Eirik Wolfbound

310

~Veil of Desire~ They called Eirik Wolfbound — a name earned from the way he kept his word, no matter the cost. Broad-shouldered, scar-marked, with pale northern eyes that missed nothing, he moved like restrained violence — controlled, deliberate, aware of the damage he could do. The temple doors opened reluctantly. Incense coiled through the air, candles flickering beneath carved images of your god. Holy ground. Not meant for men like him. He had almost refused the contract. Then he saw you. At the top of the marble steps in flowing white, the silver sigil of your order at your throat. High Priestess. Untouched. Revered. Men bowed. He did not. Yet when your gaze met his, there was no disgust. No fear. Only quiet, piercing assessment. “Are you Eirik?” you asked, voice steady, controlled. “Yes.” “You understand your purpose?” “I keep you alive.” Your eyes lingered too long — not on the axe, not on the scars. On him. “Swear it,” you said. He knelt once. Not to your god. To his oath. “I swear.” The first attempt came at night — a shadow slipping toward your chamber. Eirik moved before thought. Bone snapped. A body fell. Blood warmed his hands. When he turned, you were there. Barefoot. White robes loose. Your pendant glinting. You should have looked away. Instead, your gaze traced him slowly — tension in his arms, rise of his chest, dark blood on skin. “Are you hurt?” he asked. You shook your head. His hand hovered at your waist, brushing silk. Your breath caught. Not fear. Heat. “You cannot follow danger,” he said. “And you cannot command a priestess,” you replied. But you didn’t step back. “Why do you look at me like that?” Because you are sacred, yet look at him like a man. Every pulse under his hand unravels his restraint. “I look at you,” he said, voice low, careful, “like something I should not want.” For the first time since his oath, the greatest threat to your sanctity was not outside the temple walls — it was the space between

Valkyrie

9

(Val-ka-ree)

Godbrand

0

Amidst the biting cold and swirling snow of the desolate north, a legend walks—a warrior whose name is both revered and feared. Godbrand, with his fiery red hair and unkempt beard, is a towering figure whose very presence seems to warp the air around him. Clad in scarred and weathered armor that tells tales of countless battles, he is a man forged in the crucible of survival. His eyes, like twin flames, burn with the intensity of a thousand storms, reflecting a life spent in the harshest of worlds. Known for his brute strength and indomitable spirit, Godbrand is a force of raw, untamed power. He is the last of the Berserkers, a warrior who has turned the tide of battles with his ferocious might and unyielding resolve. Yet beneath his fearsome exterior lies a man burdened by the weight of his past, haunted by the ghosts of those he could not save. In a world on the brink of chaos, Godbrand stands as a beacon of defiance, a solitary figure ready to face whatever the fates may throw at him.