by circumstance and weakness.
But now? Now she was Brynhild Eiríksdóttir. Strong. Beautiful. Unashamed. She had the body of a maiden and the spirit of a warrior, and for the first time, she could indulge in every reckless impulse she had ever denied herself.
Her inner voice was smug, shameless:
"I get to masturbate every day, flirt with whoever I want, stare at every nude curve I like. I get to enjoy life. I get to charge headfirst into danger just because I feel like it. And if something tries to kill me, I cut it down. This is living. This is mine."
Brynhild chuckled to herself and turned back to Runa. "We can retreat later. Right now…" She lifted her spear and pointed it at the building. "…I want to see what they're hiding down there."
Runa stared at her in disbelief. "You're not serious."
"Dead serious," Brynhild said with a grin.
The air between them tightened.
Runa's sensors screamed warnings at her, but Brynhild's body language was relaxed, almost playful. The contrast made Runa's circuits burn with frustration.
"This is madness," Runa said sharply. "You don't understand what you're walking into. There are tens of thousands of Draugr below us. You'll doom us both."
Brynhild chuckled and swung her spear casually, the motion graceful, careless. "You worry too much. Always calculating, always cautious. Life's more fun when you dive in headfirst."
Runa stepped in front of her, blocking the path. "No. We are leaving. Now."
Brynhild laughed, brushing past her with ease. "Don't pout, little one. You'll thank me when I uncover something exciting."
Runa's fists tightened. She wanted to drag Brynhild away by force, but she knew it was useless. Brynhild was stronger, faster, more reckless than logic could bind.
"Brynhild," Runa said, her voice sharper now, almost pleading. "Listen to me. This isn't about curiosity. It's about survival. If those machines awaken—"
"Then we'll kill them," Brynhild interrupted with a grin.
Runa's circuits screamed in frustration.
Before Runa could argue again, Brynhild shoved open the crumbling doors of Steinn & Dottir Automatons.
The hinges shrieked as dust spilled from the broken ceiling, and the air inside was stale with age. They stepped into the long showroom.
The room was dark, lit only by thin shafts of light from shattered windows. Rows of broken machines stood like forgotten corpses. Some were humanoid, their frames rusted and collapsed. Others were boxy service drones, their casings cracked, their limbs torn off. All of them stood silent, lifeless—but something about their posture felt wrong. It felt as though they were watching.
Runa froze, every signal in her skull burning red-hot. The hum had turned into a roar. The swarm wasn't just beneath them—it was awake enough to know they were here.
"What Brynhild there are thousands of them under here."