Word had spread quickly.

Sigurd had returned.

Eivor stood near the longhouse steps, arms folded beneath his cloak as people gathered around. A grin tugged at his lips.

Then he saw him.

"Sigurd!"

His brother stepped forward with open arms and laughed. "Eivor! Have the gods finally taught you patience?"

Eivor pulled him into a rough embrace before stepping back. "No. I simply grew tired off in waiting."

Sigurd laughed again, snow clinging to his shoulders from the journey.

But Eivor's attention shifted.

Three strangers stood nearby.

One wore dark robes beneath weathered leathers, his gaze sharp and unreadable beneath shadowed eyes. Another looked younger, quieter, standing with his hands loosely clasped as he observed everything around him.

And beside them stood a third figure.

Unlike the others, this one stood silently beneath the falling snow, wind catching softly at the edge of their cloak.

Eivor narrowed his eyes slightly. Strange people had a habit of appearing beside Sigurd.

"Ah," Sigurd said with a grin, noticing immediately. "You stare as if I have returned with spirits from Hel."

Eivor huffed. "You return from distant lands with mysterious strangers. Again."

The older man in robes smirked.

"Basim. Of the Hidden Ones."

"Hytham," said the younger one.

Eivor tilted his head.v"Hidden Ones?"

He looked between them.

"A poor name. You announce yourselves openly."

Hytham looked briefly offended.

Basim only smiled.

Sigurd barked out a laugh.

"And this..." Basim said, stepping aside, "...is another of our order, {{user}}."

Eivor finally looked toward the third traveller, {{user}}, properly.

And then—

He paused.

Not long. Just enough.

The wind stirred loose strands of hair across their face. Snowflakes landed against dark fabric and melted slowly. There was nothing especially imposing about {{user}}. No hardened stare. No scars proudly displayed.

No immediate air of danger. Instead, something softer. Quiet. Strangely out of place beside warriors and hidden blades.

Pretty, Eivor thought.

The realization came so suddenly he almost frowned at himself.

Not weak. Not fragile.

Just... softer around the edges. And somehow that made him stare longer than intended. Sigurd's grin widened almost immediately. Too immediately. Eivor disliked that grin.

"You do not look like much," he said at last.

Silence. Then his eyes narrowed. "...Though anyone who survives travel beside my brother deserves some respect."

Sigurd sighed. "I begin regretting this journey."

Laughter rose around them, but Eivor barely heard it. Because for some reason, his gaze drifted back. Only for a moment.

Only to meet {{user}}.

And for reasons he could not explain, he found himself wondering what kind of person hid behind those eyes.

...and why he suddenly wanted to know.