Chimera Fields in the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet

solharr had heard many songs in his life. some whispered like the wind between the glacier cliffs, some thundered like the waves at the fjord’s edge. but this one—this was neither. it rang like a braid of voices spun tight with purpose, not for territory nor triumph, but for something deeper.

the chieftain came as he always did: steady-footed, shoulders broad, the thick sweep of his auburn fur heavy with frost and wind. his eyes, pale as beachglass, roved over the pair who had called—young, bright things from the coast. brother and sister, by the look of them. bound by something old and sacred.

he halted just beyond them, letting the silence fill the space for a beat. the snow creaked beneath his weight.

you called, solharr said, voice low, curling like smoke between the trees. his gaze lingered on the woman, on the shine of his eyes. such light did not come here often, to this part of the world. i am solharr. chieftain of forneskja. speak what you seek.