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A cold wind gusted across the mountainside, carrying the scent of pine and snow. He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close against the chill. The path ahead narrowed further, becoming little more than a goat track clinging to the mountainside.

“It gets worse before it gets better,” he murmured, scanning the route. “We’ll need to single-file from here. Stay close to the rock face.”

He led the way, testing each foothold before committing his weight. The drop to their right plunged hundreds of feet into mist-shrouded valleys. One misstep would mean death.

“When we reach Norhaven,” he said over his shoulder, “my brothers will want to know everything about these visions.”

“If they believe me.”

“They will.” Egon paused to help her over a particularly treacherous section. “Wulf’s mate has the sight as well. And Lothar…” He trailed off, remembering his youngest brother’s unconventional mate. “Let’s just say they’ve seen enough strange things to keep an open mind.”

As they climbed higher, the world below seemed to shrink. The soldiers in the valley became mere specks, unaware of the two travelers observing them from above.

His muscles burned as they crested the final ridge of the mountain pass. The air thinned his breath, but the view that greeted him sent a jolt of recognition through his body. Home—or what passed for it. The mountains of Norhaven, wild and untouched, spread out before them, their snowy peaks glistening in the fading light.

He turned to Lyric, his heart tightening at the sight of her. She stood with her back to him, her face lifted to the wind, hair whipped into a fiery halo by the currents that swirled around them. She’d always been beautiful to him, but here, against the backdrop of the mountains, she looked ethereal, as though she’d been carved from the same wild stone that surrounded them.

“Norhaven,” she breathed, her eyes meeting his. “It’s…”

“Home,” he finished for her. “Or close to it.”

A flicker of doubt crossed her face. He knew her fears—that she wouldn’t belong in the rugged world of the orcs, that her human nature would set her apart—but he had no such worries. She belonged with him, at his side, no matter where they were.

He stepped closer, cupping her cheek in his palm. “You’re sure about this?”

Her eyes held his, clear and steady. “Yes. Freja indicated that we’d find answers here. If there’s any chance we can break the curse, any hope of freeing you and your brothers, we have to try.”

They descended the winding path toward the Fanged Gate, the massive entrance to Norhaven carved to resemble the open maw of some ancient Beast. As they drew closer, he noticed unusual activity along the battlements. Soldiers moved with purpose, setting up additional ballistae and reinforcing weak points.

War preparations.

A cluster of armored figures stood at the base of the eastern wall. Even from a distance, Egon recognized the tallest among them—King Ulric, his broad shoulders and commanding presence unmistakable.

“Wait here,” he told her, touching her arm gently. “Let me approach first.”

He walked towards the group surrounding the king, aware of the guards’ eyes tracking his approach. Two warriors stepped forward, hands on weapon hilts until recognition dawned on their faces.

“Egon,” one called out. “The king will want to know you’ve returned.”

Ulric turned at the commotion, his weathered face betraying brief surprise before settling back into its customary stern expression. The king dismissed the officer he’d been speaking with and strode toward Egon.

“Wulf told me that you had headed south on a scouting trip. I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” Ulric said, clasping Egon’s forearm in greeting. His eyes flicked past him to where Lyric waited. “Or with company.”

“My mate, Lyric.” Even he could hear the pride in his voice.

“Another human,” the king said thoughtfully. “She is welcome amongst us. I will have a tent prepared.”

“Thank you, but first we have news.”

“Then bring her.”

He motioned for Lyric to approach. She walked toward them with quiet dignity, her back straight despite the exhaustion of their journey. Egon felt a surge of pride watching her—this woman who had faced so much yet remained unbroken.

“Your Majesty,” she said quietly as she bowed her head, her voice steady despite standing before the imposing orc king.

“Welcome, Mistress Lyric. Egon says you have news?”

She nodded but looked at him. They had agreed that he would begin with the more tangible information.