The first year in Harrogath was the hardest.
Shelters had to be built from unfamiliar wood. Fields had to be cleared of strange, resilient grasses. Animals had to be accustomed to new pastures, new water, new rhythms. Every task that had been second nature on Earth became a challenge in this new world.
Kaelan worked alongside his people from dawn until dark, his immortal strength making light work of the heaviest labor. He felled trees, hauled stones, dug foundations. He explored the surrounding lands, mapping resources, identifying dangers, finding the best places for crops and herds.
At night, exhausted but satisfied, he sat by the great communal fires and listened to his people talk.
Some were homesick. They missed the forests of their birth, the rivers they had known since childhood, the graves of ancestors left behind. Others were excited, thrilled by the newness of everything, eager to explore and discover. Most were somewhere in between—grieving what they had lost while hoping for what they might gain.
Kaelan understood. He had felt the same way, once. Two thousand years ago, waking in a frozen forest with nothing but an axe and a purpose.
---
"You're thinking about Earth," a voice said beside him.
He turned to find Erik Iron-Hand settling onto the log beside him. The current chief was a solid man in his fifties, with grey in his beard and wisdom in his eyes. He carried the bloodline strongly—not with obvious gifts, but with a quiet steadiness that made people trust him.
"I'm thinking about beginnings," Kaelan replied. "This isn't my first."
"No. I suppose not." Erik stared into the fire. "My grandmother used to tell stories about you. About the early days. The wolves. The vampires. The first Ragnar."
Kaelan smiled. "She remembered well?"
"She remembered everything. Said you were the strangest man she ever knew. Kind and fierce at the same time." Erik glanced at him. "She also said you carry more grief than anyone should. All those loved ones, outliving them all."
Kaelan was silent for a moment. "She wasn't wrong."
"How do you bear it?"
"I don't know. I just... do. One day at a time. One generation at a time." He looked at the fire. "I focus on what's in front of me. The work. The people. The needs of the moment. And I remember that every loss is also a gift. I had them. I loved them. That never goes away."
Erik nodded slowly. "That's wise."
"It's survival."
---
The first harvest came in autumn.
It was smaller than they were used to—the soil, though rich, was different from Earth's, and the crops had struggled to adapt. But it was enough. Enough to fill the storehouses, enough to feed everyone through the coming winter, enough to prove that they could survive here.
The celebration that followed was simple but heartfelt. They gathered in the central square of the main settlement—still more tents than buildings—and they feasted on the fruits of their labor. Roasted meat from animals that had thrived in the new pastures. Bread from the first successful grain. Berries gathered from the edges of the forest, sweet and strange.
Kaelan sat among them, eating and laughing and listening to their stories. Children played at his feet. Warriors boasted of their hunts. Mothers traded advice on which local plants were safe for teas and which were poison.
This was what he had built. This community. This family. This life.
It was enough.
---
That night, after the celebration ended and most had gone to sleep, Kaelan walked to the edge of the settlement and looked up at the stars.
They were different here—brighter, closer, arranged in unfamiliar patterns. No constellations he recognized. No familiar points of light.
But they were beautiful.
Footsteps approached. Light. Deliberate.
A young woman appeared at his side—Astrid the Third, a spirit-talker of remarkable gift. She was barely twenty, with sharp eyes and a quiet presence.
"Great-Grandfather," she said. "The ancestors are restless tonight."
Kaelan looked at her. "What do they say?"
"They say this place is good. That we chose well." She paused. "They also say someone is coming. Someone important. Not an enemy—a friend."
Kaelan frowned. "Who?"
"I don't know. They won't say. Just that we should be ready." Astrid looked up at the strange stars. "They say he's old. Very old. And he wants to meet you."
Kaelan considered this. Two thousand years old himself now, he had met many old beings. But something about this felt different.
"Tell the ancestors I'll be ready," he said.
Astrid nodded and slipped away into the darkness.
Kaelan stayed under the stars, watching, waiting.
---