The sight within froze even hardened warriors. Corpses lay strewn across benches and floor, their lifeblood soaked into furs and rushes. A Shieldguard's arm dangled from a torn trestle; another body slumped against the hearth. Wine mingled with blood in pools that glistened under the firelight.
And among it stood the Verdelunds, no longer men at all. Their skin shone alabaster, eyes burning crimson, mouths wet with fresh blood. They looked up from their feast like predators disturbed.
Leif stood at their center, straightening with composed ease, a servant's limp body still sliding from his hand. He wiped the corner of his mouth with two fingers, then smiled faintly, as though greeting honored guests.
"Jarl Egil. Lord Bjorn. Lady Astrid." His voice was smooth, aristocratic, but undercut with something sharper now that his mask was gone. "Forgive us. Hospitality here is… plentiful."
Torvald snarled and raised his axe. "You southern filth—"
Bjorn's hand shot out, silencing him, though his own pale eyes had narrowed with fury.
Astrid's grip on her sword was white-knuckled. The sight of Leif's fangs, his calmness amid the carnage, burned into her chest like ice.
Leif's smile widened by a hair, crimson eyes settling on her. "I did say we would see, Lady Astrid."
Before she could answer, one of his men lifted his head from the corpse at his feet, blood running down his chin. He let out a piercing whistle, shrill and sharp.
From beyond the shattered windows came the answering sound: low, guttural howls that rolled across the keep like thunder.
Direwolves surged again, slamming against the outer walls, claws scraping, snarls echoing in the night.
But this time, one moved differently. Larger. Broader. Its body shuddered as it stepped into the torchlight, bones twisting, fur stretching. Muscles bulged, claws thickened, and its howl cracked into a roar.
A werewolf stood among the pack, eyes burning gold, saliva dripping from long fangs.
The Shieldguard in the hall stiffened, their chants dying in their throats.
Bjorn growled, low and deadly. "So. The Accord brings monsters."
Leif spread his hands, his voice a mocking courtesy. "The Accord brings truth. And tonight, north and south are bound in blood."
The vampires fanned out, crimson eyes burning, fangs gleaming wet in the torchlight. Behind them, the howls of direwolves shook the walls, the werewolf's roar rattling the rafters.
The Vinterhalls stood their ground, a wall of steel and frost, weapons drawn, mothers braced, brothers ready.
Leif tilted his head slightly, his voice calm and taunting. "You see now, Lady Astrid, what the South truly offers. Not silk, not courts, not treaties, but strength. Blood is the only Accord that lasts."
For a moment, silence.
Then Astrid stepped forward, sword lifted, her lilac eyes burning cold. The firelight caught her pale hair, her breath steady despite the carnage.
Her voice was sharp and flat, cutting through the hall like steel drawn from its sheath.
"Then let us see if your blood burns as hot as ours."
Leif's smile faltered for the first time.
And with that, the Winter Hall erupted.
The Verdelunds lunged as one, their speed blurring in the firelight. Fangs flashed, claws tore, crimson eyes burning like coals. From the shattered windows, direwolves poured into the hall, snarling, their hulking bodies crashing through overturned benches and splintering shields. Among them, the great werewolf forced its way inside, its massive frame towering, golden eyes blazing.
The Vinterhalls answered with steel and fury.
Bjorn bellowed, his voice carrying above the din, his great sword cleaving through the first vampire that closed on him. His wolf-fur cloak whipped as he swung, his pale eyes cold as glaciers.
Egil fought beside him, precise and commanding, every strike calculated. He split one vampire from shoulder to hip, the firelight gleaming off his blade. His voice barked orders over the clash, keeping the Shieldguard tight around them.
Torvald laughed, a savage sound, as he met a direwolf head-on, his axe sinking deep into its skull. He ripped it free with a spray of blood, roaring as another wolf lunged at him.
Svala met the werewolf's charge, her spear flashing like lightning. The beast's claws scraped sparks from the shaft as she drove it back step by step, her face grim, her movements relentless.
Bryndis had no spear or sword, only a pair of hunting knives pulled from her belt. Yet she fought with a merchant's precision, striking fast at weak points: eyes, throats, tendons. Every cut was efficient, every movement guarded.
Yrsa stood near the hall's center, her staff humming with runes. She spoke no words, but the froststone beneath her cracked as icy wards erupted, forcing back three vampires at once. Their screeches split the air as frost burned into their flesh.
Astrid cut her way into the melee, her lilac eyes locked on Leif. She moved like a storm, her sword flashing in clean, decisive arcs, cutting down a vampire that lunged for her mother's flank. Her breath burned in her chest, but her focus was razor-sharp.
Signe, though unarmed, never left her side. She darted in and out, pulling wounded Shieldguard to safety, her eyes never once leaving her mistress.
The Winter Hall had become a storm: steel, fang, and blood clashing beneath torn banners and broken beams.
The clash of steel and fang tore through the hall, but Astrid heard nothing but the steady pound of her own heartbeat. Her blade dripped red, her stance tight, her eyes fixed on the one figure who moved through the chaos untouched.
Leif.
He moved like a shadow through the melee, each step unhurried, crimson eyes never leaving her. A Shieldguard lunged, spear angled low; Leif barely turned his wrist. The man's throat opened in a spray of blood, his body collapsing without slowing the prince's stride.
Astrid gritted her teeth, every muscle burning with fury. She stepped forward, lifting her sword in both hands, the steel catching the firelight.
Leif smiled faintly, fangs bared. "I knew the feast wouldn't be enough. You always were… spirited." His voice slid through the din, calm and mocking. "Freyja's little heir, standing where wolves and men die. Do you think yourself more than prey?"
Astrid said nothing. She charged.
Her blade came in hard, sharp as ice, aimed for his heart. Leif swayed aside, the steel slicing his cloak instead of flesh. His hand lashed out, claws raking across her vambrace, sparks bursting as steel caught fang.
She pivoted, fast, her sword flashing back in a brutal arc. This time, he caught the blade with his bare hand, the edge biting into pale flesh. His grin widened even as dark blood welled down his palm.
"Better," he murmured. "Much better."
Astrid wrenched the sword free with a sharp twist, stepping back, her lilac eyes burning. Her breath came hard, her knuckles white on the hilt.
Around them, the battle raged: wolves crashing into Shieldguard, Bjorn's roar shaking the rafters, Svala's spear clashing with the great werewolf. But here, in the heart of the hall, it was only Astrid and Leif, steel and venom clashing in the firelight.
Then Leif stopped cold. His grin stretched, then broke into laughter—rich, cruel, echoing through the hall.
Astrid hesitated, blade raised, breath sharp in her chest. "What are you laughing at?"
Leif spread his arms wide, crimson eyes gleaming, his voice booming over the din.
"Look around. You are the last of Vinterhalls."
Astrid's stomach dropped. Her gaze tore from him to the hall around her.
Her brothers lay scattered where they had fallen. Torvald's axe lay split in half beside his broken body. Egil's sword was still clutched in his dead hand, his chest torn open. The others sprawled among shattered benches, blood soaking their cloaks, eyes glassy and lifeless.
By the hearth, Bjorn slumped against the stone, his wolf-fur cloak soaked crimson, his pale eyes dull.
Her mothers—Yrsa's staff snapped in two, Bryndis collapsed in a pool of her own blood, Svala's spear driven through her body by the werewolf she had fought—were motionless.
Her father's body lay across the long table, his sword embedded uselessly in the wood, his chest silent.
Her breath caught, cold and hollow, until her eyes fixed on the worst of it.
Signe.
One of the Verdelund vampires lifted his head from her limp body, blood wet on his mouth. He dropped her to the stone with casual ease, her gray eyes staring empty toward Astrid.
Astrid's sword nearly slipped from her hand. Her chest felt crushed, her heartbeat a hollow echo.
Leif's laughter rose again. He turned, his men throwing their heads back and cheering, voices ringing in triumphant mockery.
"My men!" he called, fangs flashing. "Did you all enjoy the feast!?"
The vampires howled their answer, their cheers rolling like a tide over the hall.
Leif turned back to Astrid, his smile a bloody slash across his pale face.
"I saved the best for last, you see."
His crimson eyes burned into hers, hunger and delight entwined.
Astrid's sword clattered against the stone as her knees buckled. Her breath came ragged and shallow. Around her, the vampires jeered and laughed, their voices echoing against the high beams. The bodies of her kin lay still, the warmth of their lives gone. And Signe—her handmaiden, her shadow, her steady constant—drained and discarded like refuse.
Her lilac eyes blurred. For the first time, Astrid's heart felt hollow, emptied of fight.
Leif strode forward, his steps unhurried, his smile cruel and full of triumph. He crouched before her, tilting her chin up with one cold hand.
"You see?" he whispered, voice dripping mockery. "All of this was always leading here. To you. To us."
Astrid tried to pull away, but her body was heavy, her strength ebbing.
Then he struck.
Fangs pierced deep into her neck. Pain exploded, venom flooding her veins like fire. She gasped, fingers clutching at his chest, her body seizing as the burn spread through her blood.
The vampires roared approval, their cheers rattling the beams.
But in that moment, another shadow moved.
From among the direwolves that still lingered at the shattered doors, one broke free—larger, broader, its form twisting mid-leap. Fur stretched, bones cracked, claws extended. Not a wolf at all.
A werewolf.
It crashed into her from the side, jaws snapping into her flesh just above her hip. Teeth tore into her stomach, ripping deep, and with it came a different fire—not venom, but the burning rot of the Moon's curse.
Astrid screamed, her body caught between two agonies—venom searing her blood, the virus shredding her flesh. Her vision whited out, her ears filled with the deafening roar of her own pulse.
Leif staggered back, crimson eyes wide in shock. "What—"
The werewolf snarled, ripping away before leaping back into the chaos. Blood poured from Astrid's side, mingling with the venom still burning in her neck.
She collapsed forward, hands pressing against the wounds, her body trembling. But as venom and virus clashed within her, another force surged up from deeper still.
Her chest glowed faintly, a pulse of pale violet light. The stag pendant at her throat burned hot, then shattered, scattering fragments of gold across the floor.
Freyja's blood.
The divine spark ignited, wrapping around the venom and virus like a noose, refusing to let them destroy her.
Astrid's scream turned into a roar—inhuman, primal, and laced with something older than vampire or wolf.
The vampires fell silent, their jeers choked off. Even the werewolf froze, its golden eyes narrowing at the sudden surge of power.
Astrid's body arched, veins glowing faintly with violet fire, her lilac eyes blazing like frostlit stars.
She had been bitten by death twice over.
Astrid staggered, her body wracked by venom and curse, violet fire burning beneath her skin. Her sword slipped from her hand. Her vision swam with blood and shadow until the hall itself seemed to tilt beneath her.
Then darkness took her.
Her body stilled, her eyes rolling shut as she collapsed to her knees. For a heartbeat, the vampires laughed again—mocking, triumphant.
But then her body moved.
Astrid rose slowly, not by her own strength. Her head lifted, pale hair falling loose around her face. Her lilac eyes snapped open, now blazing with violet light so bright it seared the hall. The glow pulsed outward, silencing the Verdelunds' jeers, stilling even the direwolves mid-growl.
And then came the voice.
Not Astrid's.
"I warned the world once, long ago, what became of those who dared to break faith with my bloodline."
The voice was Freyja's—rich, furious, divine—echoing through Astrid's lips but carrying the weight of storms.
Leif stumbled back, crimson eyes wide, mouth parting in shock. "This… this is not possible…"
Freyja's gaze swept the hall through Astrid's blazing eyes. "You defiled my daughters. You dared spill the blood of a house I marked as mine. You fed on kin blessed by my hand. For that, your punishment is final."
She raised Astrid's hand.
With a simple wave, the Winter Hall erupted in violet flame.
The Verdelund vampires screamed as their bodies disintegrated into ash, one by one. Direwolves collapsed into burning cinders mid-snarl. Even the werewolf's golden eyes widened in terror as his body twisted and dissolved into nothing, his roar cut short into silence.
In seconds, the hall was still. Only dust remained where monsters had stood.
Freyja turned Astrid's glowing gaze toward the bodies of the fallen Vinterhalls. Her fury softened, if only slightly. She knelt beside Bjorn, placing a hand on his still chest, then extended her power outward.
Soft, radiant light rose from each body—souls unbound, flickering like flame. One by one, they lifted into the air, their forms young and whole again, free of blood and wounds. Astrid's mothers, her brothers, her father, her grandfather—all of them surrounded by the glow.
Freyja's voice grew gentler. "Come home, children of frost. The halls of Valhalla await."
With a wave of her hand, their souls drifted upward, through the broken rafters, disappearing into light. Peaceful. Honored. Eternal.
When the last spark vanished, Freyja released Astrid's body.
The glow faded. Astrid crumpled to the blood-soaked floor, unconscious, her chest rising and falling shallowly.
Freyja knelt, her hand gentle as it cupped Astrid's cheek. Her divine glow softened, sorrow etching her immortal face.
"I am sorry, my dear," she said quietly. "You will be alone for a while. But know that I will watch over you."
She pressed a kiss to Astrid's brow.
The light faded. Freyja was gone.
The hall was empty save for Astrid, unconscious, her blade lying beside her amid the ashes of her enemies.