Chapter XX
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The town of Quitfrot had no walls.
It had never needed them. Nestled at the boundary between the Lake of Amsvartnir and the outer kingdoms, it was too small to threaten anyone and too useful to bother — trading post, waystation, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone and strangers were noticed within the hour.
Tonight the strangers were not human.
They came from the lake side — from the dark water and the treeline beyond it, where the boundary between the known world and whatever lived below the Lake of Amsvartnir grew thin and unstable. First the hounds: black-furred, too large, moving with the boneless fluidity of things wearing animal shapes without fully understanding them. Then the people — or what had been people — walking wrong, eyes solid white, mouths working without sound, moving among the running and screaming with terrible, patient purpose.
Quitfrot burned in three places.
The Golden Cloaks sent by the Allthing had been stationed here for two days — a small unit, four of them, part of the ongoing watch on the lake border. They were not regular soldiers. Regular soldiers didn't take postings at Quitfrot.
Two of them held the main street.
The first was a broad woman named Sera, short-haired and unhurried, fighting with a sword in a style that prioritized control over spectacle. She didn't kill dramatically — she killed efficiently, moving through possessed townspeople with the grim focus of someone doing necessary work. Beside her, a tall young man with a shaved head worked a long spear in clean arcs, keeping the hounds from the buildings where the remaining townspeople had barricaded themselves.
"Where's Caesar?" he asked between thrusts.
"Slacking again, probably," Sera said without looking at him.
Caesar lounged on a tree branch overlooking the street, one leg dangling, watching the fight below with bored interest.
"Get down here!" a girl shouted from the ground — young, barely out of her teens, clearly someone's apprentice, currently furious about it.
"Shut up!" Caesar called back. "Can't you see I'm resting?"
He sighed dramatically, then dropped from the branch like he had all the time in the world.
A pack of hounds surged toward his landing spot.
Caesar reached into his mouth with two fingers — slow, deliberate — and pulled out a long, thin black rod that glistened wetly. He mumbled something under his breath.
The rod ignited.
A massive explosion ripped outward — white-hot, deafening, swallowing the hounds in a sphere of fire. Charred limbs and ash rained across the cobblestones.
The girl stared. "Impressive…"
Caesar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, yeah. Go help the others."
Elsewhere in the town, Julius guided a family down a narrow alley, one hand on the nearest child's shoulder, moving fast and low.
He turned a corner.
A reaper filled the space ahead — low, fast, already lunging.
His blind companion stepped in front without a word, sword already drawn. One clean slash. The reaper came apart in two neat pieces and hit the ground without a sound.
Julius stared at the Cloaks fighting in the street beyond — the coordination, the precision, the absolute absence of hesitation.
Then he ran back toward the battle.
Days passed. The reapers were driven back — what remained of them scattering into the dark beyond the lake's edge. The town exhaled.
Inside Quitfrot — The Tavern
Laughter and the sharp tang of ale spilled out into the cool night air.
Inside, Caesar and his companions sat with Julius and the blind man at a long, scarred wooden table. Tankards clinked. Voices rose over each other.
"You're one crazy kid," Caesar slurred, grinning wide. "Running straight toward reapers like that. You've got nerve, Julius."
The bald man across from him raised his drink in salute. "Hear, hear." He downed it in one long pull.
Julius looked at them both, eyebrows raised. "You call yourselves elite knights."
"Come on." Caesar pushed a foaming mug toward him. "One sip."
Sera held out a bottle, smirking. "Drink with us, kid."
Julius opened his mouth to say something. The blind man quietly reached out and covered the mug with his hand.
"Save it for when he's older," he said calmly.
Caesar blinked. "Huh?"
Julius grabbed the mug, tilted it back, and drained the entire thing in several determined gulps. He set it down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The table went silent for a heartbeat.
Then the tavern erupted.
"You're a funny one!" Caesar roared, slapping Julius on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. "How's it feel?"
Julius shrugged. "Nothing."
Caesar stared at him. "Huh?"
Later That Evening — The Rooftop
The blind man stood alone on the rooftop corridor, looking out over the darkened town. A cool wind stirred his cloak. Stars hung sharp above the distant walls.
Footsteps approached from behind.
"Looks bad out there." Caesar's voice, still thick but steadier now. He stopped beside the blind man and leaned against the stone railing. "Sorry — forgot you can't see." He scratched the back of his head.
"I hear that a lot," the blind man said. A faint smile took the edge off it.
"What are you doing up here? Tired of the noise?"
"My head can't take any more of that poison tonight."
"Mine either," Caesar admitted. A pause. "So — you and your son. How long have you two been traveling?"
"Our village was attacked by bandits. We had to flee."
"Must've been rough." Caesar looked out at the dark. "I didn't have parents growing up. War took them. Learned to survive on my own." He was quiet for a moment. "Now that I'm older, I understand. War is just an excuse for bloodshed."
"Couldn't agree more," the blind man said quietly.
A pause.
"By the way," Caesar said, his tone shifting — still casual, but with something sharper underneath it. "Where are you from?"
"North of here."
"North of here is the Pale Reach."
The blind man's hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
Caesar kept his eyes on the night sky. "Been meaning to ask about that sword. Only Golden Cloaks carry blades like that. Either you killed a knight and took it — or you're the false knight traveling with Valthor."
The blind man said nothing.
"I heard the stories," Caesar continued, unhurried. "About your incompetence. Letting a boy playing god tempt you into following him." A pause. "What do you expect in return? He'll use you for his own ends and move on. That's what people like him do."
In one smooth motion, the blind man drew his sword and leveled it at Caesar's back.
Caesar didn't flinch.
He tilted his head back, looking up at the stars.
"You know what I find funny?" he said. "The Allthing has every ancient text ever written locked in their vaults. Every prophecy. Every warning. And the one that scared them enough to keep a boy in a cage for seven years—" He held up a finger. "—is maybe thirty words long."
He let the silence sit for a moment.
"*When the black flame stirs in mortal realm, the Silent One walks again. He alone can drive Surtr back into the dark before the burning.*"
He lowered his hand.
"That's it. Thirty words. And the boy you've been dragging across Valdheim is every single one of them."
A beat.
"Didn't believe it until I saw his power myself. Couldn't recognize him at first — you did good work hiding it. Shaved his head, made him thinner." He paused. "Smart."
"Shut up, brat," the blind man said. "Don't make me kill you."
"I expect nothing less from an oath-breaker." Caesar's voice was almost light. "What was your name again? Gnorm?"
Then Caesar reached into his own mouth.
Gnorm watched, sword still raised, as Caesar drew out a massive, gleaming weapon — impossible in its size, hidden by some method Gnorm couldn't name. He stared in genuine silence.
Outside the Tavern
Julius stepped out into the night air with Caesar's companions.
They all stopped.
A distant explosion lit up the horizon — sharp, brilliant, gone in seconds.
"That's the signal," Sera said quietly.
They moved toward Julius.
A tremendous force hit them before they reached him — invisible, enormous — and hurled all three backward through the tavern wall in a shower of splintered wood and broken tables.
On the rooftop, the wind moved between two figures standing still in the dark.
Gnorm. Sword drawn.
Caesar. Weapon out, stance easy, expression unreadable.
Stars overhead. Neither of them speaking.
✦
— To Be Continued —