A second Cataclysm could have been laying waste to the world and Mount Ignis raining fire down from on high outside the prison, but Priscilla would have no idea in the dank, quiet darkness of her cell. Her wrists and shoulders ached from being bound above her head by chains, leaving her helpless to the constant throb of pain that coursed through her body. Exhaustion threatened to win the day and condemn her to a slow and pitiful death far from the sight of anyone who mattered.

In truth, the only people who really mattered to her were already hanging in the cell with her from their own chains. Coal hadn't opened his eyes since the Vikings had left to deal with whatever had stolen their attention, seemingly content to sleep away the last hours of his life in some semblance of comfort. Gunnar hadn't lifted his head since Herleif had disowned him and Priscilla had berated him. It seemed enough to be his death wound for how still he hung and how quietly he breathed, cast off from his path to Valhǫll and given over as a gift to Hel instead.

Priscilla did not have the heart to look at him anyway, not with her spiteful words still ringing in her head like a bell. Instead, she let her tired eyes rest on the lit brazier before her and struggled to find comfort in what little warmth it gave.

There had been no sign of any Northmen for hours, but every so often, someone could be heard shuffling outside the cell door, along with distant muttering and the occasional sneeze from the cold.

It seemed to be the end for all of them, a sorry fate for three true drengr, as Gunnar might have said. Failure was something Priscilla was more than familiar with in life, along with heartache. This time, however, she had no one else to blame but herself for all of it. There was no running from it this time, no chance to pick up the pieces of her ruined life and start again someplace new. She had no more hope left in her to carry on.

Closing her eyes, she yielded to the strain that the chains had on her body and willed herself over to sleep until fatigue or a northern blade finally released her from misery.

"You dead yet?" Coal asked, disturbing her peace before she could fully surrender herself to oblivion.

"No..." Priscilla answered softly, throat parched and voice cracking. "Not yet."

"Been long enough. You look dead. Just keep at it."

It took an effort for Priscilla to lift her head just to furrow her brows at him. "What...?"

"Hey!" Coal shouted toward the door, his echoing voice making Priscilla wince as it rang like a bell in her aching skull. "We got a dead one in here! Do us a favor and lay the poor woman to rest!"

The stupidity and absence of any coordination of Coal's sudden course of action quickened Priscilla's heart and made her wish all the more for death. She glared at him and gave a weak hiss, but her anger was probably lost on him for the dark circles shadowing her eyes and her shoulders shaking with the effort of staying upright. "What are you doing-?"

"Corpse removal needed! That has to be someone's job around here!"

Priscilla's mind raced to determine the chances of Coal's plan working out and what would happen to them if it didn't, but her thoughts were sluggish and dulled by the cold. A quick glance at Gunnar told her he hadn't moved an inch, so he was no help, and she was just about to tell Coal to shut up and spare them the trouble when a shadow moved outside the door. Not knowing what else to do, Priscilla shut her mouth, bowed her head, and blissfully went limp.

"What are you yelling about, tinman?" spoke a Viking warrior who appeared on the other side of the iron door.

"Got a dead one here," Coal said with a nod at Priscilla. "No need to just leave her hanging like a cut of meat. Get her down."

The man in the hall slipped his hands through the bars and relaxed, clearly in no hurry to jump to Coal's commands. "How do I know she is dead?"

Coal answered with a sharp kick to Priscilla's legs, sending her swaying side to side on her taught chains, indeed like a slab of meat fresh from the butcher's shop. The Northman gave a snort of laughter and shook his head. "What happened?"

"She lost the fight," Coal said, shrugging his shoulders as best he could with his hands bound above his head. "It happens. People give it their all out there in the world, fighting tooth and nail to keep going for just one more day, but once you end up in chains..." He looked over at Priscilla's limp body with a sad frown. "...you start to wonder if you were fighting for the right reasons. Not everyone survives that answer."

"Pathetic," said the Northman. "And why aren't you dead, too, tinman?"

"I'm a practiced hand at all this," Coal said. "Gunnar isn't too far behind my friend here either, by the look of him."

The warrior outside the door licked his lips and glanced between the three of them as if wondering whether or not any of this was worth his time. In the end, he pulled a ring of keys from his belt and slipped one into the door to unlock it.

"This will not be the end of The Bear," he muttered as he stepped inside the cell. He stepped around the brazier to stand before Priscilla, giving her a once-over before glancing at Coal. "Another dead Knight is no cause for concern. Let her hang."

"Would your jarl be so crass with the dead?" Coal asked before the man could turn away. "He had his reasons for wanting us all dead, but is he the kind of man who dishonors his fallen enemy when all is said and done? I thought he was of a different sort than Erik or Ivar, not one for the same kind of savagery we have come to expect in the south."

It seemed a strange thing that words might be enough to bridge the bottomless divide left between their people after a millennium of conflict, but the kind sentiment toward his jarl made the Northman pause rather than walk back out of the cell. He looked at Coal and curled his lip, then regarded Priscilla again with renewed interest.

With her eyes closed, she could smell the dampness on his clothes and the ale on his breath as he leaned close, and she willed herself to remain absolutely still as if she were as dead as he needed to believe. She forced herself to remember falling into darkness as Ragna had choked the air out of her and the feeling of her heart breaking into pieces, knowing that Gunnar would suffer because of all she had done. That alone was all the motivation she needed to wish for death and put on a convincing show.

Then she felt his finger touching beneath her nose, and she silently thanked God that she didn't flinch. Her breathing had been shallow before, but now she stopped altogether, holding it in her lungs for however long it took to convince the Northman that she had given her last breath long ago. Hanging with her head bowed, she felt the warrior standing before her but heard nothing from him to indicate what he might be thinking.

"For God's sake, man," said Coal, "there's no need to make a show of it."

The Northman continued to frown, but he lowered his hand and stepped away, seemingly convinced. Then he grabbed an iron rod from the brazier. The end of the rod, which had been heating in the fire, glowed red-hot, and smoke wafted from the bright metal-like waves. Scowling, he lifted the iron to Priscilla's face and slowly lowered it toward her pale cheek.

"You fucking bastard!" shouted Coal, rattling his chains. "I said she's dead!"

"I'll not be falling for any tricks," warned the warrior, waving the hot iron in Coal's face before returning to Priscilla.

She could feel the heat of the iron rod blazing like the sun against her skin. Just having it close was enough to redden and nearly burn her skin, and it took what little resolve she had left to stay completely still. She did not know if the Northman intended to brand her face permanently for the grave or just hover close to see if she could endure the heat, but regardless, the pain was quickly becoming too much to bear. It seemed rather ironic now that she had claimed to welcome the fires of Hell before yielding to the wrath she had sown among the Vikings and would now have to make good on that promise.

Perhaps she should have picked her words better. Then again, perhaps she deserved this fate for choosing her path so poorly, to begin with—no more prayers for forgiveness and strength. Now, God's absolution would come in pain and fire.

"Touch her," came Gunnar's voice out of the dark, growling like a bear deep in its cave, "and not even the Dread Wolf can stop what I will do to you..."

Priscilla's heart leaped into her throat, nearly making her choke. The heat of the iron hovered next to her face for a moment longer, then vanished from her face before she heard it clang back into the brazier. Relief flooded her body, and it became even more of an effort to keep herself from shaking and crying out in shock.

Keys jingled as the warrior looked through the loop for the right one to open the shackles. He looked far from pleased, but out of whatever respect that remained for the jarl's disgraced brother, he slipped the small key into the lock around Priscilla's wrists and opened it with a click. She fell into his arms, all dead weight, and still committed to her role as the warrior gave a low grunt and began to drag her away.

Her hands hung loose at the warrior's sides, swaying as he moved her, only to bump softly against the antler hilt of a seax hanging from his belt. An instant later, she pulled the weapon free before burying it in his side.

The Northman's eyes bugged out of his skull as he gasped in pain, his body stiffening against her as Priscilla found her feet and stabbed the blade between his ribs again and again, hot blood coating her hand and sizzling into the brazier. A moment later, his strength failed him, and he fell onto the metal bowl of flames, spilling coals and hot iron rods across the floor with a loud crash. A shout came from out in the hall, and that was all Priscilla needed to jump into action.

Grabbing the ring of keys that had fallen in the scuffle, Priscilla let the surge of panic and adrenaline move her tired body as she freed Coal from his bonds. The key fumbled once in the lock but then slipped into the hole and opened his shackles just as two more Northmen came into the room with swords drawn. They stopped before the line of blazing coals and stared dumbly at their fallen comrade for a moment, giving Priscilla enough time to shove the keys into Coal's hands and pick up one of the iron rods as a weapon. With the northern dagger in one hand and red-hot iron in the other, she threw herself at the Vikings with all the strength she had left in her.

She jumped over the fire and struck out with the rod, forcing the nearest warrior back with a shower of sparks as he parried her strike. Giving chase, she stabbed with the seax and slashed again with the iron, forcing the Northman to counter two strikes at once. He failed, and as he knocked away the dagger, the glowing tip of the hot iron grazed his forearm, which was more than enough to make him drop his sword and cry out in pain.

The sword of the next warrior came slicing at her head at that moment, forcing Priscilla back. She dodged, knocking his next thrust away and cutting at his leg with her dagger. His cry echoed over the crackle of flames, and as he fell to one knee, Priscilla lifted the hot iron to strike at his face. She growled through clenched teeth and felt the power in her arm as she swung, but a firm hand caught her wrist from behind just before the hit could land.

"Enough!" cried Gunnar, freed from his chains and looming above her like a giant. Priscilla hissed and fought against him, instinct and desperation driving her to eliminate the threat before her, but he held firm and refused to let go. He squeezed harder, forcing her to drop the iron with a gasp.

"You have done enough," he growled, glancing over at the dead warrior whose blood coated the floor before addressing the two that remained. "Go and see to your wounds. There is nothing more you can do here. Tell Herleif that we are free if you wish. Such things no longer matter."

The injured warriors didn't argue. The one with the hurt arm held it to his side and helped the one with the cut leg to his feet, and together, they shuffled out of the cell as quickly as they could, leaving their fallen companion behind. Priscilla watched them go, years of training telling her to stop them, to make sure they didn't have any chance to inform on their escape contrary to Gunnar's words. Instead, she pulled her hand free of Gunnar's grasp and fell to her knees, spent and exhausted, all strength abandoning her again with the ending of the fight. Glancing up at Gunnar, she saw his shadow rise against the wall like a dark beast in the firelight, and he scowled down at her as if they stood on opposite sides of a battlefield in the small cell.

Then he turned away from her and stepped quickly to the corner of the cell. He fell to his knees, searching all around with his hands until he grabbed something off the floor and stood. It was almost frantic how he slipped the object around his neck and tied it beneath his hair, and when he faced them again, the small metal hammer glinted dully in the firelight as he straightened it over his chest. He gave an easy sigh and gripped the amulet in his hand as he muttered a few quiet words in his native tongue.

Afterward, he stepped around her and left without a word, shoving the iron door open with a sharp clang that echoed through the hall outside. Priscilla deflated in his wake, a cold sweat covering the back of her neck even as the spilled fire blazed close by. Her stomach churned, and she felt like she might be sick, but then Coal's hands were slipping under her arms and lifting her to stand.

"Up you get," he said, letting her lean against him as she stood on shaky legs. "This is no place to wallow in grief. Once you do, there's no coming back from it."

She feared it might be too late but stepped toward the door at his urging, clinging to his arm for support. "Maybe you should have been the one making plans all along..." she muttered.

"Too used to following orders, I guess."

"Nonsense." She put her hand in his and squeezed before stepping away to walk on her own. "Your plan actually worked."

They made their way down the hall, following the echo of Gunnar's footsteps before them, and soon ascended a small set of stairs into a larger room full of cells. Priscilla and Coal stopped in surprise, finding two of the cells packed with warriors and the last holding only three. The whole world seemed to be turned on its head for a moment as Priscilla struggled to come to terms with what she was seeing.

"What are Samurai doing here?" she asked.

"No idea. A question for another time if we're not going to be fighting them," Coal said, and Priscilla couldn't argue with him as they looked over the imprisoned warriors of the Dawn Empire. They were certainly out of place in this battle between pagans, cultists, and the devout, but there was no time to investigate. Priscilla regarded the three figures alone in the center cell, particularly the one that seemed to keep her eyes fixed on the ground despite their abrupt appearance from the cell below.

Then, a clatter from the opposite wall stole her attention, and she looked to see Gunnar rifling through a room full of weapons within an open door. She went after him, stunned by how many Samurai weapons and armor lay cluttered together as Gunnar tore through them. It seemed the people in the other room truly were warriors, but why they were anywhere near Mount Ignis was a mystery to her.

She jumped as Gunnar threw her missing sword and dagger at her, wrapped up in her sword belt. She caught it and quickly buckled it around her waist before he handed over her armor and helmet next. Coal sifted through the collection alongside Gunnar as she prepared herself until he found his own gear. He sighed in relief when he found his shield, slipping it over his shoulder before donning his armor and tightening the straps around his arms.

"Are we making another break for it?" he asked, shoving his flail into his belt and slipping on his helmet.

Priscilla didn't answer right away and looked to Gunnar instead, but he ignored them both as he dressed in his leather pauldrons and pulled his great axe out of a pile of thin swords. He still wore the same scowl that he had down in their cell, and even after he covered his face beneath his helmet, anger, and resentment radiated off of him like a flame. Shouldering his axe, he shoved past her and back out into the prison without so much as a backward glance.

"Gunnar," she said, tossing her helmet aside and giving chase. There would be no more hiding her face behind cold, dark iron, not from him. "Gunnar, wait. Where are you going?"

"To find my brother," he said without stopping as he led them away from the Samurai and into the maze of tunnels through the mountain prison. "I should be at his side when our final battle is at hand."

"Your final battle?" They entered a narrow hall dimly lit by torches, and Priscilla dashed forward to grab Gunnar's arm. "Wait, please... Let me explain at the very least-"

Gunnar turned and smacked at her hand before shoving her away with the haft of his axe. She stumbled into Coal as Gunnar stepped back, holding out his axe like a stave meant to ward off evil.

"What is there to explain?" he snapped at her. He looked even more like a northern demon with his horned helmet upon his head, towering above her in the gloom. "All you have done is now revealed! Your plotting! All your lies!"

"Please, Gunnar," Priscilla gasped, a sickening mix of fear and anger welling in her gut. "I never wanted this for us... I wanted us to be free of this place!"

"You wanted my people to die!" he shouted. "You said it yourself! You made yourself perfectly clear! All you told me... All the hope you filled me with that we had a future beyond all this bloodshed, and in the end, I was a fucking idiot to believe you, just as you said! I should have listened to Herleif... I should have never trusted you for a moment! What a fool I was to believe you could see me as anything more than your enemy!"

His voice echoed through the hall, fading away in each direction until they seemed trapped in their own little world of darkness and misery. For Priscilla, it seemed that there was no way out. She could not go back the way she had come. There was nothing there for her except fire and death. But she could not go forward either, not with Gunnar standing in her way. He had become an obstacle she could not overcome, something she had been afraid of since the beginning. Nothing came before the mission, but she had put him before everything.

Elise, the Sisterhood, Judith, the Legion Council, and the Divine Pyre; all of them had stood in her way in one way or another. Each time she had fought, she had lost more and more of the life she had built through pain and suffering. She could not go through it all again.

"You came to me!" she screamed angrily, her voice echoing down the hall just like Gunnar's. "What did you think would happen? I wanted nothing to do with you, but you pushed your way into my life without shame! You refused to leave me alone! I was not ready to see you how you saw me! You made me adapt! You made me change when I should have come at you with steel in hand and left nothing of you to be found, and I almost did! At the Great Forge, when I knew I had you in the palm of my hand, I almost-"

Her voice broke away as realization flashed in Gunnar's eyes. The bitter memory of holding the knife behind her back as he turned away from her remained stuck in her mind, and she bit her lip to fight off the tears, refusing to appear weak before him anymore. He slowly lowered his axe between them, but she did not dare take a step forward until she told him the whole truth.

"But I stayed my hand..." she continued. "I put everything on the line for you. The armor, the priest. No one could know, but you knew it all and I let it happen. I saw you... I saw your heart, and your bravery, and strength when I should have looked away. I saw the lie I made you believe and I..." She stopped to press the palms of her hands against her eyes as she bared her teeth and willed herself not to cry. "Dammit! I wanted it too, Gunnar! It was stupid and selfish and so utterly false, but I wanted it! I want you back! I want what we had to be real!"

The tears came now, no matter how terrible they made her feel. She turned away, ignoring the way Coal lowered his head to spare her from pity, but she didn't care. She wiped her eyes, took a breath to steady herself, and turned back to Gunnar with no intent of backing down. There was no running from the truth now. She had no more lies to hide behind.

"I know that what I have done can never be forgiven... I know that I acted against your brother and your people, and even my very own legion in the end, but I was not prepared for any of this! I wish I could do it all differently, but that is impossible! I just want you, Gunnar! That is the truth! I want you back and I want you to hear it free of any lies!"

The hall fell quiet as her voice faded away, but she could still hear her heart pounding in her ears with the rush of blood. Heat bloomed in her face as she watched the confusion in Gunnar's eyes turn into curiosity and then sorrow. He took another step away from her, but she was too afraid to follow.

"I love you, Gunnar," she said quietly at last.

Silence filled the hall. Gunnar lowered his head. Priscilla's heart pounded in her chest. She had let herself be broken to pieces again, all for the truth. All she could do was give him the parts of herself that were cracked but not broken and hope that he would love what remained.

Lifting his axe onto his shoulder, Gunnar looked up at the torches and gave a slight nod as if he had made his decision.

"If things had been different," he began, his voice gentle now like hers, but it made her blood run cold, "I would have chosen you over a glorious death. Such a thing was never my dream until I met you, but now..." He turned to look at her, his face once again hard as hers broke into unwanted tears. "A great death awaits us all, delivered by your hand. Now I will find my brother and together we will earn our place in Valhǫll. Go find your place on the wall and fight well until the end. That is all any of us can do now."

Priscilla fought back the sob that threatened to escape her throat as Gunnar turned and walked out of the light and into darkness. She heard him call back just as he disappeared from her sight, swallowed up as if he were being buried beneath the mountain before her eyes again.

"I will remember you in my dreams."

Her legs turned weak, and she stumbled against the wall before she fell and cried, broken and numb to the world. She could not even feel Coal's arms around her as he held her in the flickering light of the prison hall.

Finally, it seemed, she had found her place in Hell.