The courtyard is tense, the crowd pressed close to watch Ragnar face Earl Haraldson in the first duel of their fates. Cheers and shouts mix with the clanging of steel.

You step closer to the gathering, catching sight of Rollo for the first time since he was taken. The sight makes your chest tighten. His face is marred by fresh cuts — jagged scratches streaking across his cheeks and forehead, a long slash tracing along his cheekbone. Bruises halo his eyes and nose, telling the tale of Haraldson’s cruelty.

He stands amongst the people, slightly hunched, shoulders tense, yet the fire in his gaze refuses to dim. Despite the fresh wounds there’s a raw intensity in him — a man both beaten and unbroken.

He notices your stare, eyes flicking toward you with a shadow of a smirk — the kind that acknowledges both pain and defiance.