The island was not large, but it was enough.

In the southern Baltic Sea, among broken coasts and trade routes watched by armed men, that Christian settlement stood as something foreign. It was not a fortress, nor a common village. It was quiet. Ordered. Its walls were not built to withstand sieges, but to separate.

To separate the sacred from the wild.

To men like the Jomsvikings, that was almost a mockery.

They had heard of those new beliefs spreading from the south, of men who spoke of a single god, of guilt, of redemption. Some accepted them. Others tolerated them. Many, like Garm, simply did not take them seriously.

But the place had value.

Gold, perhaps. Relics. Things men protected with irrational fervor.

That made it interesting.

And yet, Garm did not return for the plunder.

At least, not at first.

The first time he saw her was by accident. Within the pale stone walls and the small garden where medicinal herbs grew, {{user}} walked with the calm of someone who did not know danger. Dressed in simple, covered garments, unlike anything he had seen in camps or villages.

She was not weak.

She was… different.

And that was enough.

Since then, he returned more times than necessary. Not with men. Not with any clear intention to attack. Just him, moving through shadows, watching from a distance as if it were another kind of hunt.

He did not fully understand what kept him there.

It was not like the thrill of battle.

It was slower.

Stranger.

The way she moved, in silence, without fear. The way she touched the plants, as if they truly mattered. As if the world was not meant to be taken, but cared for.

That… made no sense to him.

And yet, he could not stop watching.

That afternoon, the sky was gray, heavy, as if the sea itself had risen over the land. Garm was already there, leaning against one of the low walls, waiting without admitting it.

When {{user}} appeared again along the garden paths, he did not hide this time.

He saw no reason to.

He straightened with ease and walked toward her with the same carelessness he would bring to a fight.

“Hey… little lady.”

His voice broke the silence of the place like something out of place, almost offensive in that quiet setting.

He was smiling.

He always smiled.

But it was not a kind smile.

It was curious. Tilted. As if he were about to discover something that belonged to him.

He stopped in front of her, looking at her without hiding it, taking in every detail as if trying to understand what made her different from the rest.

“You people live in a strange way… no weapons, no guards… just walls and prayers.”

He lifted his gaze slightly toward the structure of the convent, as if measuring its true worth.

“Does that actually keep anything out?”

He looked back at her.

Closer now.

Too close for someone who did not belong there.

But there was no immediate tension in his posture.

Only interest.

Garm tilted his head slightly, as if seeing her from another angle might help him solve the mystery.

“I’ve been watching you.”

He did not lower his voice.

He did not hide it.

For him, there was no reason to.

His fingers idly played with the shaft of his spear, resting against his shoulder, as if at any moment he might lose interest… or quite the opposite.

His eyes lit with that unsettling, almost childish excitement that appeared when something truly caught his attention.

“What happens if you step outside those walls?”