A weapon was a sacred thing to most. With one in hand a man could defend his honor and family, take wealth and build a life. An ax gave a man's strength against the darkness, the next best thing to flame really. But now, Halvar’s own sword felt nothing more than a weight on his side.

Each step seemed to dull the blade more in his mind turning it from a tool of violence to a child's refusal of the inevitable. The sharpened steel was as useless as If held by a 1000 men so Halvar had spent his warriors away. Let someone survive what was to come if it ended in blood.

“Jarl,” Gry said at his side. “He still follows”

Halvar came to a stop and turned, his sight already turning past the bend they'd passed, going farther until he was apt to retch from his vision being stretched so. “Hadding, leave here at once.”

From around the bend of the last corridor, Hadding emerged. His face was bruised and blood still drenched his face after facing Arvid, the offense still burning in his chest as he stared the man down.

“Listen to your father, Boy,” Arvid said, not bothering to draw his own weapon as Hadding did.

“You've all gone fucking mist mad!” Hadding exclaimed. “We've won! The battle is ours and for some reason-.” He pointed his weapon right at Arvid. “He still lives!”

Halvar groaned, the sound of it like grinding stones, a clear sign night would be on them soon. “There is no point in killing Arvid. Worse lurks in this place.”

“Or that trench of a man has ensorcelled you and your Völva whore both!”

Gry drew her burning dagger at that but Halvar raised a hand forestalling her and saving his son several burns.

“Leave, now,” Halvar said, leaving no space for argument.

“On Odin's beard, I will not-!”

Halvar stole his son's words as he lashed out, grasping his throat in a death grip and heaving him off the ground.

“I’m not asking, Boy!” he roared then threw the berserker across the room.

Hadding’s body hit the stone wall with a crash. Would have killed lesser men but the shifter fought for breath as he struggled to stand.

Halvar turned and strode away hoping that would be enough to force Hadding away but as the thought came he knew it wouldn't be.

The vision fell upon him, clear as the brightest day without the mist. Hadding would follow behind them still, forcing Halvar to beat him down. But he'd resume after a time, stumbling into a room too hazy to see through the sight.

Suddenly the vision changed again. This time Halvar would cut a bloody line across Hadding’s chest. That much wouldn't kill a shifter, in fact, Hadding would still follow and not just this time.

Halvar broke his son’s limbs, Gry set him aflame, once Arvid had brought him to the edge of death-chill. A dozen possibilities, then more and more. Hadding would plead, Halvar would rage, Gry threatened, explained, and embraced him as he cried. Arvid's mist pooled around Hadding bringing him to his knees from the cold. They fought so many times, once in a handful of battles Hadding managed to gain the upper hand.

The future split, Hadding pivoting lift instead of right, this time lopping off Arvid's head. His nose crunched moments later as Halvar’s fist landed. The Jarl felt the blood spray on his face and then his son's jaws bit down on him as a fully shifted snow-bear. Seeing their first true fight in all these years had Halvar nigh onto weeping while so many other futures laid bare, few ending in peace if he only listened.

“You’ve got it bad, don't you.” said a man’s voice in amusement.

The words sounded off, like a man not used to speaking the north tongue. The strangeness of it had the vision fading away until Halvar found himself in front of a table laden with meats and vegetables as if the day meal was being served. At the head of the table was a man the like Halvar had only seen a handful of times in his life; a Serklander.

While his palms were pale the rest of the man’s skin was darker than any born in Germa. His hair was long and bundled but the strangest part was the disheveled brown cloak wore.

The serk took a bite of elk flesh before speaking. “Your sight is boundless, Jarl. Shortest road to madness if I’ve ever seen one. Best to be limited like your Völva.”

Halvar shot to his feet, the chair behind him toppling over but not knowing when he's sat down. No. Hed been standing, at least he had been in this present, the others fading, possibilities dying as more were born.

But where was Gry in this web of fate? Where was he? And where was his son and Arvid. His vision was changing again. Voices echoed in joy as men feasted, thousands, more than he count in a lifetime.

“What is happening!” Halvar shouted just before his head jerked back as a hand bounded across his face.

“Gry?” Halvar said, finding her reading another slap. He let it land, the blow clearing his mind enough to smell the blood choking the air.

Eyes wide, the Jarl stumbled back at what he saw. A woman, Saxa, lay dead in front of Arvid, her chest a mess of red as her ribs were pried open with a steaming heart cooling on the floor next to her. On the other side of the long table, Hadding laid motionless save the rising of his chest.

Gry spun around holding her flaming dagger aimed at the Serklander. "I swear by all the gods, if you don’t tell who you are I’ll burn you alive!"

“Nergal!” the man shouted with his palm padding the air.

Halvar made his way to Hadding’s side. “What happened?”

“This sorcerer cast a spell on him!” Gry shouted, drawing closer to the Serklander.

“I just put the annoying boy to sleep,” Nergal said. “As for Saxa. A vaettir ripped out her heart. Same one you’re here for I’d think.”

Halvar turned to Nergal, eyeing the man. No fear was in his eyes and no sword or axe in hand. A sorcerer for sure, one that didn't believe he’d come to any harm. Was he simply that powerful or had the sight showed him what was to come?

“Where is this vaettir?” Halvar asked.

“And where is my daughter?” Arvid asked as he rose.

Nergal’s hands came down, resting in the pockets of his cloak. This man was far too relaxed for Halvar’s liking. “The vaettir flew out a window,” he said.

“It just left?” Gry said, sounding like she believed him just as little as Halvar.

Nergal shrugged and thumbed a finger to the door behind him. “What’s left of the coven is behind this door waiting for me to tell them is safe or for an army of Hastiny to cut them down.”

Gry snared. “And you intend to face us alone.”

Nergal smiled and strode all too calmly to a window overlooking the land. “I intended to convince you not to kill them.”

Halvar followed the man, his body moved by prescience. There was something he had to see. All other possibilities led to death for him and his tribe. Somehow, he knew this was why he’d spared the Wodanar. It's why despite the burning anger in his chest he’d spare Syn and her ilk, for in the murky darkness of the night Halvar saw a thousand pairs of flicking green flames, draugr, more leaving the wood with every breath and all headed for Skorradalr.