A BLADE FOR THE PAST

Snowflakes melted on the girl's cheeks as Vaelric gently set her down near a fallen log, wrapping her tighter in his fur-lined cloak.

"Close your eyes," he said softly.

"But… what about you?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. He rose with a breath that steamed into the cold air — slow and heavy, like a forge warming before the fire. Behind him, the Flameborne mage had stopped crawling. The man now stood upright, one arm broken and blood pooling under his boots.He raised a hand, sparks dancing around his fingertips.

"You think you're a hero," the mage spat, "but you're just another killer in furs."

Vaelric said nothing. He removed his cloak — revealing bloodstained armor carved with runes, battle-worn and patched from a hundred fights. His axe, blackened at the edge and glowing faintly red from flame, spun once in his hand.

"I am Ironborn," Vaelric growled. "We don't need magic to kill monsters like you."The mage raised both hands, shouting words in a lost tongue. Fire burst from the earth in a wave — bright, wild, and violent. Trees cracked and the snow hissed to steam.

Vaelric didn't flinch.

He charged through the fire.

The heat scorched his hair and burned through his sleeves, but his eyes were locked on the mage — glowing, furious. His axe cleaved through a flaming shield and slammed into the ground where the mage had stood just seconds before.

The mage vanished, reappearing behind him with a flash of light.Too slow—"

Vaelric spun, catching the man's arm mid-strike. With a bone-crushing twist, he pulled him into a knee, then smashed him into the ice with brutal force. The mage gasped, trying to whisper another spell.

"No more words," Vaelric said.

"You had your war."With a final cry, Vaelric drove his axe down. A spray of light — then silence.

The wind returned. The snow fell.

He stood over the body for a long time.

Then he returned to the girl, knelt again, and picked her up as gently as before.

"You're safe now," he said, eyes still glowing faintly from the fire.The mage's body fell still. No light, no breath — only the sharp scent of burnt robes and blood freezing in the snow.

Vaelric stood over him in silence, the wind tugging at his fur-lined armor, firelight dancing in his haunted eyes.

Then he turned — slowly — to the sounds echoing from beyond the trees: screams, spells, steel.

The village was still burning.

And the Flameborne were not finished.

Without a word, Vaelric strode toward the chaos, each step crunching over frost and ash. The trees parted to reveal his army — Ironborn warriors, locked in brutal combat with cloaked figures whose hands blazed with magic.

Flames danced along rooftops. One of the Flameborne launched a fire spear that tore through a cart and scorched the earth beneath. Villagers screamed, running for cover. Children clung to elders. Smoke and snow blurred the sky.

"FOR THE NORTH!"

The war cry echoed through the woods.Vaelric raised his axe high and roared, his voice cutting through the madness like thunder splitting the sky.

In that instant, five shadows broke through the treeline behind him, sprinting into the battlefield like wolves loosed from a cage.

Dragan Stoneshield – broad as a bear and nearly impossible to move, his warhammer shattered magical shields like glass. His armor was scarred from dragonfire, and his laughter echoed louder than his strikes.

Kaela Frostveil – a dual-blade assassin from the north isles, silent as falling snow. She moved like a whisper, and her curved blades left no survivors. Some said she once loved Vaelric. Others said she was only loyal to vengeance.Wulfric the Red – bloodstained and reckless, wielding a burning greatsword he stole from a Flameborne lord. His loyalty was brutal and absolute. If Vaelric ordered it, Wulfric would burn the sky.

Eira Ravensong – a battle-singer and strategist. Her voice could rally armies or shatter morale. She fought with a glaive, dancing through the fire like a ghost of old wars. She was the mind behind Vaelric's might.

Bram Hollowfang – the scout, the silent killer, the one who never missed. Arrows rained from rooftops where Bram perched like a shadow, eyes colder than death itself.Together, they were the Blades of Vaelric — the five most feared warriors in all the North.

And today, they were hunters of fire.

Vaelric and his Blades tore through the Flameborne like a storm of vengeance. Kaela danced through the burning alleyways, cutting down mages before their spells left their tongues. Dragan smashed through flaming barricades, dragging villagers to safety with one arm and crushing enemies with the other.

Wulfric hurled fire back at the Flameborne with their own cursed blade, laughing wildly as he waded into battle. Bram rained death from above, taking out spellcasters who tried to flee across the rooftops. Eira coordinated the army's movements, calling out signals through the chaos.

Vaelric fought like a living war god, his axe cleaving spells in half, his roars breaking the will of even the most hardened mages. Magic collided with steel — and steel won.

By nightfall, the fire had died.

The village stood scarred, but safe.The Ironborn began to rebuild what was left. Soldiers tore down weakened buildings, carried the wounded, and buried the dead — both Flameborne and villager alike. Children were reunited with their families, elders wept over warm meals, and the air, for the first time in days, held no ash.

Vaelric watched from the hill overlooking the village, the girl still asleep in his arms.

"It's over," Kaela said, walking up beside him.

"For now," he muttered, eyes never leaving the horizon.

"The fire always comes back."

That night, in what remained of the village's longhall, the five warriors sat around a wide wooden table. The room smelled of roasted meat, spiced mead, and scorched timber. The fire crackled, and mugs were passed with bloodied hands.

Dragan raised his mug first.

"To the Ironborn!" he bellowed.

"To survival," Kaela added, sipping slower.

"To the screams of the Flameborne," Wulfric grinned, blood still on his cheek.

"To rebuilding," Eira said."To the girl," Bram muttered from his corner, barely lifting his drink.

They all turned to Vaelric as he stepped in. His cloak was burned. His armor dented. But he still looked like a king.

He sat down with them.

And for the first time that day… he smiled.

"To fire," he said softly.

"May it never burn us again."

Laughter erupted from the table. Dragan slammed his mug down so hard it cracked. Wulfric howled. Kaela rolled her eyes but laughed with them.

For a moment, theywere not warriors. They were brothers and sisters.

The hall glowed with warmth.

But outside, the snow still fell.

And the darkness watched from the woods.