“A city north of us?” Bjorn asked.

  “Aye, Lord Bjorn, north of us is Iskallio, the home of the Skals,” Rune expined.

  “There are cities outside of Aldrig?”

  “Aye, hundreds of winters ago, an empire once ruled the north—an empire so massive that when it colpsed, the entire world felt it. Born in the age of heroes, its fall ended the Age of Kings. Many cities were founded then—Grajord, Iskallio, just a few. We’ve lost much knowledge, young Bjorn, relying on Lahtian scripts to piece together our past. But Iskallio exists, that much is true.”

  “Whoa, can we go there?” Bjorn asked, his voice bright with innocence. “Can we see those pces ourselves?” His eyes sparkled at the drawings Rune unrolled—crude maps and sketches of spires piercing snowy skies. Erik snored softly beside him, oblivious.

  Master Rune studied Bjorn, concern etching his weathered face. “The world’s bigger than you know, d. But it’s not all safe for a boy’s dreams.”

  That night, Bjorn couldn’t sleep. Rune’s words and the maps burned in his mind, whispering of pces where snow melted and empires crumbled. By dawn, he’d made up his mind—to see those pces with his own eyes… to find a pce where he and Erik can py… a nd of eternal spring.

  The ship they took carried gifts: rare arctic deer leather, bck northern pearls—everyday items in Aldrig and Grajo, but precious offerings here. To part with them was to share their life, a gesture of trust akin to gifting warmth in a frozen nd.

  A day had passed since they sailed from Aldrig’s docks. They crossed the narrow sea, and now the white shores of Iskallio shimmered ahead, a stark line against the grey waves.

  “Bjorn,” Erik said, gripping the rail.

  “I know,” Bjorn replied, steady despite the nerves in his gut. “Do not engage. We come in peace.”

  “They’re going to kill us, Bjorn.”

  Four wooden ships closed in around them, their hulls creaking, while one hung back. The sailors tensed, hands on hilts. Erik drew his bde, jaw tight.

  Erik muttered a prayer under his breath. “Gods of the White Oak, may we become one with your roots.” He barked a command, sword raised.

  “Stand down,” Bjorn said, voice low but firm. “We’re not here to fight.”

  “Bjorn—”

  “Please, Erik. Believe me.” At his friend’s plea, Erik hesitated, then signaled the men to lower their weapons. A horn bred from their ship—negotiation, not war. The lingering boat edged closer.

  “I am Bjorn Gunnarson Vinter, Heir to the people of Aldrigs and Gra’jo,” Bjorn called out, standing tall. “I did not come here to fight.”

  Murmurs rippled across the encircling ships. A horn answered, sharp and clear. Silence settled as the rear boat approached, a wooden bridge thudding into pce between them.

  Five figures crossed—four in heavy furs guarding one in the center. That figure stepped forward, peeling back a fur-lined hood to reveal a weathered yet warm face.

  “Welcome to Iskallio, Bjorn of Aldrig and Gra’jo. I am Charlotte, just Charlotte,” she said with a smile, her voice cutting through the wind.

  Bjorn exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. Erik sheathed his sword, muttering something about luck.

  As their ship docked at Iskallio’s harbor, unfamiliar banners snapped in the breeze atop other vessels—ships from distant cities and nations, some from across the ocean.

  “Curious?” Charlotte asked, catching Bjorn’s stare.

  “What are those?” he replied, nodding at the fgs.

  “Ships from beyond—some sailed from where the sun rises,” she said, pointing east. “This world stretches far, east as much as south.”

  Bjorn turned to look, the horizon pulling at him. Erik followed his gaze, curiosity stirring despite himself.

  “Shall we move on?” Charlotte said.

  “Yes…” Bjorn nodded, still half-lost in the sight.

  She led them innd past huts unlike Aldrig’s—blends of wood, stone, and packed snow, simple yet sturdy. Then came a sound that snapped Bjorn’s head around.

  Whishhhhh

  Ice scratched against ice as carts slid by, hauling goods and people with effortless grace.

  “Those are ice carts,” Charlotte expined. “How we move here. And this—” she gestured to a cluster of huts “—is where you’ll stay.”

  The huts were pin but roomy. Charlotte showed them inside, then left with a quiet, “Rest for now, Bjorn.”

  Bjorn flopped onto a fur bed beside Erik, who was already half-asleep. “Erik, we’re here,” he said, glee bubbling up. “It’s beautiful—nothing like Master Rune’s drawings. From here, we can see more of the world…”

  “What now?” Erik murmured, eyes barely open.

  “Father’ll be home soon. We move fast—Lahti next.” Bjorn spread out a tattered map, tracing a finger south.

  “We’re not going home?”

  “Father’d lock us in Aldrig forever.” Hund lumbered over, wedging between them and flopping onto his back. Erik scratched the wolf’s belly without a second thought.

  “There’s a fw, Bjorn,” Erik said, voice sharpening. “If Lord Gunnar learns we came here, he might invade. The truce is only two years old.”

  Bjorn frowned. “Right… I don’t want trouble for Charlotte.” A knock interrupted them.

  “Lord Bjorn, you’re summoned by the North Star Council,” a man said, framed in the doorway, bde at his waist.

  “The what?” Bjorn blinked.

  “They rule this city—their domain.”

  “Like kings?”

  “Aye, like kings.”

  “Alright, we’ll get ready.” The man nodded, warning them against weapons before shutting the door. “We need gifts!” Bjorn said, springing up. Erik groaned but followed.

  They packed leather, meat, and fish from their journey, Bjorn pocketing some pearls. “Let’s go.”

  “You’re bringing that thing?” the man asked, eyeing Hund.

  “Yes, Hund’s family,” Bjorn said firmly.

  “Alright… Lady Charlotte said to accommodate you.”

  They stepped out, drawing stares. Bjorn rode Hund’s back while Erik fed the wolf jerky, its tail wagging wildly.

  “Erik, Hund’ll get fat,” Bjorn teased.

  “It’s fine.”

  “I regret this,” their guide muttered, palming his face.

  Not long after, in the vastness of the white snowfields, only one thing existed which grabbed one’s attention.

  The cold snow chilled the leather shoes as each step we took shovelled snow over them. We didn’t even notice that the road we were walking on earlier had run out. For our entire consciousness was now directed onto that…

  “Welcome to Pohjohnen, Lord Bjorn.” the man said as he saw the two mesmerized by the sight, filling him with pride.

  The group had finally arrived at the castle gates, standing before the massive structure. Its towering walls stretched as far as the eye could see, cradling the horizon. Above, men moved swiftly along the battlements, their tasks a blur of motion against the sky. Some sections of the castle were cloaked in snow, while frost clung to its weathered stone, adding an almost otherworldly beauty to its rugged form. For a boy, eager to see the world beyond his wildest dreams, this castle—majestic, untamed, and full of secrets—was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

  “Erik,” he whispered, “it’s more than I dreamed.”