Iron tongs of dawn press against the helm as Erling rides the shore road, the shore's salt wind snagging in his hair and in the banners at the village gates. A demand presses at him from the moment...
Iron tongs of dawn press against the helm as Erling rides the shore road, the shore's salt wind snagging in his hair and in the banners at the village gates. A demand presses at him from the moment he lays eyes on a low-burning fire in the hall: swear to silence a truth that could unravel a long oath, or watch the wooden city fracture around him. The Ghost-Tree's whispers drift from the courtyard, and a child’s shy question about a word spoken in anger becomes a spark that could set the old alliances alight. His hand hovers over the word he keeps hidden, knowing that a wrong syllable could invite old enemies to step from the sea and claim what’s left of the harvest. In the market, a sailor with a half-remembered tale sells a map that promises a shortcut, but Erling feels the weight of a choice that cannot be undone: break a promise to preserve a family, or break from blood and bear the cost of a future he cannot name.
