A clamor rose across the crowd like an approaching storm.
"What's all the ruckus about?" someone shouted.
"How would I know, you fool? I just got here!" another man snapped.
Dust choked the air.
Garon lunged forward, Skógrimr blazing in his grip. The ancient blade sang through the haze as he brought it down in a savage arc. Dot crossed his own blades at the last instant, barely catching the strike. Steel screamed against steel.
"Where is she?!" Garon roared, pressing the attack.
"Wait!" Dot shouted, voice strained.
The world had vanished beneath a thick shroud of dust. Skógrimr's power had whipped the surrounding into a choking storm, swallowing everything beyond a few paces. Knights and Kingsguard stumbled blindly, their disciplined lines shattered.
"Where's the kid?" Richard demanded, appearing beside Sylric.
"Tch," Sylric hissed, eyes scanning the swirling haze.
Dot could see almost nothing — only the faint, menacing glow of Skógrimr whistling toward him again and again. He dodged desperately, heart hammering. Their blades collided with a deafening ring, bright sparks exploding like fireworks in the gloom.
"Ahh—!" Dot grunted, pushing back with everything he had.
"I can't lose control here…" Dot thoughts race
"Wait! I don't know where she is right now, but I'm… going to find her!" he shouted, muscles burning against Garon's overwhelming strength.
Skógrimr began to grow, the blade lengthening and pulsing with raw power. Garon's eyes glowed an icy blue, his presence suddenly far more menacing as he bore down on Dot, who clearly had no desire to fight.
Then the air whistled differently.
Sylric's chains shot out like striking serpents, wrapping tightly around Garon's wrists and wrenching Skógrimr from his grasp. The massive blade instantly shrank back to its normal size.
Garon whipped his head around, eyes wild.
In one fluid motion, Sylric yanked hard. Garon charged like a starving beast, but Sylric met him head-on. With a brutal crack, he headbutted Garon square in the face. The big man crumpled instantly, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Dot stood panting, chest heaving, sweat and dust streaking his face.
"Who's the kid?" Sylric asked calmly, as if nothing had happened.
Throne Room — Later That Same Day
The grand hall of Thornhold was packed. Every seat was filled with councilmen — new faces and survivors of the old regime alike. The air hummed with anticipation and low murmurs.
"We will now begin the coronation," one councilman announced, rising to his feet.
Prince Ivar entered, flanked by knights, dressed in pristine white robes that seemed to glow under the torchlight. High above in the royal gallery, his sister Astrid watched silently.
The head of the council stepped forward, his voice carrying through the vast chamber.
"Lords and ladies of Thornhold, honored elders, brave warriors, and cherished people of this great kingdom—
We gather today beneath solemn skies and hopeful hearts, standing at the turning of an age. We mourn the passing of a noble ruler, our late king, Erik Thorsen — may his legacy never fade."
He paused, coughing once. "Pardon me."
The councilman continued with measured dignity. "In his reign, Thornhold stood firm against storm and shadow, guided by wisdom and a steady hand. Yet even in loss, the flame of our kingdom does not falter — it is passed on.
Today, by the will of the council and the ancient laws of our land, we recognize the rightful heir to the throne. Prince Ivar Thorsen.
From the legacy of his father, he inherits not just a crown, but a duty — to protect, to serve, and to unite. The strength of Thornhold lies not only in stone walls or sharpened steel, but in the bond between ruler and people.
Ivar Thorsen, step forward.
By the authority granted to me as a member of this council, and in the presence of all who bear witness, I hereby name you King of Thornhold. May your reign be just, your heart steadfast, and your spirit unbroken.
Rise, King Ivar Thorsen — heir of Erik the Humble, protector of the realm, and sovereign of Thornhold.
Long may you reign."
The entire hall echoed as one: "Long may he reign!"
From her high seat, Astrid looked down with an emotionless face. After a moment, she turned and quietly slipped out of the gallery.
Somewhere in Thornhold
Harsh coughing echoed from a dimly lit chamber.
Boldr sat slumped in his chair, surrounded by empty mugs, steadily drinking more ale.
"Arthur, what are you doing? The brat's been crowned king," one of Boldr's sister-wives said, trying to pull him up. She failed.
"Leave him be," the other murmured, calmly stroking her tiger's sleek fur. The great cat lay beside her, eyes half-closed, lips peeled back to reveal long fangs.
A loud knock sounded at the door.
"Who's there?" one of the women called.
The door exploded inward with a crash. Dozens of armored knights poured into the room.
King Ivar strode in, Elizabeth at his side.
"Uncle. Long time no see," Ivar said with a thin smile.
"Huh?" Boldr grunted, barely looking up as he took another long sip.
"What do you want?" the sister-wife petting the tiger asked. The animal's lips curled further, ready to strike.
"That is no way to address the king," Elizabeth said coldly.
"What are you doing, Elizabeth?" the other sister-wife demanded.
"She is going to be my queen now," Ivar announced smoothly. "Since I've ascended the throne, I'll need a wife of my choosing. I pick Elizabeth."
"You bitch!" one sister-wife snarled, stepping aggressively toward her.
Ivar's hand flashed out, slapping her hard across the face.
"What do you say, uncle?" Ivar asked, staring deep into Boldr's eyes. "Do I have your blessing?"
Elizabeth remained perfectly still.
Boldr finally looked up, his voice thick with drink.
"Do what you want."
Elizabeth's face stiffened.
"I knew you'd see reason, uncle," Ivar continued. "I might even let you join the war council. Of course, I'll need your strength to win this war." He glanced around the messy chamber. "Get this door fixed."
With that, Ivar turned and left, his knights and Elizabeth following obediently.
Once outside, Ivar spoke quietly to one of his knights.
"Find Richard. Bring me his head… and bring me the boy and his friend too."
Cut to Yiva
She sat alone in the dim chamber, eyes downcast, hair a tangled mess and clothes rumpled and dirty.
The door creaked open.
Yiva's head snapped up — only to see Astrid standing in the doorway.
To be continued…