I left Thorfinn behind.

I left him behind.

I left…

…left him…

I was a terrible, cruel person. Thorfinn needed me. He cried when I left.

He cried.

And I just…left him.

My grip clenched around Thorfinn's fragile shoulders, his soulful brown eyes locking onto mine, brimming with tears on the verge of spilling over. "Thorfinn, I beg of you," my plea echoed, desperation lacing my voice as my knees dug into the ground below me. "Come with me, please."

"You're leaving?" His words pierced the heavy air, laden with disbelief and hurt.

"I have to. My family..." I trailed off, unable to meet his gaze, battling to suppress the tears welling within me. "They're in trouble. I need to go to them. But," my eyes sought Thorfinn's once more, my grip on his shoulders tightening, "you need to come with me."

His own eyes hardened and he tried to shrug my hands off his shoulders. I wouldn't let him. "I'm not going with you. I'm staying here. Go. Just…go!" His little hands clenched at his sides, his voice rising. Around us the pirates snickered as they got off their ships to set up camp for the night, but we paid them no mind, or we just didn't hear them in the heat of the moment.

"I won't abandon you!" My expression hardened, the weight of the inevitable decision I was going to force on him settling on my shoulders. He would despise me for this. "You're coming with me, even if--"

He lunged, knife flashing, slicing through the fabric of my gambeson. It didn't draw blood, but the shock was enough for me to release him. Stepping back, he clenched his father's knife in both of his hands, aiming it directly at me with trembling hands.

The pirates suddenly jeered, encouraging Thorfinn to fight me, yet I remained rooted to the ground, fingers digging into the fabric at my knees. "Thorfinn, please, don't make this harder--"

"If you come any closer, I swear I'll kill you!" His voice pierced the chaos, wild and desperate, eyes ablaze with both fear and fury. I realized the approach I took was a mistake. "I-I'll do it, I swear!"

He wouldn't. Because he was a warrior and he wouldn't kill me as I was unarmed. It was all a show.

With a heavy heart, I rose, determination hardening within me. I wanted to force him to come with me…

I approached him, each step echoing the tumult within. As my hand reached out, he lashed out with his dagger, slicing through my palm. Crimson rivulets traced the contours of my left hand, yet I persisted.

I enveloped Thorfinn's in my embrace and welcomed the sting of the dagger piercing my chest. Defiance surged within me, disregarding the vulnerability laid bare before these pirates. Their presence faded into insignificance; my focus was on Thorfinn alone.

"Mark my words, Thorfinn," I rasped, the blade pressing deeper into my right breast, over my heart. "I shall return for you. I swear it."

His tears flowed freely, and I allowed them their release. And with the curtain drawing on our shared anguish, I departed, leaving Thorfinn in the hands of the merciless pirates.

It spanned a full week before I arrived in Ireland, each day feeling like an eternity. Dublin, a Norse settlement, marked my initial destination. From there I sought out a trader willing to journey towards my family's estate. However, my appeal was met with initial reluctance; my decision to discard my cloak and mask likely played a role, as the prospect of aiding a woman in distress was not commonly embraced by men of the time.

After his hesitant acceptance, I found myself nestled in the rear of his cart as we embarked on our journey westward towards my family's estate.

With each passing mile, my heartbeat echoed loudly in my ears, a cacophony of worry and uncertainty swirling within my mind. Thoughts of leaving Thorfinn behind, as well as the family I had departed from, consumed me. Were they safe? Was Thorfinn faring well without me? What were they all up to now? As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I dared to imagine a scene of their peaceful slumber, eagerly anticipating my return as a joyful surprise—especially for my mother. Yet, my father would probably beat me first before embracing me.

I wouldn't mind it if it meant they were all safe. I'd take a few spanks over that.

Anticipation filled me at the thought of reuniting with my sisters, eager to share the tales of my travels and the adventures I carried back with me. Aine, the youngest, would likely be brimming with excitement, hanging onto every word of my escapades. As for Saoirse, her demand for my cooking skills to grace our table once more was almost a given, her discerning palate having found their meals lacking in flavor since my departure.

Moreover, the prospect of reconnecting with our family cook ignited a warm glow within me. I could already envision the genuine delight that would light up his face upon my return, a reunion I eagerly awaited.

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, my mind wandered too deeply to notice the approaching hoofbeats.

It wasn't until a familiar voice pierced through my reverie that I snapped back to reality. "Fiadh." The words rang out from the figure riding alongside the cart. With a start, I glanced up, my gaze locking onto none other than Cillian, a man who professed to be a chieftain in service to Brian Baru, and a close friend of my father's.

My father's general-like friend with the wandering eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" My words burst out, carrying a hint of astonishment.

Cillian's response came with a touch of familiarity, his hands tightening around the reins. "Ah, it's good to see you haven't lost your fiery spirit, Fiadh," he remarked, his appearance mirroring the man I remembered. Clad in his signature chain mail and nose-guarded helmet, his attire unchanged from my recollection. The only noticeable alterations were the slight lengthening of his dark brown hair, now grazing his ears, and the deepening of the wrinkles etched upon his face.

He looked like he'd aged five years…

"How the hell did you track me down? And why are you here?" I demanded, though a flicker of apprehension danced within me at the prospect of his response.

Silent and stoic, he trailed behind the cart, his demeanor as unyielding as stone. I fought to suppress the rising panic threatening to overwhelm me as we continued our journey. Finally, his voice cut through the tense air. "I had men stationed in Dublin. They caught sight of you and alerted me to your presence."

In essence, he had orchestrated a surveillance operation, ensuring that upon my return, he would be ready to confront me. Undoubtedly, one or more of his operatives had shadowed my every move since I departed Dublin.

But did I truly care? The answer was a resounding no.

I swallowed hard, steeling myself to continue. "Why?" I pressed, my voice laced with a mixture of apprehension and defiance.

"I believe you already know the answer to that, Fiadh. Why else would you come back?"

His response struck me like a blow, causing my vision to blur momentarily, but I blinked away the tears, refusing to let them fall. "I want to see," I insisted, my voice catching with emotion.

"The estate?"

"My family!" I exclaimed, my desperation bubbling to the surface.

"You can't," he stated flatly, crushing my hopes with a single word.

I averted my gaze, fists clenched tightly at my sides, my breaths coming in ragged bursts. Gradually, I wrestled my racing heartbeat back into submission, summoning a veneer of composure before turning to face Cillian once more. "Then I demand to see the estate. I must know what has become of my family's home..."

His response was silence, punctuated only by the movement of his hand as it extended towards me. I grasped it firmly, allowing him to assist me onto his horse, settling into the saddle with me positioned in front. With a swift motion, he rode forward past the cart and tossed a gold coin towards the man who was helping me, offering a curt nod before urging the horse forward, leaving behind the bewildered figure in our wake.

It didn't take long for us to arrive at my family's home, or what was left of it.

Where once stood a bastion of memories and warmth.

"What happened?" I whispered, dismounting from Cillian's steed, each step toward the scorched earth laden with an unbearable weight.

Before me lay not a home, but a desolate expanse of blackened ruins, where laughter and love once flourished.

My…home was burnt to the ground. And they burned everything, even the farm fields and stables…

Everything…

At the edge, I…succumbed to despair, my tears flowing freely as my knees met the tainted ground, the ash of my home staining my knees. From behind me came footsteps, heralding Cillian's gravelly voice, recounting the merciless onslaught: "Under cover of night, they descended, leaving death, plunder, and ashes in their wake."

"Who were they?" I inquired, seeking to grasp onto something. Anything.

What am I supposed to do now?

"Does it truly make a difference who they were?" he retorted, prompting a realization of my misplaced query.

"Who negotiated the contract?" I pressed further.

"...and why would that concern you?" he ventured, his voice tinged with curiosity and perhaps a hint of empathy.

"...I need to know," I confessed, driven by an insatiable need for comprehension. To grasp. Something.

Because, I felt that all too familiar numbness seeping back into my bones.

"Why?"

I surged upright, my gaze locking onto Cillian, tears carving a path down my cheeks, mingling with the heat of my rising fury. Anger, a visceral flame, was preferable to the cold embrace of numbness. Despite his towering six-foot frame, he remained steadfast as I confronted him, and I briefly recalled that one solitary occasion I had bested him. "What do you think?" I demanded, my voice a mixture of anguish and indignation. My eyes seething with hatred I knew he could see.

"Revenge? Really? Is that the only reason?" he countered, his tone probing beneath the surface.

"Why should I require any other?" I retorted, my words laced with bitterness. "And why does it concern you?" I spat.

"Your father designated you his successor. Your actions now hold weight and are of great interest to me," he replied, his words carrying the weight of unspoken implications.

"Successor to what?" I gestured behind me to the charred remains of my former life. "To ashes?"

His sneer deepened, etching lines of disdain into his weathered face. "You truly have no idea, do you?"

In truth, I yearned to seek refuge within the shelter of a hollowed tree, to surrender to the overwhelming weight of grief, to embrace numbness, to escape this unbearable reality. Every fiber of my being ached to unleash my fury upon Cillian, to hold him accountable for the tragedy that had befallen my family. Why hadn't he been there to shield them? Why hadn't he saved them?

Silently, I turned away from him, fixing my gaze upon the desolation that was once my cherished home, now reduced to smoldering ruins.

Cillian's somber voice pierced the heavy silence once more. "Why?" he repeated.

"If you refuse to disclose the identity of those responsible for the devastation wrought upon my family, then I will uncover the truth by any means necessary," I declared. Maybe Askeladd knew more than what he was letting in.

Askeladd...Thorfinn…

Thoefinn's words suddenly rang within me: "And you're just a girl! You don't understand what I'm going through?! How could you!?"

I knew better than anyone else what he was going through, even before all this.

But, Cillian…

Why, Cillian had inquired. Why ?

Throughout my training, Cillian's barbs pierced deeper than any blade, his words a relentless assault on my worthiness as my father's heir. The constant taunts gnawed at my soul, each insult a festering wound I struggled to heal. I could never comprehend the malice behind his jabs, the venomous intent that fueled his cruelty.

But then had come the day when he had crossed the line, when his words had cut like a serrated knife through the fragile veneer of my resilience. He'd spat venomous accusations, deeming me not just unworthy, but utterly devoid of value. His scornful tirade had pierced my heart like a dagger, his declaration that I had been nothing more than a worthless parasite, a blight upon my father's legacy, searing into my very being. The weight of his contempt had crushed me, leaving me suffocating beneath the burden of his disdain.

It reminded me of her words.

In that moment of my current past, a cold fury had consumed me, drowning out all rational thought as I seized control. With a swift, calculated maneuver born of desperation and rage, I had brought Cillian to his knees, exploiting his own bulk against him in a technique that had defied the conventions of our era. As he had lain defenseless beneath me, my blade poised at his throat, a glimmer of amusement had danced in his eyes—a sight that had chilled me to the core. His lips had curled into a sardonic smile, mocking the numbness that had gripped my soul, as he'd uttered words that had cut deeper than any physical blow. "What a delightful surprise, my dear Fiadh. Those eyes of yours are a sight to behold. I've seen that lurking in your eyes before, but you try so hard to suppress it. If only you were born a man." Then he'd asked the question that had confused me. "Why?" His tone had dripped with sinister delight.

Not long after that I ran away, because what he'd said after I let that numbness consume me reminded me of his words.

And that question echoed relentlessly within my mind. I had forsaken my familial duties in pursuit of self-indulgence. Cillian understood this truth. I understood it too. His inquiry wasn't about my thirst for vengeance; it delved deeper, questioning why I still harbored concern and what actions I intended to take in response.

What he saw wasn't truly me, but it was still a part of me. How he saw it before that day remained a mystery to me, but in the end, it didn't matter

But what I was willing to sacrifice, and for what reason.

Once more, I surrendered to the engulfing dark numbness as I looked to my left palm with the slash Thorfinn had created, allowing it to devour me whole until there remained nothing but… empathy —a kind of void of overwhelming emotions that my step-mother had dreaded in my previous existence, the very essence of her disdainful treatment towards me. And as I gazed upon Cillian, a perverse gleam flickered within his aged eyes.

Yet, this numbness did not stem from apathy, from a callous indifference to the world outside. On the contrary.

It stemmed from an overwhelming abundance of care, a boundless reservoir of emotion without boundaries or restraints. An endless void that consumed every emotion I felt, and returned it tenfold. A void I could control with ruthless precision.

I cared too much, and it left me numb.