The Homecoming

"Bjørn?"

Her voice trembled in the night. No answer. A shadowy figure moved slightly in the dark.

She felt shaky as she took a step forward, then another.

She threw herself forward, her legs giving out beneath her, but she didn't care. He embraced her fiercely, unwilling to release her.

It felt like an eternity. As if life had been on pause. She pressed her face against his shoulder. But the scent was wrong-not the familiar, safe fragrance she knew.

She lifted her gaze.

"Leif?"

He buried his face in her hair and held her tighter, as if he needed to make sure she was real.

"Sigrid..." His voice broke. "I never thought I'd see you again."

She closed her eyes and clung to him. "Are you really here?"

Leif pulled back, looking at her. "I think the war is over."

The words struck her like a blow.

"Over?" She echoed, as if she needed to taste the word to believe it.

She grabbed his hand and helped him toward a chair. He was pale and exhausted, but it wasn't just fatigue weighing him down.

She spun toward the window. "But where are the others?"

A faint whisper from Leif reached her ears.

She turned back to face him, her heart pounding. "What did you say?"

He took a deep breath but didn't meet her eyes. "They're not coming, Sigrid."

The air in the room thickened.

She forced herself to swallow. "Why not?"

His eyes were hollow, but tears ran down his face. "They're gone. All of them."

"That's impossible. You had the numbers."

Leif closed his eyes. "Far greater numbers."

She shook her head, trying to understand. How could this happen? She sank to the floor beside Balder, who whimpered. Her fingers stroked his soft fur.

Leif met her gaze, his eyes dark and unyielding. "They sank our ships as easily as if they were made of paper."

Silence pressed in around them, heavy as stone.

Her voice, thin as a thread, barely whispered the word.

Ragnar slammed his hand against the table, hard and brutal. "What Leif is trying to say is that they're dead, Sigrid."

Her throat tightened; tears threatened. "Are you sure?"

Closing his eyes momentarily, Leif reopened them, his gaze unwavering.

"I witnessed it from shore. Balder refused to get in the boat... He saved our lives."

Ragnar rose abruptly, his face dark. "So now Sverre will be king."

He walked away without waiting for a response.

Sigrid remained seated, looking up at Leif, who met her gaze with guilt in his eyes.

"I know you wish it had been Bjørn who came home instead of me."

"No, I wanted all to come home. Did you see his body, Leif? How can you be so sure?"

He said nothing at first, just stared ahead. "I saw them surround King Magnus's ship. Bjørn and Father were on board. They fought to the very end." His voice broke, the words coming in uneven bursts.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she still shook her head. "He's not dead. It's Bjørn."

Tears ran down her cold skin, but she didn't care. Without a word, she sat beside Leif, and he wrapped an arm around her. They huddled together for a considerable time.

"I know you loved Bjørn too," she said at last, her voice low but certain. "I saw the way you looked at him. The same way I did."

"I think I've loved him since we were children." His gaze was distant, as if he wasn't there. "The last thing he said was, Take care of Sigrid if anything happens to me. And that's what I intend to do."

She placed a hand on his cheek before leaning in to kiss his forehead. "I think you need rest."

She helped him up, steadying him as he stumbled toward the bed.

Only when he was asleep did she retreat to the room. Balder followed close behind, small paws against the wooden floor. She shut the door behind her, leaning against it before sinking to the ground.

Her hands searched for the writings Bjørn had given her. Her fingers traced the worn cover, seeking his lingering presence. A shadow of his voice, his scent, his warmth.

The tears came, sliding down her cheeks, dripping onto the floor. She didn't scream; the grief was pressing out of her in slow, brutal waves.

The things they never got to do together.

It was unfair.

And yet, it didn't feel like he was gone. She couldn't imagine what it was like not having him in this world.

She opened the book, her fingers trembling slightly over the first lines. The ink was dark, and the handwriting was even and beautiful.

She didn't know why she was doing this. Perhaps she clung to something.

A way back.

●●●

Wolfheart ritual

The full moon is time's mirror and the eye of the night. It shines over all worlds, tearing the veil between past, present, and future.

When the full moon reaches its zenith, the veil between lives thins, and future times may recall what is spoken in this hour.

You shall have:

A bowl of moon water, gathered in the moon's glow, sanctified by the night's shadows.

- A knife of silver or steel, forged with intent, sharp enough to offer three drops of blood.

- A brew of honey, wine, and wormwood, blended for strength, wisdom, and the path of memory.

- Two candles, one white and one black, to guide your journey between the hidden and the revealed.

- A talisman of wolf's teeth, a bond between soul and life, and a guardian of your heritage and your memories.

- The embrace of silence, a place where the whispers of time are distant, where no living thing disturbs your call.

Before your journey begins, you must give a sacrifice.

No path opens without something left behind in the dark.

In the moon's name, light the candles:

Place white left, black right. Between them, place the bowl of moon water, clear as the night itself.

With a sharp blade, bring forth the offering:

Three drops of blood shall fall into the bowl, a bond between you and the weave of time.

Combine honey, wine, and wormwood: honey for strength, wine for wisdom, and wormwood to remember the past.

Drink, and let the night embrace you.

Close your eyes, feel the power rise, and let the echoes of long-forgotten times call your name.

When your mind is clear, let your breath follow the words:

What has been seen shall remain; what was forgotten shall return again.

When the ritual is complete, wear the wolf-tooth talisman.

Let it rest on your skin now and in future lives. It will shield you from the grasp of darkness.

Only one with a wolf's heart, strong and pure.
will remember the path, will know it once more.

Through the veil of time, they shall go, bound to memory; they shall know.

●●●

She set the soft pages aside, and a strange sense of exhaustion settled into her body. Sleep had already crept closer.

With Balder beside her, she pulled the blanket around herself and gently stroked his fur before her tears mingled with the calm of the night.

She soon awoke; unfamiliar weeping filled the air.

She stared into the darkness, a restless feeling stirring within her. Her feet touched the cold floor, and she let the wool blanket remain over her shoulders.

The sound led her down the empty hallway. As she neared Ragnar's door, it was as if his crying pressed through the walls-heavy, low, and aching.

The door creaked faintly as she opened it just a little further.

His sobs filled the room. Quiet, hollow. As though he had been trying to swallow them for days.

She swallowed too, unsure if she should be there.

But her feet carried her forward.

By the bed lay Ragnar, his face hidden in his arms, his shoulders shaking.

Then he sensed her. He started, revealing emotions he usually concealed.

"Are you okay?" She spoke gently, yet carried an unease she couldn't hide.

His voice, thin as a thread, barely a whisper, betrayed his utter exhaustion.

Without a word, she lay beside him, face to face, so close that she could feel his unsteady breath against her cheek. "You miss your father..."

Ragnar swallowed hard, his gaze darting around. "I regret pushing him away before he left. I was irritated. Because he forced me to stay. I should have gone with him, Sigrid."

The words broke, and he erupted in tears-a hollow, trembling sound that filled the room. He appeared delicate, potentially breakable.

"He hated me, Sigrid. Couldn't stand me. And now... now I'm also to blame for his death."

She took his hand, squeezing it between her own. It trembled.

"Don't talk like that, Ragnar. He was proud of you."

He looked at her as if he wanted to believe her but couldn't.

"Before he left, he said he regretted being too hard on you. He never blamed you for your mother's death."

"He said that?"

"He said he wanted you to stay. He knew you were the only one who could turn the tide. Save the farm, the forest, the herbs..."

Ragnar paused, then spoke. "He changed the day she died; it was like he left us too."

"He probably wanted to go with her. But he chose to stay. I know how he feels," she said, on the verge of tears.

She closed her eyes, and the silence between them became a breath of relief-a space where the pain could exist without annihilating them.

Ragnar placed his hand over hers. "You're shaking."

She pretended not to hear, staring into the darkness. "I can't believe they're gone. Forever."

"I don't know what to do with the farm, with everything."

"You'll manage."

Then she felt his arms around her. It wasn't firm or hesitant, just a movement that happened-as if it was the only natural thing in the world.

In that moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world, alone together in a whirlwind of tears and sorrow.

As if everything else had been removed, left out, and all that remained was that single breath, that one closeness that bound them together.

It was just the two of them, and the world outside had vanished into the dark.

●●●