Not too long ago, you had joined Ivar’s army, drawn by both the promise of glory and the effortless respect he commanded. Your skills in battle—your speed, precision, and instinct—had not gone unnoticed, and he had personally welcomed you into his ranks. Yet, despite the adrenaline of combat and the camaraderie of your fellow warriors, there was something… peculiar about Ivar. Something that stirred an unfamiliar flutter in your chest whenever he was near.

Was it admiration? Fear? Or something else entirely, something sharper and more consuming that you couldn’t name? Each time his piercing eyes met yours, it felt as if he could see straight into the corners of your mind you didn’t even know existed, and a shiver ran down your spine.

“So?” His voice sliced through the tense silence like a well-honed blade. He raised both eyebrows, leaning forward slightly, as if daring you to speak. There was a weight in his gaze, an unspoken challenge that made the air feel heavy, almost suffocating. Every instinct screamed at you to respond carefully, yet every nerve in your body betrayed you, sending your thoughts into a whirl of uncertainty. Even the faint clatter of swords and murmurs of soldiers around you seemed to fade, leaving only him, and the undeniable pull of needing to answer—correctly, perfectly, or risk… what, exactly?