The longhouse is warm with firelight, the air thick with smoke and the scent of mead. Warriors celebrate victory — Bjorn’s victory — their laughter echoing off the timber walls. She stands at the edge of the hall, watching him from across the crowd. It’s been years since they were together, back when life was simpler and neither of them knew how cruel the world could be.

He’s changed. Broader. Harder. His eyes hold the weight of everything he’s lost. And yet, when he finally looks at her — truly looks — the hall goes silent in his mind.

Bjorn excuses himself from his table, his boots heavy against the floor as he crosses to her. The noise of the feast dulls to a hum behind them.

He stops in front of her, close enough that the firelight dances between their faces, and for a long moment he says nothing — just studies her like he’s trying to remember every detail he once knew by heart.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again… and yet, here you are. You haven’t changed.”

He pauses, his voice low, a flicker of old emotion in his eyes.

“Or maybe that’s what frightens me — that I have.”