THE SIEGE OF WESTMRE

"There are moments when war turns quiet — not because it ends, but because everyone's holding their breath before the storm breaks."

The fortress shuddered beneath their feet.

As Volundr raised his flaming staff, a shockwave of heat exploded from the stone steps, slamming into the Ironborn like a tidal wave. The air turned thick, heavy, almost unbreathable. The ground cracked, spewing fire from the seams.

"Split!" Wulfric shouted.

Juna rolled behind a crumbled wall as Bram pulled two Ironborn soldiers out of the blast's reach. Arrows caught fire midair, melting before reaching Volundr.

"What kind of magic is this?" Kaela muttered, already repositioning from her perch above.

Her arrows wouldn't land now — not unless she got closer.

Volundr descended the steps slowly, his flaming cloak dragging behind him like a living shadow. Soldiers charged him, only to be reduced to ash in a flash of heat and rune-light.

But this wasn't a battle of strength.

It was now a battle of will.

Wulfric Takes the Lead

Wulfric drew his curved blade and charged. Fire licked at his armor, but he didn't slow. Juna followed behind, daggers out, her face grim and focused.

"Disrupt the runes!" Wulfric shouted. "Aim for the glyphs on his chest!"

"How the hell do you aim at someone wrapped in a firestorm!?" Juna snapped back.

But she leapt forward anyway.

Bram hurled a spear—blessed steel, the kind forged in Frosthollow. It spun like lightning and struck Volundr's shoulder, cracking one rune and causing the fire to sputter.

The sorcerer roared, staggering, blood pouring from the wound.

"That's it!" Wulfric growled. "Keep hitting those marks!"

Meanwhile — Inside the Fortress

Dragan and Eira fought like beasts unleashed.

At the main courtyard, dozens of Volundr's soldiers pushed back, forming shield walls. But they hadn't expected Ironborn rage. Dragan crashed through their front line, his blade a blur of red and steel.

"COME ON, YOU COWARDS!" he bellowed.

Eira was already behind them, carving a path with her twin axes.

"Ten down!" she shouted. "Who's next!?"

"You're counting?" Dragan asked, laughing mid-swing.

"I like to keep score."

The two cut their way toward the inner keep, aiming to flank Volundr from behind. They didn't know about the runes. They didn't need to. They only knew that the man at the top of the fortress had dared challenge the Ironborn — and that was enough.

Kaela dropped from the rooftop, landing hard behind a shattered tower. She pulled her cloak tighter and crept into a better vantage point.

She could see the glowing runes now—bright, pulsing with magic.

One above the heart.

One on each palm.

One across the forehead.

And one... behind the left shoulder.

"Five," she whispered. "Break five."

She reached into her satchel and pulled out a black arrow — her last runed one, infused with moon iron. A rare metal that could pierce protective spells.

She took aim.

Steady breath.

Slow heartbeat.

The wind dropped.

She released.

Contact

The arrow pierced the glyph above Volundr's heart. He screamed as flame burst from his chest in a twisting spiral. The magic faltered—briefly.

That was all the opening Wulfric needed.

He charged in, sword glowing with frost-rune light, and slashed across Volundr's chest, breaking two more runes. The sorcerer stumbled back, bleeding and gasping.

"Who are you!?" Wulfric shouted. "Who is Malrik's heir!?"

Volundr coughed blood and laughed.

"You think it's one of your own men... but you're not even looking at the right fire..."

"What does that mean!?"

But Volundr gave no answer.

Behind him, the inner keep gates burst open — Eira and Dragan arriving in a storm of steel and screams.

Volundr looked up one last time... and smiled.

Then he vanished — in a flash of fire and smoke.

Aftermath

The battle was won. The fortress was theirs. But their target had escaped.

Ironborn bodies lay alongside Flameborne loyalists. The fires were dying, but the questions were only beginning.

Wulfric wiped blood from his sword.

"He knew. He knew something."

"He said we're looking at the wrong fire," Kaela repeated. "Is that supposed to mean anything?"

"Or someone," Bram added.

"Maybe it wasn't Vaelric at all," Juna muttered.

The crew fell silent.

In the Hall of Westmere

Later that night, after the bodies were burned and the wounded treated, the five warriors gathered in what remained of the great hall. A fire burned in the hearth, and old Ironborn mead filled their cups.

They drank not for victory… but to forget the look in Volundr's eyes.

"To the ones who fell," Eira said.

"And the ones who keep rising," Wulfric answered.

Laughter came eventually — slow, tired, but real.

Even Kaela cracked a smile.

But as the flames danced, she looked toward the dark window and whispered,

"Don't stay in the dark too long, Vaelric… because something in it is watching us now."