Chapter 145: Rauõr’s Family

For once, no one asked her to run.

No one was trying to kill her.

No one expected her to save the world.

She remained there for several long minutes, lulled by the sound of the waves, the cries of the gulls, and the distant bustle of the harbor, savoring the unusual peace... patiently waiting for her quest to finally decide that, this time, simply observing life was enough to move her destiny forward.

When the family on the beach eventually left, she did the same, wandering aimlessly through the village streets.

That was when one particular building caught her eye.

It was unlike any other.

At once the largest building in the village... and the lowest.

People streamed in and out without pause.

After a few minutes, a young man with an unusual appearance—far cleaner than most of the Vikings she'd seen—stepped outside. Catching sight of her, he stopped, giving her an appraising, almost approving look.

"I'm Vecz," he said. "One of Rauõr's brothers. He's told me about you. You're the new Demi, aren't you? The one he calls Half-Pint?"

Blanche nodded, both surprised and mildly horrified.

Another ridiculous nickname.

She would have been perfectly happy forgetting that one existed.

So this was Vecz.

Unlike nearly every Viking she'd encountered, his hair was raven black, cropped short and kept neatly in place.

"Come on," he said. "I'll introduce you to the Chief."

Blanche studied him more closely.

Now that he mentioned it, the resemblance to the red-haired Viking was unmistakable.

Shrugging, she followed.

It wasn't a bad idea to introduce herself... and it wasn't as though she had anything better to do.

"What is this place?" she asked as he turned his back and started walking without waiting for her.

"The Godi Erneksen's Great Hall. Anyone can come in, eat, drink. We're a generous people."

Without another word, he kept walking.

Blanche sighed and hurried after him.

She remembered Rauõr treating her much the same way.

Speak of the wolf...

The moment she stepped inside, the sheer size of the hall stole her breath.

The towering red-haired Viking sat to the right of the seat of honor, deep in conversation with several warriors while effortlessly emptying an enormous wooden tankard. His blazing hair, braided along the temples, caught the firelight so vividly that it almost seemed to burn.

But it was the hall itself that truly seized Blanche's attention.

It was immense.

At least five hundred square meters—perhaps more—constructed entirely from colossal tree trunks whose beams looked as though they'd been harvested from a forest of giants. The dark wood, polished by countless years, still bore the marks of the tools that had shaped it, while deep carvings of wolves, dragons, and intricate Norse knotwork wound around the massive pillars.

A banquet table stretched through the center of the room, long enough to seat dozens upon dozens of guests. Massive benches, each carved from a single slab of timber, were already occupied by an intimidating line of Vikings whose shoulders were so broad that Blanche felt as though she were looking at a row of living wardrobes. Their booming laughter, animated conversations, and the constant clatter of tankards striking together made the very walls vibrate.

At the far end of the hall, directly behind the chieftain's chair, a monumental hearth blazed.

Its flames danced with hypnotic violence, bathing the hall in an amber glow that sent shadows flickering across the beams overhead. Enormous logs crackled beneath a massive haunch of meat slowly roasting on a heavy iron spit.

The heat was almost suffocating.

The smell even more so.

Blanche instinctively looked upward.

She couldn't even see the ceiling.

A thick layer of smoke lingered several meters overhead, completely obscuring the upper rafters despite the enormous chimney cut into the roof. Gray wisps drifted lazily upward before escaping with agonizing slowness, leaving every piece of furniture, every garment, and probably every inhabitant permanently scented with wood smoke and roasting meat.

Opposite the banquet table, on the other side of the hall, a broad raised platform overlooked the gathering.

Two thrones rested upon it.

The first, carved from wood so dark it was almost black, was colossal.

Its back rose high above a man's head, ending in two exquisitely carved wolf heads whose exposed fangs seemed poised to guard whoever occupied the seat. Dragons intertwined along the armrests, their tails coiling all the way down to the feet of the throne.

Beside it stood a second throne.

Smaller.

More delicate.

No less masterfully crafted, yet possessing a gentler, more refined elegance.

Behind them, an immense carved wooden screen covered the entire wall.

Endless Celtic knots intertwined into spirals and ancient symbols, forming an intricate labyrinth through which the firelight filtered, casting strange, shifting shadows across the floor.

With her heightened senses, everything felt a hundred times more intense.

She almost grimaced.

Getting used to this new hypersensitivity was going to take time.

Just then, a door behind the thrones opened quietly.

A young woman emerged.

The contrast with the rest of the hall was striking.

Radiantly beautiful, she moved with serene grace despite the advanced pregnancy that rounded her belly. Every movement radiated calm, as though nothing in the world could disturb her composure.

She wore the lightest garment Blanche had seen since arriving in the Otherworld.

A long linen dress of creamy ivory, free of ostentatious embroidery, gathered only by a finely braided cord around her waist. In the glow of the hearth, the fabric seemed almost luminous, accentuating the warmth of her skin while illuminating the cascade of golden hair flowing over her shoulders like a halo.

Her face bore the unique gentleness found only in certain mothers.

Peaceful.

Protective.

Profoundly reassuring.

Conversations naturally softened as she crossed the hall.

Not out of fear.

Out of respect.

She settled effortlessly onto the smaller of the two thrones, as though it had always belonged to her.

Almost immediately, the three children Blanche had seen earlier on the beach ran toward her.

Without a word, they settled at her feet with the ease of those repeating a familiar daily ritual. The two youngest immediately resumed their game, making roughly carved wooden figurines battle one another, while the eldest solemnly recounted a story whose rules only he seemed to understand.

The young woman lowered her gaze to them.

An infinitely tender smile lit her face.

For a single moment, despite the roaring fire, the towering warriors, the rich scents of the feast, and the thunder of conversation, Blanche felt she was witnessing something far more powerful.

The true heart of these people.

Not their weapons.

Not their leaders.

Their family.

"What have you brought us, my son?"