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When Seren turned back, it was the adult Hagan gazing at the scene, a look of utter calm in his eyes. This was a true memory, a happy time past. Then, he gazed at Seren for the first time. There was no way she could mistake the look of adoration and longing focused on her.

Seren came back to the present as if waking up from a haze. She bent to pick up the tray from the side table and turned toward the door.

But she felt it.

His gaze.

She slowly turned.

Hagan was awake, watching her. His hair was tousled, eyes bleary with sleep, but every trace of his usual armour was gone. Just open vulnerability in the curve of his mouth and the way his hand slowly dropped to the blanket where she'd lain.

Suddenly, she felt breathless, like she had run a long distance uphill.

"This doesn't mean anything," she said abruptly, her voice coming out firmer than she expected.

Hagan held her gaze for a long moment. Then, he nodded slowly. "I know."

His voice was deeper. Rough from sleep. Honest.

"I've got a long way to go," he acknowledged. "But... thank you. For staying with me."

She just gazed back.

Didn't trust herself to speak.

She just nodded once—and left the room with the scent of the forest still clinging to her skin.

Chapter 75

Breakfast was a quiet affair. There was an awareness between Hagan and Seren now—something shimmered between them that hadn't been there before. He served her a plate before fetching his own meal from the communal kitchen, a gesture not lost on anyone at the table.

Threk was already seated, making steady inroads into a mountain of food. Veyr sat opposite him, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

"You know there's no need to rush," he said dryly, watching him tear through another slab of roast meat. "No one's going to steal your food."

Threk swallowed a massive bite and grinned "I'm prepping for hibernation."

Seren snorted, tea spraying from her nose. She coughed and dabbed at herself with the sleeve of her jumper, cheeks flushing as Hagan handed her a cloth without a word, his lips twitching.

The levity didn't last long.

The Oracle had spoken to Hagan earlier through the tribelink. She'd asked them to go to the border and scout—see what they could find. She had sensed something—something faint and strange—when she travelled to the place where Draken had fallen and Jorik had almost bled out, left barely clinging to life. She had gone to that place, felt a tremor of something... unfinished and horrifying.

Storm clouds still lingered outside, ready to release a torrent. The air was heavy with moisture and tension.

The Vargrheim lands curved around the Stranheim territories like a half-moon—north, south, and east. A narrow ribbon of common ground and a strait of water between two lakes divided them, but their borders were only a stone's throw apart. They needed to head south. Today.

A scraping of feet on stone drew their attention. Dain stood at the edge of the room, a looming shadow at the stone threshold.

He approached the table cautiously.

He had changed. Bigger. Broader. He was bigger than before—bigger even than Hagan—his frame packed with dense muscle. Almost as large as Threk in frame—his chest wide and solid, arms thick like carved from the mountain itself. His body was a map of hard-earned scars. One curved across his cheek like a pale lightning strike. A chunk of his left ear was missing, as though something had bitten it clean off. A guarded air cloaked him like a mantle.

He hadn't met Seren's eyes when she first arrived, and even now, his gaze lingered just to the side of her. He hovered there, uncertain, a traveller who hadn't been invited inside.

Off to the side, Lía moved in silence, scrubbing down a table already cleared of dishes. Her thin back was straight, her movements stiff, precise, too careful. No one acknowledged her. It was as if there was an invisible barrier between her and the rest of the room—one that no one was willing to breach. Shunned. Reduced to the peripheries.

Still, her gaze strayed when Dain entered. Not watching them. Just him. Her attention was a held breath—sharp, quiet, hungry. But Dain didn't spare her a glance. Not once. His focus was locked on Seren, as if the rest of the room didn't exist.