Above the trees and encircling a backdrop of fog-tipped mountains, hundreds of crows howled, taunting the scene below with irreverent squawks of freedom. Feathers glistened, heavy with the rain that fell from the heavens with a renewed vengeance – as if Odin himself were crying – while they swirled and dipped, overlooking the scene below with beady, blackened gazes of pity.

One would think that the ravenous flock of fowl would only convene in such excess when staking out the rotting carcasses of their latest prey. But be it that true, perhaps the thick, murky scent of misery that wafted endlessly from the grounds below was just enough to trick even those with the most attuned of senses.

For torment was not nearly strong enough a word to encapsulate the violent state of turmoil that Einar found himself drowning within as he heaved out a rich, chest-deep grunt, palms chafed raw and bloody as he heaved the horse cart yet another foot closer to the refinery. 

Tendrils of dirty blonde hair – darkened to a light brown by the unforgiving downpour that accompanied the passing storm – stuck to Einar's face and neck as he pressed onward, numb to the solid sheets of precipitation that fell against his back like tiny shards of ice. 

Although the thin soles of the Alpha's cloth boots slipped and sank into the sludge of the earth with each step, and the rickety wheels of the cart struggled to turn properly as they cut through the dense mud, Einar barely felt the added strain. Instead, dim blue eyes only squinted through the impenetrable deluge, pupils focused on nothing and ears deaf to the blunt clash and bang of the picked-over cart of gold as he yielded himself to a much harsher hurricane of introspection.

Only a single day had passed since Einar was bestowed the highest honor of joining bodies with his fated. But even still, every time the mere thought of sweat-slicked limbs, breathy cries, and desperate embraces flickered across his mind, the Alpha found himself doubly overcome with an onslaught of flames that crackled to life within the depths of his gut, filling him with so many emotions that it was quite remarkable that he had yet to pop.

But through it all, there wasn't a single moment in the day that Einar wasn't thinking of him, of what his precious Omega – his Vali – was doing to keep himself company whilst Einar tended to his everlasting duties.

Maybe he was shuffling through Einar's drawings again. If so, did he glance upon them with regards of awe or disdain? So badly, Einar longed to know. 

Or maybe, he was busying himself by brushing Frode's mane with those soft, delicate hands that Einar always longed to touch, showering the powerful stallion with all of the adoration of which he'd been deprived for so long.

Was he happy? Thirsty? Hungry?

... Was he thinking of Einar, too?

In a matter of days, Vali had become the sunlight peeking over the horizon at the dawn of an endless winter, the very life that thrummed through Einar's every vein, replenishing him with a warm, fuzzy, and distinctly alien sense of hope that he'd never been brave enough to pursue alone. 

But Vali... His sweet, perfect Omega, made him want. Vali made him yearn.

But of course, as inevitably as a whip met flesh, all of those wondrous, vibrant feelings that Vali made bubble up from some long abandoned place deep inside of him were only destined to be tarnished by the sharp talons of reality's truths. And every day, Einar could feel them slice their way down to his very core as he tried his best to come up with any way to resist them.

You see, the previous morning, Master Guiscard had jovially called for an assembly in the village square. Then, only once he'd concluded a thorough whipping of one of his house slaves for an offense that likely only existed in his own mind, did the stout Beta announce the details of their next raid, all the while the bloody, battered woman lay slumped over in the dirt behind him, like an omen of what further bloodshed was undoubtedly to come.

Einar only had three, short days before they were to embark on their next voyage to whatever village was unlucky enough to be marked and targeted as the latest interest of Guiscard's unrestrained greed. 

Under normal circumstances, Einar would hardly react to such a piece of information, simply marking the event as yet another notch in his miles-long, forced reign of terror. But this time, as he was faced with a week's long journey to places unknown, he was only reminded of what he would be forced to leave behind.

He could already spy the dreadful sight in his mind's eye – Vali curled up, cold, and starving in the hay loft. He would lay there, helpless, ribs defined and lips chapped as he awaited the return of an Alpha who didn't even possess the wherewithal to provide him with the most basic of human needs. 

It was a brutally humiliating, bone-crushingly agonizing thought that made Einar burn with the desire to sink six feet deep into the mud beneath his feet, but it was a necessary one nonetheless. Because with it, Einar came to understand that he could not, under any circumstances, leave Vali alone to fend for himself as he embarked on this next raid. 

Yet, how he was to achieve such a feat was a mystery which – no matter how much the Alpha attempted to construct a solution – unfailingly managed to evade him.

There wasn't enough time to stockpile rations, and even if there was, the meats would undoubtedly spoil well before his return. And if he indulged anyone with the secret of Vali's existence in an effort to have them supply his fated with sustenance in his absence, there was always a chance that they could run to Guiscard, which was a prospect that carried with it the promise of such harrowing repercussions that even a thoroughly war-torn stomach such as Einar's rolled and curdled at the mere thought.

Not to mention, hiding Vali away in Einar's attic abode for the rest of eternity was hardly a life worth living.

The situation just felt so unsalvageable; so helpless and futile and suffocating that Einar found himself overcome with unsurmountable waves of anxiety and doubt, like a man thrown overboard into a raging sea without so much as a flare to light his path.

Because how could Einar possibly keep his fated safe, when he couldn't even achieve same fate for himself?

"Einar, ya' oversized varmint! Pull 'er right on up to the back for us, won't 'ya?" 

Unnr's ever-so-lively voice cut through the dark haze that had settled across every ridge and plane of Einar's rapidly spiraling mind, and it was only then that the Alpha's eyes focused enough to recognize that he was now only a few heaves away from the refinery.

The refinery was a long, low-sitting structure, the place where most of Guiscard's fortune was forged through the melting and recasting of pillaged gold and silver jewelry into bars to be sold. But regardless of the fact that it was his main cash cow, the Beta ordered the building built on the outskirts of the compound, as if in an effort to keep the sooty shadow of smoldering fumes that poured endlessly from multiple, giant smokestacks as far away from his fastidious view as possible. 

At any hour of dawn or dusk, one could hear the continuous clang of cross-peen hammers as they pounded away at the molten metals, as if trying to forcefully batter out the history of the places they were stolen from and the people who still mourned them.

Einar grunted in response to Unnr's request, powerful thighs bulging against the sweat-and-rain-slicked britches that clung to them, and the Alpha gritted his teeth as he hauled the cart the last few feet to the spot that the man requested, which was directly beside the receiving door.

Huffing out a quiet sigh of relief and exhaustion, Einar finally released the reigns that were attached through loops of leather to his chest harness as a myriad of other slaves swarmed the cart at once, commencing the lengthy process of transferring the towering mound of gold into the gluttonous mouths of the gurgling kilns that glowed with heat inside of the building.

"Last one?" Unnr asked as he made his way out of the receiving door and over to Einar. The Alpha's face was striped with soot, cheeks burning a bright red from the inescapable heat of the brick-built building, and his right hand still held tight to a well-used cross-peen hammer, as if molded to the wooden handle itself.

"Yes." Einar responded, untying his dripping chest harness and hooking it onto the corner of the horse cart for later use. "For now."

"Good lad! Now ya' can join the rest of us lot." Unnr grinned, although the expression didn't quite meet his eyes. "Got a hammer waiting' in there with 'yer name on it."

Squaring his shoulders, Einar simply nodded at his fellow Berserkr, following him into the building without another word.

The Alpha had to duck, hunching his neck and shoulders to the point of discomfort in order to make it through the low clearance that the receiving doorway provided. But the very moment that he crossed the threshold and entered the refinery, he was immediately struck by the familiar, sweltering heat that made the air sizzle like hot stones against his skin. The atmosphere was so ripe with muscle, metal, coal, and soot that it practically singed the hairs at the back of Einar's nose when he finally emerged on the other side of the door and straightened back up to this full height.

"Help 'em out over at kiln number three, won't 'ye? Them boys been strugglin' for hours now to keep up." Unnr instructed, bending over at the waist to grab one of the multiple extra hammers that rested against the far wall before tossing it in Einar's general direction. The larger Alpha smoothly plucked the heavy tool out of the air as he once again grunted a reply of acknowledgment.

It took only a single second and a few, sweeping steps for Einar to sidle himself up next to the two other Berserkrs who stood on either side of the anvil assigned to kiln number three. 

Overworked arms bulged and hammers swung at a masterfully synchronized, yet somewhat anesthetized rate, taking turns slamming away at the brutalized mound of molten gold that sat atop the cast iron platform. Sweat dripped from every inch of visible skin as they worked, soaking each man's britches and tunic with what looked to be just as much moisture as Einar had sustained from his stroll through the storm outside.

Flipping the weighty hammer around effortlessly between the tips of his fingers, Einar took his place at the head of the anvil. Then, he waited for a momentary outlet that would integrate him seamlessly into the pattern of hammering before finally raising the tool above his head and taking his swing.

The hammer collided with the metal with an ear-splitting clang!, an otherworldly sort of sound that echoed with the raw strength that not a single other Alpha in the entire refinery – or compound – could ever hope to possess.

A few of the other Alphas lifted their heads from their work to examine the cause of the sudden upsurge in noise, and Einar didn't miss the looks on their faces when they caught wind of his presence. But quicker than most would catch, they were meticulously painted over and pulled tight to conceal the scattered sentiments of disgust, impartiality, and envy that lay cowering just beneath.

But none of it was new. And fortunately, Einar was more than acquainted with being perceived as other. 

Not enough to be kept by his parents, and too much to be kept with the other slaves, the Alpha learned very early that keeping everyone and everything at arm's length was the only possible way to endure life without suffering irreparable damage. But of course — as if to taunt him — the one time he strayed from such a rule, Einar was so soon faced with the consequences of placing not only himself, but so much more importantly, the only other man he'd ever wanted to risk everything for, directly between the serrated jaws of unspeakable peril.

Biceps thick, shoulders wide, and heart heavy enough to ignite with a ferocious ache, Einar slammed down onto the anvil much harder this time, releasing a mighty grunt of thinly-veiled misery. 

And for a moment – no matter how fleeting – he wondered how it might feel to pitch his own forehead beneath the weight of his co-worker's mallets.

"Heat and switch!" Called a faceless voice from the masses, to which all of the Alphas immediately stepped back from the anvils in front of them, making way for the assigned kiln boys who would gather up the lump of gold and ferry it to the heated furnaces for another round of heating. 

Meanwhile, all of the Alphas switched positions, shifting around the anvil in a clockwise motion in order to ensure equal distribution of power and force once the molten metal was returned. 

Einar took the fleeting opportunity to inconspicuously scan the room.

Most of the anvil workers were wardog Berserkrs just like him – giant, powerful men belonging to the upper echelon of Guiscard's extensive crop of serfs. And, sprinkled among them, were a few other Alphas who assisted with various tasks around the compound. But as he continued to glimpse further, pushing past the blurry haze that had so long shrouded the undeniably human faces of those around him for so long, reality unfurled like moldy petals from the stem of a decaying rose. And Einar... the Alpha saw. 

Profound, soul-deep lines that could only form out of a lifetime of hardship marred the furrowed countenances of even the youngest of men who worked in the refinery alongside him. Sunken eyes suspended themselves above dark bags that bore stories of long days worked and hard wars fought, and Einar couldn't help but to reach up and touch his own face, feeling out the matching ones carved out across his own weary facade.

After all, he'd lived, worked, and suffered alongside these men since a time far before he could even remember constructing conscious thoughts. 

Could it be that maybe... he wasn't quite as other as he'd thought? 

"Man 'yer anvils!" That same voice from before bellowed, and like an automaton, Einar fell right back into step, heaving his hammer high above his head only to slam it back down into the ingot of gold that now burned just as hot as the fury within his heart.

His Vali was a treasure, a priceless gem so much more valuable than anything that Guiscard could ever hope to own. And if his master couldn't see that... then Einar would be left with no other option than to force his hand.

... But with such extensive a fleet as Guiscard's, even with his own impressive strength, size, and prowess, Einar knew that he would hardly stand a chance against him alone.

Part 2 in Next Episode