There were moments in life that felt so strange, so foreign, that Lyra could only gauge them by the effect they had on her breath.

When her brother was captured, her breath caught in her throat like a half-chewed steak, leaving her with a feeling that she was barely clinging onto life, barely holding on to some semblance of sanity. Although, sanity to her was really a fickle thing. Traveling across frozen lands with an army of undead to enact wildly crazy revenge plans would have an effect on anyone.

Still, she hated this plan from the start, because it would threaten all of it. All of their hard work. But when her brother was back and safe—all things considered—suddenly, she could breathe, and the world around her felt just a little bit better.

If that woman weren’t here, she might actually feel okay. But alas, all three of them—woman included—were trudging through the woods, their slow army of draugar—Isjord’s word, not theirs, because in Seidh they called them revenants—surrounding them from all sides.

“Good job, sister,” Varn said from her left, wading his way through thick snow. “You had those wolf-shits pissing their britches.”

Lyra nodded, still thinking of the village, of the corpses running through the cobbled streets like ants. It was called Avald, the woman had taught them. It was where the Wolves—their largest enemy—had handled all their operations—trade, royalty, port business. The woman, who’d introduced herself as Nerina, had promised them revenge, and her words turned out to be true. 

Now, finally, they were free.

“We head for western Isjord, now,” Nerina said, voice steady but loud enough that the twins could hear her against the wind, despite walking a stone’s throw behind her.

Both stopped in their tracks, staring at the hooded gray figure, illuminated by the glow of a full winter’s moon above them.

“What was that, woman?” Varn hissed. Nerina hated her name, not even allowing them to utter it out loud.

The woman spun around, her scarred face glowing from the moon’s reflection off snow. “You killed the King of Wolves, boy. Now what? They will never stop hunting you and your pretty little sister. There’s more to be done.”

“Joryck was our deal, not more.”

Nerina laughed in such a way that Lyra’s muscles bore a grave chill, like listening to a wild animal’s last bark before death. 

“You see it too, don’t you?” she said, nearing her brother, raising a hand to touch his face. “The visions?”

She thought Varn would slap away her long, thin, shaking fingers, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes were wide, and his mouth hung ajar, as if he were in just as much disbelief as her. But for what?

“What do you—” he started.

“You see the things He has planned. For Isjord, for the Wolves, for all Teras. You see it, don’t you? In your sleep, in your dreams, he shows you, I know he does.”

“How?”

“Because, my sweet boy, he’s shown me too.”

Lyra had no idea what either of them were talking about. Who was He? What had this man shown her brother? And what would that have to do with any of this?

At first, Nerina was just a means to an end for them. After the Wolves had slain their entire village, which unfortunately contained the whole of their small clan, and their mother while she slept, Varn and Lyra were the only survivors. They lived off scraps in the woods, hunting animals and taking the meat and fur they needed. Lyra would raise the animal from the dead and Varn would control it, using it as protection or transportation or what have you. But then they were found by the woman. 

And suddenly they had this grand plan. To utilize their skills as necromancers to avenge their mother, their clan, their lives. So that they could move on. When Joryck was dead, they would move on. That was the plan.

But now...?

Silently, she begged her brother to slap away Nerina’s hand, to walk away from her. They had exacted their revenge, they had gotten exactly what they wished for. There was no need to give this woman any more.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression stoned, and he brought his own hand up to stroke the back of Nerina’s. Lyra’s stomach turned on itself. 

With a sick grin, Nerina pulled her hand away, spun around, and started back through the forest. 

Lyra opened her mouth to say something, because her brother remained unmoved and silent, but then he suddenly looked at her, that same cold expression on his face.

“We head for western Isjord, sister.”

With that, Varn started back into the forest.

Lyra looked up to the sky—to pray or search for answers or to scream out in frustration, she didn’t know. In the vast expanse, amongst the millions of stars, a full moon stared back at her—a white open iris, as if it was witnessing the start of something. Or perhaps the end. 

Keep witnessing, she wished quietly. At least one of us can have the sense to see what’s happening.

“Sister!”

With a sigh, Lyra lowered her gaze and started after her brother.