The sun rose somewhere beyond the fog—but here, where the dead lay twisted in the snow, Veros saw a morning that had lost its shape entirely.
A rough sound escaped Veros' throat. Short, sharp.
"Of course…"
A dry laugh followed.
"Of course it turned out like this."
→ An alley. A body tipping forward. Dust rising.
His gaze caught on a twisted arm.
"Crazy… how fast it ends. Just like that. Gone. No questions, no choice."
"You live until someone else decides you won't."
His mouth twitched slightly.
"Lovely."
He looked at a cheek buried in snow.
"No one saw it coming? Really? Just falling. Just lying there."
→ A man dropping to his knees, hands grabbing nothing.
A thin, brittle chuckle.
"Whether you want it… or not."
He lowered his gaze.
"Another place like this…"
→ Village square. Blood on stone. Thin lines of smoke.
"Always the same silence afterward."
"It wasn't different back then."
"Smaller… sure."
"Warmer."
→ Sun against a wall. Warm dust.
→ Screams, flashing once, cut off instantly.
He swallowed hard.
"I thought… it was over. Thought it stayed where it started."
"No one wants this… it happens anyway. Every single time."
His hand twitched.
"I saw it."
→ A door bursting open. Light falling on a massacred room.
"More than enough."
"I know how it ends."
→ Bodies on a snowy village square.
"I know how it begins."
→ A stranger walking over a hill. Slow.
His shoulders sagged slightly.
"And here I stand…"
→ A boy on a pier. Everyone else gone.
"The one who survived."
→ A lone spot at the shore. Footprints leading on.
"As if that meant anything. In the end… I didn't get luckier. Just longer. That's all."
He raised his hand, closed it again.
"The world… is hell."
His voice stayed quiet.
"It breaks everyone."
"Some right away…"
→ A woman falling behind a well.
"Some later."
→ A child, alone, running down an empty street.
He looked back to the dead.
"Cruel."
→ A shadow lifting an axe. A cut.
"People too. But not all."
His fingers tightened.
"The ones who are… finish what they start. They only free themselves."
"I don't want this anymore. Not this world."
→ A summer village. A smile tipping, screams following.
"Not like this."
His hand curled into a fist.
"I want another one."
"A world where no one ends like this."
→ A circle of people, peaceful, smiling.
"No screaming. No dying for something they didn't choose."
A faint nod.
"Just peace. Just… love."
→ Two adults holding a child.
"Nothing that breaks. Nothing that hurts."
"That's the world I want. And if I have to build it…"
→ A hand gripping a sword with a black hilt.
"…then I will."
He lifted his gaze.
Snow opened ahead. Movement. Pale fur. Helmets. Metal in the gray. Something dark on a blade.
"Of course."
→ The same warrior from the day before.
"Then I'll start with him."
A blade touched the back of his neck. Smooth. Ic cold.
"You looking for someone?"
Veros' shoulders tightened slightly. "Depends who's asking."
A calm breath behind him. "You know who's asking. I warned you yesterday. I told you not to stay long."
"I couldn't have known this would happen."
"Yes. You could have. I made it clear enough. And when I say something, it stands."
The blade slid lower, cold against his skin.
"You should have left. Now you're in the middle of things that have nothing to do with you."
A pause.
"And now I have to remove you."
Veros' voice hardened. "Why did you do this?"
"Even if I tell you, nothing changes. It won't save you. You'll die in a moment. Whatever you hear won't help you. But I'll still explain."
"I'm from Finnlago."
A breath behind him.
"This village had a deal with us. A simple one. One they wanted."
The blade shifted slightly.
"They broke it. Not once. Over and over. Eventually you pay for that."
The snow stayed still.
"This… is nothing unusual. It's war. I fight for Finnlago. For the peace we have to take."
Veros stayed silent. So did the man.
Then Veros broke the stillness. "You butchered a village. An entire village. And you talk about peace? No one who does that should speak of peace."
The answer came low and firm. "And you can? Why? How do you think peace is achieved?"
Cold burned Veros' lips. "First I kill you." His eyes rested on the bodies. "Then I avenge this village. Every single one of them."
"And then I'll bring peace."
"Yes," the man said quietly. "That would be peace."
A soft step in the snow. "Tell me… what about my family? My village? My friends?"
A breath.
"They went through the same. Exactly this."
The blade didn't move.
"My village. My family. My friends."
A pause. "They lay in the snow just like these. Tell me why this village should live… when mine didn't."
Veros answered instantly: "Everyone has a right to live. But those who take that right from others… shouldn't."
Harder: "You justify nothing. You kill because someone killed yours. And you think that makes sense?"
A strained noise.
"You speak like that," the man said calmly, "because you've never had your family taken from you."
Veros answered without hesitation. "Yes, I have."
→ A small boat. Two figures at the shore. One empty spot. A child that didn't look back.
The man fell quiet.
Veros' voice deepened. "My village was attacked too."
→ An open doorway. A room emptied.
"I survived. Alone. I don't know if my parents are alive or lying in snow."
→ Two figures fading in fog. Steps growing distant.
"I'll find them again."
His voice stayed steady. "That's why I've been wandering across Fjordhelm for years."
His fingers curled.
"And now…" a breath, "…now I kill you."
Veros tensed.
Then he lowered his head, turned his shoulders and dropped under the blade.
Steel skimmed his hair.
The sword followed, but Veros was already low, deep in his step, hands free.
He pushed off.
His fingers found the black hilt.
A pull – silver lines flashed as the blade left the scabbard.
He leapt back, turned.
The first strike came from the left. Clean.
The man raised his sword and blocked.
Metal clashed, hard and direct. Sparks burst.
Veros struck again instantly.
The second attack came from the other side, lower.
The man caught it with the flat of his blade.
The contact was sharp, the impact brief.
He stood like stone.
Then he lifted his leg, planted his foot against Veros' chest and shoved.
The kick hit.
Veros slid back across the snow until his boots found grip.
The man stood still.
His eyes rested on Veros' sword. The hilt, the silver lines.
"I asked you yesterday," he said. "You didn't answer. Where did you get that sword?"
Veros' chest heaved.
"From my father."
A moment without movement.
The warrior tilted his head slightly.
"You're better than you look," he said. "A good fighter."
Veros clenched his teeth. "My father trained me. Back then."
A short step forward, blade near.
"He fought in the Hundred Year War."
The man raised an eyebrow, barely visible.
"That explains a lot."
Veros lifted his chin slightly, green eyes locked on the man.
"They told me you're dangerous. Your name's Ranar, right? I want to know who I'm killing."
The man straightened. His breath showed briefly against the steel of his helmet.
"Ranar," he said. "Ranar Rjodik."
Then, quieter:
"But that won't be the name you kill. It'll be the name that kills you."
Ranar moved first.
A deep step, then he surged forward. Snow burst beneath his boots as he charged Veros.
The first strike came from above.
Veros raised his blade, caught the blow. Metal shuddered in his hands. The pressure pushed him back. Half a step, then another.
Ranar pressed on immediately.
Second strike, lower.
Veros blocked, arms straining, blade close to his chest.
The shove forced him back again. His boots dug into the snow.
Another blow crashed against his guard. Heavy. Hard.
Veros retreated, but Ranar stayed close, movements short and precise.
The next impact nearly broke Veros' balance.
He drew breath, jumped.
"AAAAGHHHH!"
The kick from above.
Ranar lifted a hand.
His fingers closed around Veros' ankle.
One pull.
Veros was thrown sideways, but he caught himself with one hand in the snow, rolled, came to his knees — and collapsed again.
He stayed down.
Footsteps approached.
Three men stepped from the fog. Heavily armored, gray-white fur coats.
One, tall and broad, yellow-green eyes, dark hair, rough leather armor, said:
"Ranar. Finish it. The boy won't last."
The second, tall, ash-blond hair tied back, a thin cut on his cheek, moved forward.
"Make it quick. We don't have time. Kill him."
Ranar drew closer.
"This is your end," he said quietly. "You're a good boy. A good fighter. But you're not from Finnlago."
He lifted the blade.
"And that's why you die."
Snow cracked under his feet.
Veros lay on the ground.
His voice barely audible:
"That's it… fighting more is pointless. Doesn't matter if I die like a warrior or not. I'm done…"
His voice broke.
"I wanted to keep going. I wanted to find them."
→ A path through ice. Two tracks fading.
"I thought I still had time…"
His fingers twitched in the snow.
"I'm sorry… Father… Mother…"
→ Two faces in half-light. A hand through a child's hair.
"I didn't want… to end like this."
Ranar shifted his stance. Snow snapped beneath him.
Silence.
One last breath.
Then: KRRR—CHNNK.
A brutal impact threw Ranar back.
Veros' eyes snapped open.
A figure stood before him. Black cloak, broad shoulders, heavy armor of iron and leather. Hood low. A massive axe strapped to his back.
Only his back. Dark. Unmoving.
Ranar coughed, pushed himself up. His gaze locked on the stranger's pale blue eyes.
"Those eyes… the legacy of the Skelds…" His voice rasped. "Then it's true… he is the Black Oath."
The men froze.
"Impossible…"
"The Black Oath…"
Ranar raised a hand.
"Before us stands one of the strongest warriors in this world. If he moves…"
"Why is he here?" one asked.
"Because he fights for Fjordhelm," Ranar said. "Since the war ended, he's been roaming the land. Guards roads and villages. Hunts the guilty. Pulls them out no matter where they hide."
The men fell silent.
"If he's here… then because of us."
The Black Oath drew his sword.
Metal slid heavy from its sheath.
Then he charged.
He avoided no one. He ran straight at them.
The first man didn't even raise an arm. One strike – his head flew.
The second fell instantly.
Screams. Scattered steps. Too slow.
The Black Oath carved straight through them.
Soon only Ranar and four men remained.
One stammered, "Ranar… why is he this strong?"
"He is the last of the Skelds," Ranar said. "The Black Oath. The only one."
His breath grew heavy.
"And he killed his own father."
Silence.
The Black Oath moved.
One leap – four bodies fell cleanly severed.
Blood dripped.
Ranar didn't retreat. Veros stood in the snow. The fight crashed on.
"Great," Veros muttered. "Exactly what I need. Shows up, cuts down armies, and I'm standing here with my sword like an idiot."
A strike hurled Ranar back. "What a monster…"
"If he keeps going, I don't even have to fight. Maybe that's my chance… if he kills everyone, I don't have to decide anything."
His fingrrs tightened. "Damn… he's too strong. But he saved me. For now."
Then the Black Oath stopped. Only one step away.
He lifted his greatsword.
"You're not a bad opponent… but you're not the one who will bring me down."
One final strike.
Ranar's body split in two.
Silence.
The Black Oath turned to Veros.
The pale blue eyes met his.
"Are you a warrior from Finnlago?"
"No. I fought against them. And you… saved me."
The Black Oath stayed still.
"I come from Fjordhelm."
Veros nodded.
"Good." The Black Oath turned away.
He walked. Step by step. And vanished into the snow.