The shrine stood at the edge of the palace grounds, separated from the main structure by a narrow stone path lined with dead trees and broken statues of forgotten warriors. Snow rested along the edges of the path, untouched and pale beneath the evening sky. The deeper Monica pushed the wheelchair into that part of Snowland, the quieter the world became.
No guards stood near the shrine. No servants crossed that path. Even the wind felt slower there.
Sonia sat still in the wheelchair, her fingers resting tightly against the armrest as she stared ahead. The structure looked smaller than she imagined. Old wood darkened by age. A roof curved slightly inward like it had carried too many winters upon its back. Strange symbols were carved into the pillars outside, some faded almost beyond recognition.
Monica slowed the wheelchair as they approached the entrance. "You can still change your mind," she whispered softly.
Sonia shook her head immediately. "No." Her voice came out firmer than she felt. "We came to seek insight, and that we must get."
Monica studied her face for a moment before nodding. Then she pushed the doors open.
The air inside felt wrong, not cold, yet not warm either. It was heavy like stepping beneath deep water.
Sonia's eyes moved slowly across the room. The walls were covered with painted portraits of the Norse gods and goddesses. Odin stood with one eye darkened beneath a hood of ravens. Thor towered beside him with lightning behind his shoulders. Freya's painted gaze followed the room with unsettling calm. Tyr, Loki, Hel, Baldur. Their faces stretched across the walls like silent judges watching from another world.
Dozens of candles burned beneath them, yet none flickered.
The room smelled of herbs, smoke, old wine, and something older beneath all of it. Something she could not name.
Monica rolled the wheelchair further inside. Weapons decorated the room alongside the portraits. Axes with wolf engravings. Rusted shields. Spears lined against the walls. Ancient swords resting beneath animal skulls. Some of them looked ceremonial. Others looked as though they had tasted war recently.
Sonia swallowed quietly. The deeper they moved, the more she felt watched.
At the center of the room sat an old woman upon a woven mat. Her frail body looked almost swallowed by the dark robes covering her skin. White beads hung around her neck. Her face tilted upward toward the roof as though she listened to voices no one else could hear.
Her eyes remained closed. Monica stopped the wheelchair before her, and silence filled the shrine.
Long enough for Sonia to hear her own breathing..Then the old woman spoke. "Why have you come here, Sonia Woodland?"
Sonia blinked.
A small smile touched her lips despite herself. "How did you know my name?"
The old woman slowly opened her eyes.
Sonia stiffened slightly. Her pupils looked strangely pale beneath the candlelight.
Not blind, yet unusual. The old woman smiled faintly. "I perceived you before you crossed the gate."
Sonia tilted her head. "Perceived me?"
The woman did not answer immediately. Instead, she reached beside her and picked up a small golden cup resting near a bowl of herbs. Then she poured dark wine into it carefully.
The scent drifted through the room. Strong, sweet, and ancient. "This is a gift," the woman said.
She pointed toward several pieces of gold placed beside the cup.
Sonia frowned. "Why?"
The old woman turned toward her fully now. "For you."
"What is the gift for?"
The woman's smile deepened slightly. Then, before Sonia could react, she leaned forward and pressed her lips gently against Sonia's forehead.
Sonia froze.
The woman closed her eyes briefly after the kiss, almost like someone listening to distant music.
"The spirits surrounding this shrine are pleased tonight," she murmured softly. "They are happy to see you."
Sonia stared at her for a second before letting out a small amused laugh. "Why would the gods be happy to see a cripple?"
Monica glanced at her immediately, but Sonia ignored it. The old woman rose slowly from the mat. Though aged, there was something unsettling about the way she moved. Not weak, not fragile, but controlled.
She stepped closer to Sonia and crouched before the wheelchair. Then she stared directly into Sonia's eyes. Long enough for the smile on Sonia's face to weaken.
The old woman shook her head slowly. "If only you understood what you are. You are the soul of the special one who died, yet lived through you. The gods holds you as valuable."
Sonia's amusement faded completely.
"If I was truly special to the gods," she said quietly, "they would not have brought me out of my mother's womb crippled."
The room grew still again. The candles remained unmoving. Outside, the wind brushed softly against the shrine walls.
The old woman remained calm beneath Sonia's bitterness. "To you," she said gently, "being crippled is suffering. To the old Norse world, it is often a mark carried by those touched by the gods."
Sonia's jaw tightened. "I have heard those stories before."
The words came sharper now.
"They said the same thing about Ivar the Boneless. But Ivar was a man. He was feared, brilliant, and strong." Her fingers tightened against the wheelchair. "I am not like him."
Her voice lowered. "I am a woman, and I am weak."
The old woman burst into laughter. Not mocking laughter, but worse. A knowing laughter. It echoed strangely through the shrine.
Sonia frowned immediately. "What is funny?"
The woman slowly wiped tears from the corner of her eye. "Fate has a cruel sense of humor."
Sonia's irritation deepened. "You speak in riddles."
"And you speak like someone who has not yet met herself." The woman responded.
Sonia looked away sharply. The old woman studied her quietly before speaking again. "Your misery is not meaningless."
Sonia immediately shook her head. "Please." Her voice hardened. "I did not come here for another prophecy."
The old woman fell silent. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Sonia rolled the wheelchair slightly closer. "Well," she said, exhaling slowly, "that is not why I came."
The old woman smiled again. This time, it was softer. "Then why has the young dove entered my shrine?"
Sonia's brows furrowed immediately.
Young dove.
The strange title unsettled her for reasons she could not explain. Still, she ignored it. "I came because I want to know about my marriage." The words felt bitter already.
The old woman waited. Sonia forced herself to continue. "I want to know what my life with Ryli will become." Her throat tightened around his name. "Will the marriage be peaceful?" she asked quietly. "Or will it become a life filled with suffering?"
The old woman's smile slowly disappeared. Silence settled heavily across the room.
Then she stretched out her hand. "Give me your palm."
Sonia hesitated.
Monica gently squeezed her shoulder. "It is alright."
Slowly, Sonia extended her hand. The old woman took it carefully. Her fingers were surprisingly warm. For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the old woman spread Sonia's palm wider and lowered her gaze toward it. The room suddenly felt colder. The candles flickered violently for the first time since Sonia entered.
Monica stiffened. A low groan escaped the old woman's throat. Sonia's heartbeat quickened immediately. The old woman's fingers tightened around her hand.
Then her eyes changed: silver: bright silver blue . Not reflective, but burning.
Sonia gasped softly and instinctively tried to pull away, but the woman's grip held firm. The old woman's breathing became uneven. Pain twisted across her face. The candles around the shrine dimmed one after another.
Monica took a nervous step backward. The silver glow in the woman's eyes deepened until almost no white remained.
Then suddenly the old woman jerked sharply. A broken sound escaped her lips. And the glow vanished. The candles steadied again. The room returned to silence.
The old woman released Sonia's hand immediately. Her breathing remained heavy.
Sonia stared at her in shock. "What did you see?"
The old woman remained quiet for several seconds. Then she slowly lifted her head. "I searched for your marriage to Ryli." Her voice sounded weaker now. "And I did not see it."
Sonia blinked.
For a moment, she forgot to breathe. "It will never happen." The words settled over the room quietly. Sonia stared at her.
A strange warmth spread through her chest so suddenly it frightened her.
Relief, yet confusion followed immediately after. "That makes no sense."
The old woman said nothing.
"My mother told me my entire life that I would become Queen of the Nine Kingdoms." Sonia frowned deeply. "The prophecy always ends with Ryli."
The old woman nodded slowly. "Yes. I saw you in the capital."
Sonia leaned forward slightly.
"I saw a throne beside you." Monica's eyes widened hopefully. "But the man beside you was not Ryli."
The hope froze instantly.
Sonia's heartbeat quickened again. The old woman's gaze darkened strangely. "He was not any of Robert's sons."
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
Sonia swallowed. "Then who was he?"
The old woman stared at her for several long seconds before answering. "A king."
Sonia almost scoffed. "Obviously."
But the old woman did not smile.
"He had red hair." The words struck the room like a crack through ice.
Sonia froze completely. Even Monica looked disturbed. The wheelchair rolled backward slightly beneath Sonia's shifting weight.
"That is impossible." Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
The old woman remained still.
"Only Dragarians possessed red hair," Sonia continued slowly. "And the Dragarians were exterminated before I was born."
The old woman chuckled softly. "That is what your world believes." A chill crawled slowly across Sonia's skin. The old woman leaned closer. "But belief does not change truth."
Sonia stared at her. The shrine suddenly felt smaller. The portraits on the walls seemed heavier now, and watching.
Waiting.
"I only tell you what I saw," the old woman continued. "A red-haired king sits beside you. Your fate is tied to his."
Sonia's thoughts spun violently..None of it made sense. Dragarians no longer existed. Every history scroll confirmed it. Every kingdom confirmed it. The last of their bloodline were slaughtered at the red wedding.
Yet the certainty in the old woman's voice unsettled her deeply. "When?" Sonia asked quietly.
The old woman smiled faintly. "Sooner than you expect."
Sonia stared at the floor for a long moment. Then slowly, unexpectedly, she laughed. Not because it was funny, but because the pressure crushing her chest for months had finally loosened. "I do not care if he has red hair, blue hair, or no hair at all," she muttered softly.
Monica blinked.
Sonia looked back toward the old woman with the first genuine smile she had shown in months. "As long as he is not Ryli, i will be happy."
The old woman laughed with her this time. A softer laugh, yet warmer. "Young dove," she murmured, "you have no idea what storm is coming for your life."
Sonia shook her head lightly. "For the first time in months," she whispered, "I think I want to see that future."
The old woman's eyes softened. "Yes," she said quietly. "You will."
Monica finally exhaled the breath she had been holding. Emotion filled her face so suddenly she almost cried again..Carefully, she moved behind the wheelchair. "It is getting late, my lady."
Sonia nodded slowly. But before Monica could turn the wheelchair fully, Sonia looked back toward the old woman one final time. "What if you are wrong?"
The old woman smiled without hesitation. "The gods rarely bring me shadows when they intend light."
Sonia held her gaze for another second. "Thank you." Then Monica rolled the wheelchair away. The shrine doors opened once more. Cold evening air rushed against Sonia's face. Yet somehow, it no longer felt unbearable.
As they crossed back through the palace grounds, Sonia noticed things she had ignored for months. The snow glittering beneath the torchlight. Guards speaking quietly near the gates. The distant sound of music from one of the halls.
Life.
It was still moving. And for the first time in a long while, she did not feel left behind by it.
The following morning, servants nearly dropped trays when Sonia entered the dining hall herself.
She ate, not much, but it was enough to silence whispers.
The day after that, Monica wheeled her into the palace gardens. By the end of the week, Sonia visited the royal library again.
The librarians stared openly as she rolled between the shelves, her fingers brushing across ancient books she once loved.
She listened to old Agnes once again telling the love story of Ivar the boneless and Murial, the Neanderthal princess who with the help of magic, disguised herself to human in order to get into Iver's life and discover the secret to his power. Bur she ended up falling in love with the mysterious crippled warriors.
Sonia listened to it all. She was hearing the story for the second time. But it still caught her interest. Other students watched her with keen interest.
Word spread quickly through Snowland. The princess is back to her old self. Bianca watched the transformation with quiet relief she tried not to show too openly. She believed her daughter was finally accepting her future. Edmond thought the same. Neither of them noticed the difference.
Sonia was not preparing herself for Ryli anymore. She was surviving him. And somewhere deep inside her chest, hidden carefully beneath the calm returning to her face, a dangerous hope had begun to grow.