To the outside world, the Giant of the North was an unshakeable mountain. To himself, he was a man holding back an avalanche with bare, bleeding hands.
It had been a year since King Olaf fled the valley, his army broken by sickness and shadows.
In the aftermath, the valley didn't just survive; it exploded into a golden age of industry. The wooden palisades were slowly being replaced by the first layers of stone. The Water Mill churned day and night.
The population of the "Green Tunic" clan had swollen to over four hundred souls, including the original veterans, the orphans, and the highly filtered refugees who had begged for sanctuary.
But peace did not bring rest to Bilal. It brought a terrifying, suffocating paranoia.
It happened on a freezing Tuesday morning in the courtyard. Bilal was 36 years old, functioning on three hours of sleep. He was inspecting a fresh batch of iron plowshares.
A young orphan boy, no older than twelve, was carrying a bucket of water from the river to the forge.
The boy tripped on a loose root. The bucket spilled, splashing muddy water across the fresh, cooling iron, and onto Bilal's leather boots.
It was a harmless mistake. But in Bilal's sleep-deprived, stress-fractured mind, he didn't see spilled water. He saw inefficiency. He saw rust. He saw the microscopic bacteria from the mud infecting the forge.
"What are you doing?!" Bilal roared, his voice cracking like thunder across the courtyard. He stepped forward, his 105kg frame casting a terrifying shadow over the boy.
"Do you know how long it takes to heat that iron? Do you know what happens if that mud gets into the drinking supply? We die! Carelessness equals death!"
The boy dropped the bucket, his face draining of color. He fell to his knees, shaking violently, tears welling in his eyes. He thought the Demon of the North was about to eat him.
The entire courtyard went dead silent. The hammers in the forge stopped. The seventy elite soldiers froze. No one dared breathe.
Suddenly, a small, firm hand grabbed Bilal's massive forearm.
It was Astrid. She was thirty-two, radiating the calm, terrifying authority of a true Queen. She didn't yell. She just squeezed his arm, her blue eyes piercing right through his exhaustion.
"In my house," Astrid said, her voice low but carrying perfectly in the quiet courtyard, "we do not break the spirits of children over spilled water. Walk with me, Giant. Now."
Bilal blinked. The adrenaline crashed, leaving behind a hollow, sickening guilt. He looked down at the trembling boy, then at his own massive, clenched fists.
He had become the very monster he was trying to protect them from.
He nodded stiffly, following Astrid into their private stone house.
As soon as the heavy oak door closed, Bilal collapsed into a wooden chair, burying his face in his hands. He let out a long, ragged breath.
"I am losing my mind, Astrid," he whispered, the flawless modern English bleeding into his Norse.
"There are four hundred people out there. If the grain rots, they starve. If the latrines overflow, cholera takes them. If I blink, Olaf comes back. I have to control everything. I have to."
Astrid poured a cup of hot, steeped mint tea and placed it into his shaking hands. She stood behind him, wrapping her arms around his thick neck, resting her chin on the top of his head.
"You are a Giant, my love," she murmured softly. "But you only have two hands. You are trying to carry the sky. If you do not let us help you carry it, your spine will snap, and then where will we be?"
Bilal closed his eyes. She was right. He was micro-managing a civilization because he was terrified of the Dark Ages.
"Tomorrow," Astrid commanded gently, "you will apologize to the boy. And then, you will stop acting like a lone wolf. You built a pack. Use it."
That night, the Shura Council was born. Bilal realized he could not be a dictator of details.
He gathered Runa, Leif, Astrid, and his top three foremen. He divided the city into ministries.
He forced himself to step back and let them lead. It was the hardest thing he ever did—trusting 11th-century minds to run his 21st-century systems—but it saved his sanity, and it saved his soul.