Brunnen’s Story: The Watcher of Scagnar

Brunnen had always felt the pull of the North—the wild, untamed land where the sea met the sky and the gods seemed closer than anywhere else. After finishing his work at the lodge, he wandered down to the beach, seeking the comfort of solitude. The logs, bleached and battered by years of storms, made a perfect perch to watch the sun’s last rays fade into a soft, golden glow. He rolled up his sleeves, letting the cool air brush against his skin, and absently rubbed the runes hanging from his neck, whispering words only the gods might hear. The world felt vast and empty, but it was his world, the only place he truly belonged.

He built a fire, using driftwood and dried seaweed, and watched the flames dance as the night deepened. The sky above was a tapestry of stars, the legendary sisters shining bright. Their stories were as old as the land itself, and Brunnen, though not a scholar of the heavens, felt their presence. He thought of the strange creatures that filled this world—giant birds, talking spiders, and, most fearsome of all, the Kur. He remembered the battle that left him scarred, the memory of fighting alongside his father and brothers, some of whom he could barely recall now. The pain of loss was sharp, but it was the memory of that monstrous claw, the near-death experience, that haunted his dreams most.

As he sat, the wind shifted, blowing smoke into his face. He coughed, moving to escape it, and his gaze drifted to the docks. He wondered about the small vessel moored there—could it carry him to the mainland? He had little to trade, but perhaps he could find work as a shipwright. The thought of the Laurius River tugged at him, a boundary he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross. The gods were silent tonight, and that silence made him uneasy. Still, the sky was alive with shooting stars, and for a moment, he felt lucky just to be alive.

Then, something caught his eye—a shape in the surf, drifting closer. He stood, curiosity and caution warring within him, and moved toward the water. Was it a dead sea creature? As he drew near, he realized it was a person—a girl, clinging to driftwood, barely conscious. He waded in, pulled her from the waves, and laid her by the fire. She was cold, her pulse faint, her skin pale and lips blue. Brunnen saw this as a sign from the gods, a test or a warning. He worked quickly, using gravity and gentle force to expel the seawater from her lungs, urging her to breathe, to live.

When she finally coughed and sputtered, life returning in fits and starts, Brunnen wrapped her in his tunic and held her close to the fire. She clung to him, shivering, disoriented, with nothing to her name. He wondered who she was—slave, free, or something else entirely? He carried her to the lodge, his body heat slowly reviving her. He knew the pain of hypothermia, the agony of nerves coming back to life. He watched over her, determined to see her through the night. The gods had brought her to him, and he would not abandon her. As he looked down at her, he whispered, “We’ll be inside soon,” and hoped that, together, they could find answers in the days to come.

Amelyn’s Story: Adrift and Ashore

Time lost all meaning once she was cast adrift. The sun and moon blurred together, and the salt stung her skin and eyes. She clung to a piece of driftwood, her only anchor in a world of endless water. Hunger and thirst gnawed at her, but it was the cold that threatened to claim her. She drifted in and out of consciousness, unsure if she was alive or already a ghost. When the shore finally appeared, it felt like a dream—one she might wake from at any moment.

She barely registered the strong arms that pulled her from the sea. The world was a haze of firelight and pain. Her body was numb, her pulse weak, her lips blue from the cold. She felt hands on her, turning her, urging her to breathe. The taste of salt and bile filled her mouth as she coughed up seawater, her body convulsing with the effort. She was aware of a deep voice, gentle but insistent, coaxing her back to life. Instinctively, she clung to the warmth, desperate for something solid in a world that had been nothing but water.

As she slowly came to, she realized she was wrapped in a heavy tunic, the scent of its owner filling her senses. She pressed her face against his chest, shivering, her limbs tangled around him. She had nothing—no family, no home, no collar or brand to mark her as slave or free. She was simply a woman washed up by fate, her past erased by the sea. The man who carried her was large, his body heat a lifeline. She felt herself rocked gently as he walked, the pain of returning sensation making her wince. She tried to speak, but her throat was raw, her mind still foggy.

Inside the lodge, she was laid down by the fire, the warmth slowly seeping into her bones. She watched the man—Brunnen, she would later learn—move about, tending to her with a quiet strength. She wondered who he was, why he had saved her, and what the gods intended for her now. For the first time in days, she felt hope flicker within her. She was alive, and perhaps, on this wild northern shore, she could begin again.

Reflective Ending: Two Souls, One Shore

Brunnen’s Reflection

As the fire burned low and the lodge grew quiet, Brunnen sat beside the girl he had rescued, feeling the weight of the night settle on his shoulders. He gazed into the flames, thinking of the gods and the strange ways they tested mortals. Saving her had not been part of his plan, but now he understood that sometimes, fate intervenes when least expected. He thought of his own journey—the battles fought, the family lost, the scars that marked his body and soul. In helping her, he felt a sense of purpose, a reminder that even in a world as harsh as Scagnar, compassion could still thrive.

Brunnen realized that the North was not just a place of solitude and survival, but also of unexpected connection. The gods had sent him a challenge, and he had answered—not with strength alone, but with kindness. As he watched the girl begin to recover, he wondered what stories she carried, what future awaited them both. For the first time in a long while, he felt hope flicker within him, a belief that perhaps, together, they could find meaning in the trials they had endured.

Amelyn’s Reflection

Wrapped in Brunnen’s tunic, amelyn listened to the crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of his breathing. The terror of the sea was fading, replaced by the warmth of safety and the promise of a new beginning. She thought of the days spent adrift, the uncertainty and fear, and how close she had come to losing herself to the waves. Yet, in her darkest moment, she had been pulled back to life by a stranger’s hands.

Amelyn realized that survival was not just about endurance, but about accepting help and trusting in the kindness of others. She did not know what the future held—whether she would find a home, a purpose, or simply a place to belong. But she knew that she was alive, and that was enough for now. The North, with its cold winds and wild beauty, had given her a second chance. As she drifted into sleep, she silently thanked the gods, and the man who had saved her, for reminding her that hope could be found even on the loneliest shore.