Crossroads

From the very beginning, Kaya had wanted nothing to do with Eivor, had seen him as nothing more than another reckless warrior, another man blinded by ambition and battle-lust, much like the ones she had spent her life avoiding. Yet now, as they mounted their horses at the gates of the fortress, she realized that somewhere along the way, he had become something else family.Not in the way blood bound people together, but in the way hardship did, in the way battles fought side by side forged unspoken bonds. She had not chosen this, nor had she asked for it, but perhaps this was exactly what Mentor Basim and Mentor Ishmael had intended all along.

Kaya exhaled, adjusting the folds of her freshly cleaned robes, her fingers running down the sleeves to straighten them before ensuring that her hidden blade sat snug beneath the fabric. Every movement was precise, methodical, a routine that brought her momentary clarity before the next storm.

She turned her gaze toward Eivor, who sat astride his horse with the ease of a man who had spent his life in the saddle, looking out over the open road ahead with something bordering on confidence.

"Do you even know the way?" she asked, her tone flat, already dreading his answer.

Eivor, without missing a beat, gave a slight shrug. "I looked at a map," he replied, as if that was assurance enough, before adding with a grin, "And if not, I'll follow my raven."

Kaya's expression deadened instantly, her stare flat and unimpressed as she let silence drag between them, her patience thinning with each passing second.

She rubbed her temple, suppressing the urge to sigh. "The gods truly do have a sense of humor," she muttered under her breath, shifting in the saddle before giving him a long, pointed look. "Yourravenwill not always be there to guide you, Eivor. I suggest you rely more on your ability to read a map unless you want to end up lost in some bog."

Eivor chuckled, unbothered by her skepticism, adjusting the reins as his horse pawed at the ground. "It has worked for me so far," he countered, his grin unfading.

Kaya resisted the urge to throw her hands in the air. "One day, it won't," she shot back, her voice dry, though she made no further argument.

As they nudged their horses forward, Kaya swallowed the groan that threatened to escape. She was not looking forward to what lay ahead, and she wasespeciallynot looking forward to seeing Ivarr again. If there was a way to avoid him entirely, she would take it.

But, as always, fate was never so kind.

The long road stretched endlessly before them, winding through the heart of England, flanked on either side by rolling hills that seemed to rise and fall like the breath of the earth itself. They passed through small villages, where the scent of tilled soil and burning wood lingered in the air, past grazing pastures where cattle and sheep moved lazily under the watchful eyes of their keepers. The cool breeze carried with it the scent of rain from the distant horizon, ruffling their cloaks as their horses moved at a steady, unhurried pace.

For the first time in what felt like days, there was peace—no clashing steel, no barking orders, no dying screams—only the rhythmic clopping of hooves against dirt and the occasional caw of the raven soaring above them.

Kaya exhaled slowly, letting the tension in her shoulders ease as she took in the open land before her.England is more vast than I thought,she mused, her voice barely above a breath, but it carried in the quiet, reaching Eivor's ears.

Eivor, riding slightly ahead, turned his head slightly toward her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "It is," he agreed, his voice calm, almost thoughtful. "I remember when we first arrived, when our ships cut through the rivers and I saw these lands for the first time. It was… overwhelming. The sheer size of it. The forests that stretch for miles, the rivers that carve through the land like veins. It is different from Norway—wilder in some ways, softer in others."

Kaya tilted her head slightly, considering his words. "Softer?" she echoed, arching a brow. "You call this soft?"

Eivor let out a chuckle, nudging his horse slightly closer to hers. "In a way," he admitted. "In Norway, the mountains stand like giants, the snow buries everything in the deep of winter, and the sea is a beast that does not forgive. England… it has its dangers, but its land does not seek to break you as our homeland does."

Kaya was silent for a moment, letting his words settle. She had seen the mountains of Norway from afar, towering and merciless, had felt the bite of its cold winds even from the safety of a hearth, and she could understand, in some way, what he meant.

"Perhaps," she conceded, shifting in her saddle. "But soft or not, this land is not ours. No matter how many battles are won, how many fortresses are taken, there will always be those who see us as invaders, and they will not rest until we are forced back into the sea."

Eivor nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "That is true," he admitted. "But it is also true that we are here now, and we will not leave so easily." He glanced at her then, a glint of curiosity in his gaze. "And what of you, Kaya? Do you see this land as something to be conquered? Or does it remain just another place beneath your feet, no different from the last?"

"Not in the way you do. I do not look at land and think of it as something to claim or settle upon. To me, all land is temporary. Whether it is sand or stone, desert or field, it is simply another place to pass through."

Eivor studied her for a long moment, then turned his eyes back to the road ahead. "A lonely way to live," he remarked.

Kaya smirked faintly, though there was little humor in it. "It is the only way I have ever known."

The conversation drifted into silence once more, but this time, it was a companionable one.

…

"This is not going to end well."

Kaya nearly grimaced at the sound of thatannoyingvoice, her shoulders tensing instinctively as Ivarr spoke.

They had finally reached their destination, the long road behind them giving way to uneven terrain, where large boulders jutted from the earth like the bones of some ancient beast. The rocky formations provided ample cover, allowing them to observe the stone structure looming in the distance without immediately exposing themselves.

The air was heavy, thick with the promise of something inevitable—confrontation, bloodshed, or both.

"Just keep your wits about you," Ubba stated, his voice firm but carrying the weight of caution as he turned toward his brother, his sharp eyes watching Ivarr's restless movements.

Ivarr only grinned, the excitement already dancing in his gaze, his fingers twitching at his sides as if his body could barely contain the anticipation of whatever violence was about to unfold.

Sigurd, ever composed, let out a measured breath before addressing them, his tone even but carrying a quiet authority. "Calm, Ivarr. Me and Eivor will take care of this," he assured, before casting a glance toward Kaya with something bordering on amusement. "And, of course, we have thepagan demonon our side."

Kaya, who had been adjusting the strap of her bracer, froze for a fraction of a second before exhaling sharply, her fingers lifting to scratch at her temple in irritation. She could already feel the headache creeping in, the weariness of thisgamethey insisted on playing.

"Whatever you have planned, make sure you don't use that name," she muttered, her tone dry, making it clear that she was not in the mood for their amusement at her expense.

And, of course, he did not disappoint.

"Well, well," Ivarr mused, stepping closer with that same insufferable grin. "Look at us, reunited once again. Fate truly is kind, isn't it?"

Kaya shot him a glare, already feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. "Yes, like a disease that just won't go away," she quipped, her voice dry.

Ivarr let out a sharp, barking laugh, clearly enjoying the exchange far more than she was. "Ah, how I've missed your sharp tongue." He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Perhaps I should have taken you with me the last time. Would've made forveryinteresting company."

Kaya's jaw clenched. "I'd rather let a pack of starving wolves gnaw my limbs off than spend anothermomentin your presence."

Ivarr merely grinned, unbothered. "A shame. We could have made fine sport of it."

Eivor, wisely choosing to stay out of whatever was brewing between the two, swung down from his horse, his boots crunching against the dirt as he approached Sigurd. Kaya, following his lead, dismounted as well, making a point to ignore Ivarr entirely as she stepped forward.

She could feel the smirks from both Sigurd and Eivor, but neither of them said anything. Not yet, at least.

She and Eivor made their way toward Sigurd, their movements purposeful, silent, their steps in sync despite neither of them acknowledging it.

Sigurd couldn't help but notice something different in the way Eivor and Kaya moved—something subtle, yet unmistakable. Both stood before him now, hoods drawn low over their faces, their weapons at the ready, their bodies tense with quiet anticipation. It wasn't just battle readiness that set them apart in this moment—it was something far more deliberate, something calculated.

They had stopped before him not like raiders eager to charge into the fray, but like soldiers forming a line, their discipline evident in the way they carried themselves. Kaya, though visibly weary from the long journey and the weight of whatever thoughts plagued her mind, still exuded the same unwavering resolve she always did. Even in exhaustion, she was prepared for whatever lay ahead, her body coiled like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Sigurd observed the way they both held themselves, their stance, their silence—this was not the posture of ordinary warriors. It was the stance of those who moved unseen, those who struck from the dark before vanishing just as swiftly. It was clear now—whether intentionally or not—Kaya's influence had begun to manifest in Eivor. He was watching, learning, adopting the ways of the Hidden Ones without even realizing it.

Sigurd exhaled slowly, studying them both for a long moment, lost in thought.

Then, Eivor's voice cut through the quiet. "Sigurd, is there a problem?" His tone was even, his words direct, yet there was a slight edge of curiosity beneath them, as if he had caught onto his brother's lingering gaze.

We'll go see Tonna, just the two of us," Sigurd declared, his voice leaving no room for argument as he adjusted his cloak. "Ivarr, Ubba, and Kaya will stay here. Gods willing—if Kaya doesn't kill Ivarr in the meantime."

Kaya scowled, crossing her arms, already regretting every decision that had led her to this moment. She opened her mouth to say something sharp, but the warning look Sigurd shot her made her hold her tongue. He was right, of course—this was not the time for another fight, nor for her to let her temper get the better of her. She had too much respect for Sigurd to openly challenge his decision, though she could already feel the irritation simmering beneath her skin.

"Better if Tonna thinks we came alone," Sigurd continued, glancing at Eivor before lowering his voice slightly, his tone carrying a weight of caution. "The truth is, I don't think any of us can stop Ivarr from cleaving her head in if she says the wrong thing. It's all he's been spewing the entire way here."

Ivarr, who had remained eerily silent up until now, was shifting on his feet, the barely contained energy rolling off him in waves. Like a caged beast starved for carnage, he twitched his fingers against the hilt of his axe, his stance one of restless anticipation, his eyes gleaming with the promise of bloodshed.

Kaya exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "I can't imagine why," she muttered, her voice laced with dry sarcasm as she cast Ivarr a knowing glance.

Ubba, wisely staying out of the inevitable storm that brewed between them, let out a low chuckle but said nothing.

Eivor, never one to let things spiral unnecessarily, adjusted the strap of his belt before stepping toward Kaya, placing a firm hand on her shoulder as he leaned in slightly. "Don't kill him just yet," he murmured, the barest hint of amusement in his tone.

Kaya arched a brow, looking up at him with an expression that clearly saidno promises,but she nodded nonetheless.

With that, Eivor and Sigurd turned, their footsteps steady as they began their ascent up the hill toward the looming settlement beyond. Kaya remained where she was, watching them disappear over the rise, then tilted her head back slightly, her gaze finding the sky where a raven circled lazily above, its dark silhouette cutting against the pale clouds.

Patience,she reminded herself.Just a little longer.

But gods help her, if Ivarr so much as breathed the wrong way, she wasn't sure how much patience she had left to give.

Kaya walked to the nearest boulder, lowering herself onto its rough surface with a quiet exhale, her muscles aching from the endless strain of the past few days. She rested an elbow on her knee, her fingers lightly pressing against her temple as she closed her eyes, allowing herself a fleeting moment of rest. The battle was behind them, the negotiations ahead, but for now, she could afford to steal a breath, if only for a moment.

She heard footsteps crunch against the dirt before she heard his voice.

"You fight well," Ubba said, his tone even, but carrying a weight of curiosity.

Kaya opened her eyes, blinking against the fading sunlight, and found Ubba sitting not far from her, his broad frame settled comfortably against another stone. Beside him, Ivarr sat as well, a rare sight to see him still and not goading her into another pointless argument.

That in itself was almost more unsettling than his usual taunts.

Kaya tilted her head slightly, waiting, knowing that wasn't all he had to say.

"You called yourself the daughter of a chieftain," Ubba continued, watching her carefully. "But your people were nomads, weren't they? That much is clear. And yet, you fight like someone trained from childhood, not just a wanderer who picked up a sword when needed."

Kaya let out a slow breath, reaching up to scratch her nose absently, giving herself a moment to think before answering. "Nomads must know how to fight," she said, her voice measured, revealing little. "The desert is not kind, nor are the men who think they can take what is not theirs."

She knew that wasn't enough to satisfy him. But it was all he would get.

Ubba studied her for a moment, then nodded, as if accepting that answer—though she could see the gears still turning in his mind.

Ivarr, however, was less patient.

His eyes flicked to her arms, to the way she kept them carefully at her sides, as if protecting something. Then lower, toward her hands.

Something shifted in his gaze.

"You hide something," he mused, leaning forward slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into something between a grin and a sneer.

Kaya's face remained impassive, though she could feel the weight of both their eyes on her.

She had been called many things before—an oddity, an outsider—but it was not often that she found herself under such scrutiny from men like these. She knew what they saw. The deep tan of her skin, kissed by the sun in ways theirs never would be. The way she carried herself, her every movement deliberate, as if even in stillness, she was ready to strike. And then, of course, there was the missing ring finger.

Ivarr's eyes lingered on it for a long moment before he let out a low chuckle. "Missing something, are you?" he asked, tilting his head, his voice laced with amusement. "A strange wound, that. Not from battle, I'd wager. But I've seen enough men take a blade to the hand to know that's no accident."

Kaya's expression didn't shift.

She did not flinch. Did not react. Did not grant them even a flicker of acknowledgment.

Let them wonder.

Ubba exchanged a glance with his brother, clearly seeing the same thing Ivarr did—Kaya was guarded, withholding more than just the details of her past.

And that only made Ivarr more intrigued.

His grin widened, that dangerous gleam returning to his eyes. "You fight well," he said again, though this time, it carried a different weight. "I want to see it up close. Test your skill myself."

Kaya finally looked at him, her brows lifting slightly. "Is that so?"

Ivarr's fingers drummed against his knee, eager, restless. "A friendly match," he said, though the way he spoke it, there was nothingfriendlyabout it. "Unless, of course, you're afraid of what I might learn."

Kaya let out a slow breath, tilting her head slightly as if considering, though in truth, she already knew her answer.

She was tired. She was irritated. She was not in the mood to entertain his insatiable need for violence.

But at the same time, she had a feeling he would never let this go until she proved to him that his taunts meant nothing.

She smirked faintly, shaking her head. "I think you just want an excuse to be on your back, Ivarr."

Ubba let out a deep, unexpected laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back.

Ivarr, to her mild surprise, didn't look offended. If anything, he looked even more intrigued.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his grin never fading. "Then prove me wrong."

Kaya's smirk faded instantly, her fingers twitching at her side.

Kaya's patience, already worn thin from the long ride and the weight of her own thoughts, snapped like a bowstring pulled too tight. "You couldn't keep up with me if the gods themselves willed it,Ragnarsson," she shot back, her voice sharp as steel, her eyes narrowing in warning.

Ivarr, ever the provocateur, only grinned wider, his wolfish amusement growing with every bite she threw his way. "Oh, mylittle shadow," he mused, the name rolling off his tongue with practiced ease, deliberate in its intent to rile her. "You wound me so, always so cruel with your words. But that fire in your eyes—it tells me another story."

Kaya inhaled slowly through her nose, already regretting speaking at all, knowing full well that any response would only feed his endless appetite for torment. He was relentless, never missing an opportunity to goad, to push, to prod at the cracks he swore he could see. She had never despised someone so much in such a short span of time.

What did he know of her? What did any of them know?

She was here for a mission, not to entertain the whims of a madman.

But gods help her, she was close—so close—to lunging at him, to grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the dirt just to shut him up. Her muscles tensed, her hands curling into fists against her thighs as she pushed up slightly, prepared to launch forward and let her instincts take over.

And he saw it.

Ivarr leaned in, almost daring her to act, his grin widening at the barely contained fury in her stance.

Then, with a slow breath, Kaya forced herself to sit back down, her body still coiled tight, her knuckles white as she exhaled the fire burning inside her.

Ivarr chuckled, the sound deep and entertained. "A shame," he murmured, feigning disappointment. "I would have enjoyed that. But if I can't have the pleasure of fighting you, perhaps I should marry you instead."

Kaya blinked. Stared. Then let out a short, sharp laugh—one of disbelief rather than humor. "Marryyou?" she repeated, as if he had suggested something as absurd as leaping off a cliff just to see if he could fly. "I'd rather throw myself into the sea and let the waves claim me."

Ivarr shrugged, unfazed. "You would make a fine wife," he continued, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Sharp-tongued, deadly with a blade, unyielding in spirit… Oh, what fun I would have tormenting you for the rest of our days."

Kaya rolled her eyes, leaning back against the boulder as she scoffed. "Then I would have to marry someone who couldmatchme in skill and wit, someone who wouldn't just run headfirst into battle like an unchained beast." She smirked, her gaze flickering to the side. "Maybe Eivor."

Ivarr barked out a laugh, while Ubba raised a brow in mild amusement.

Eivor, of course, was not here to defend himself.

Good.

Kaya had almost said another name—one she kept locked tightly in her chest, one that did not deserve to be spoken in the same breath as this conversation.Hytham.But she swallowed it down, refusing to let it slip, refusing to even let Ivarr hear a whisper of it.

The bastard didn't deserve to know.

Still, Ivarr was grinning, thoroughly entertained. "Eivor, is it? He'd bore you within a week," he teased. "But if you ever change your mind,little shadow, I'll be waiting."

Kaya sighed, shaking her head. "Don't hold your breath."

And with that, she leaned back against the stone, staring up at the sky, wondering just how much longer she had to suffer in his presence before the gods finally took mercy on her.

The shores of England stretched endlessly beneath the overcast sky, the morning mist clinging to the water's edge, rolling in slow, lazy waves that kissed the sand before retreating back into the vast, grey expanse of the sea. Seabirds circled high above, their distant cries blending with the rhythmic crashing of the tide, while the scent of salt and damp earth lingered in the air.

The ship cut through the waters with steady grace, its hull worn but sturdy, its sails marked with the stains of long travel. As it neared the shore, the voices of the crew rose above the natural symphony, men calling out orders as they prepared to dock, their hands moving with the practiced ease of those well-versed in the language of the sea.

The moment the hull scraped against the shore; the real work began. Wooden planks were lowered, and men hurried down, their boots sinking slightly into the damp sand as they began unloading crates, barrels, and bundles wrapped in thick cloth. Supplies of every kind—dried meats, sacks of grain, rolls of linen, and various tools—were carried from ship to shore, their purpose unknown to all but those who had arranged the voyage.

Amid the controlled chaos, a lone figure stepped onto the shore, his pace unhurried, his movements deliberate.

An older man, dressed in simple grey robes, his long beard streaked with silver, stood apart from the others, his hands clasped before him as his boots pressed into the cold, damp earth. He did not move to assist the workers nor call out orders like the rest. Instead, he simply stood there, his eyes lifting toward the sky as a soft breeze stirred the edges of his robes.

For a moment, he breathed it in—the scent of new land, the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting weight of foreign soil beneath his feet.

Then, a slow smile spread across his lips.

"My dear Kaya," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of years and unspoken truths. He exhaled, as if shedding a burden carried across too many miles, before shaking his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You will have to forgive me."

Mentor Ishmael stepped forward, his boots leaving imprints in the sand as he moved toward whatever fate awaited him in this unfamiliar land.

AN: There is a method to the madness here. The only ones to know about the arranged marriage are Basim, Ishmael, and Hytham. Believe me, when the Hidden Ones here about this… let's just say there is more than what meets the eye.