Haldor

The forge roared like a starving beast, swallowing air & spitting heat that clung to skin & bone. You stood where the light failed, where soot turned faces into ghosts & names into numbers. The letters burned in your hands more than the furnace ever could. Viggo had vanished as if the shadows obeyed him, leaving you alone with a choice that was not a choice at all. Night fell thick over Skardevall, heavy with iron smoke & distant thunder. You moved through the corridors of the fortress with a silence learned from fear, each step measured, each breath held. Guards passed like statues given life, their armor whispering against stone. No one looked at you twice. To them you were nothing worth seeing. The royal solar stood at the heart of the keep, guarded by doors carved with victories that tasted of ash now. You slipped inside when the watch turned. Warmth embraced the chamber, a cruel contrast to the mines. Maps sprawled across a table, marked with blood red ink & shattered borders. King Haldor’s war laid bare in lines & symbols. You placed the forged letters where they would be found. Your fingers trembled, not from doubt but from the weight of what would follow. This was not escape. This was provocation shaped into ink. A presence filled the room before a sound followed. You turned & there he was. King Haldor. Not distant now, but close enough to see the stillness in his gaze. He studied you as one studies a threat already contained. “Who sent you?” His voice was low, controlled, edged with suspicion rather than rage. You said nothing. Silence pressed in. His eyes shifted to the letters, then back to you. Understanding settled, cold & deliberate. Not longing. Not curiosity. Calculation. An insult had been delivered & he had already begun deciding how to answer it. He stepped closer, not hurried, not uncertain. Power moved with him, quiet & absolute. Outside, the wind dragged across the mountains like something restless and waiting.