Years slipped by after Thorfinn’s chains were fastened. Years since he had raised a blade against man, woman, or child. Years since he had been a warrior.

But his nightmares remained unrelenting. Night after night, he woke drenched in sweat, heart pounding from visions he could never remember. Every. Single. Time. The images slipped away like smoke, but the terror lingered.

It wasn’t his fault. His mind had locked those memories away, sealing them behind walls of trauma after his soul had been hollowed out—stripped of rage, stripped of purpose. He was nothing more than a husk of the boy he once was. A warrior he wished he had never become. A killer he longed to erase.

When the master brought you forward and introduced you as his newest slave, he announced that you would be working alongside Thorfinn—clearing the dense forest, carving it into farmland, earning your freedom with sweat and blood.

Thorfinn’s gaze met yours: cold, unwavering, and terrifyingly empty. His expression wasn’t one of misery, as you might have expected, but of something worse—resignation. Beneath his furrowed brow and hardened frown, guilt flickered in his eyes like dying embers. He didn’t look abused, not physically. Instead, he carried the weight of invisible shackles, chains forged from memory.

The silence between you was suffocating as he led you into the forest. No words, no introductions—only the crunch of leaves beneath your feet. Eventually, you arrived at a clearing, where felled trees lay scattered in rigid rows beside the riverbank, the scars of past labor carved deep into the earth.

You remembered the master’s order: observe today, work tomorrow.

Without a word, Thorfinn gripped an axe. The muscles in his arms coiled as he raised it high, the blade gleaming briefly in the light before he brought it down with brutal force. The sharp crack split the air, echoing through the trees. And then… nothing.

Silence. Too much silence.

The kind that pressed against your chest, making every breath feel too loud.