**Chapter 9: Forged in Frost and Fire **

  The Northern Forest was an unyielding expanse, an endless sea of snow and silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, a stark contrast to the storm raging within Throne Ironhand. The pines stood like ancient sentinels, their frosted limbs bowing under the weight of winter’s grasp. The air was sharp, biting at the skin with every breath, and the faint cry of distant wolves occasionally broke the stillness. Few dared to enter this realm, not because of its cold or its vastness, but because of the shadows that moved unseen beneath its canopy. It was said that the forest had a soul, a dark and watchful presence that tolerated no intrusion.

  Throne Ironhand moved steadily through the snow, his boots leaving deep impressions in the frozen ground. The cold stung his cheeks, but he welcomed it. The sharpness of the air kept him grounded, prevented his mind from spiraling into the memories that haunted him. He clenched his fist, the faint scar on his hand tingling, a phantom pain echoing from a past he was desperately trying to rewrite. *Not this time. Not like before. I won't fail them again. Not Eldoria. Not forge. Not Haldor.*

  Beside him, Haldor walked with the steady gait of a man who had faced far greater trials than the winter’s chill. The elder blacksmith’s beard was dusted with frost, and his broad shoulders carried the weight of the massive hammer strapped across his back. Despite his rugged appearance, there was an ease to his movements, a quiet strength that seemed to defy the years etched into his weathered face. He glanced at Throne, his brow furrowed with concern. "You're miles away, lad," he said, his voice a low rumble. "What troubles you so?" He noticed the way Throne's hand clenched, the almost imperceptible flinch in his posture.

  Throne adjusted the sleeve covering his forearm. The faint glow of the tattoo there was hidden, but he could still feel its presence—a constant reminder of his regression, of the second chance he had been given. *A chance to make things right. A chance to prevent… the massacre at Oakbridge.* Second chances came with a price. He had returned to this moment, this fragile sliver of time before the first wave of monsters would descend upon the North. He could already see the signs—the thinning herds, the unnatural silence that had settled over the forest. It was the calm before the storm, and Throne knew that in just a few days, the nightmare would begin again. But this time, he would change the story. *He had to. He owed them that much.*

  Suddenly, a flicker of warmth, a familiar presence, brushed against his mind.

  *Zara (thought): Throne? Are you there?*

  Throne blinked, momentarily disoriented. *Zara? What—*

  *Alex (thought): It’s us. We’re… checking in.*

  He focused his will, accessing the strange mental link that bound them together. The images of their TRI UI flashed briefly before his mind’s eye –

  *Agility…

  Strength…

  Vitality…*

  –Then shared his sense of seeing and hearing as he focused on their thoughts.

  *Throne (thought): I’m here. Just… trying to focus.* He sent an image of the forest, the towering pines, the snow-covered ground. *I’m with Haldor. We’re almost at the forge.*

  *Zara (thought): Be careful, Throne. Something feels… different this time.*

  *Alex (thought): Well right now we’re with you. In whatever way we can be.*

  The connection faded, leaving Throne with a renewed sense of purpose. He was not alone in this. *We're in this together. We have to be.*

  Haldor’s voice broke the silence. “You’re thinking too much again,” he said, his tone light but knowing. “I can see it in your eyes.” He studied Throne, his gaze lingering. "Something's troubling you more than usual. Is it the coming winter? Or… something else?" He could see the tension in Throne's shoulders, the way his jaw tightened. He'd seen that look before, in the eyes of men facing impossible odds.

  Throne stiffened, his jaw clenching. He forced a neutral expression. “Just preparing myself,” he replied.

  Haldor chuckled, a low rumble that warmed the icy air. “You’re always preparing. It’s the doing that matters, lad. Don’t let your thoughts tie you up in knots.” He placed a hand on Throne's shoulder, his grip firm. "Whatever it is, Throne, you don't have to carry it alone."

  Throne forced a small smile, though his mind churned. Haldor didn’t know the half of it. How could he? How could Throne explain that he wasn’t just carrying his own thoughts, but the weight of memories that hadn’t even happened yet… *in this timeline*? Memories of fire, and death, and the monstrous roars that still echoed in his nightmares. *The screams of the villagers… the smell of burning flesh…* He flinched, a sudden wave of nausea washing over him.

  They continued in silence for a while, the crunch of snow beneath their boots the only sound. The forest stretched endlessly around them, its shadows deepening as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

  “You remind me of myself when I was your age,” Haldor said suddenly, his voice softer now.

  Throne glanced at him, his brow furrowing. “How so?”

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  Haldor smiled faintly, though there was a sadness to it. “Always carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Always trying to solve problems that aren’t yours alone to solve.”

  Throne looked away, his jaw tightening. Haldor’s words struck closer to the truth than he liked. *I’m trying to save him. I’m trying to save everyone. But what if… what if I’m not strong enough?*

  “I’m fine,” he said quickly, his voice firm, though his heart pounded in his chest. “Just... trying to be prepared. Winter’s almost here, and the village will need weapons.”

  Haldor stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “It’s not just about the weapons, is it?” His gaze was piercing, his eyes filled with an understanding that made Throne uneasy.

  Throne froze under his master’s steady gaze. He felt as though Haldor could see straight through him, past the layers of silence and secrets.

  “You’re restless,” Haldor said, his voice softer now. “I can see it in the way you work, the way you move. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Throne opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. What could he say? That he had seen Haldor’s death, that he knew what was coming? That he carried the burden of a future that no one else could even imagine? *A future I’m desperately trying to prevent. A future where Haldor…* He couldn’t even finish the thought. His breath hitched, a sudden tightness in his chest, a wave of dizziness threatening to overwhelm him.

  Instead, he looked down, his hands tightening into fists. “I just want to be ready,” he said finally, his voice low, his voice trembling slightly.

  Haldor studied him for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “Aye, I understand that feeling.” He placed a hand on Throne's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "But remember, lad, even the strongest steel can break under too much stress. You need to rest. You need to share your burdens."

  They continued walking, and the forest grew darker around them. When they reached a frozen stream, Haldor stopped again, crouching down to trace a finger along the ice. The sun had dipped lower, casting the forest in shades of gray and blue.

  “Do you know why I took you in, Throne?” Haldor asked suddenly, his voice quiet.

  Throne blinked, caught off guard by the question. He had wondered about this before, but he had never dared to ask. “I always thought... you saw potential in me.”

  Haldor chuckled, though it was a hollow sound. “Potential, aye. But it wasn’t just that.” He straightened, his gaze distant, his eyes reflecting the fading light. “Five years ago, when the first wave of monsters came... I lost everything. My wife, Sigrun. My boy, Alric. My home, my life... it all burned away.” He touched a small, worn leather pouch at his belt, his fingers tracing the outline of a familiar shape within – a small wooden carving of a falcon, its wings spread in perpetual flight. His knuckles were white.

  Throne’s breath hitched. He had heard fragments of this story before, but never like this. Never with such raw grief, so palpable and present. He remembered seeing Haldor in the other timeline, his face a mask of rage and despair as he fought, a man driven by grief. *And I failed him then. I failed them all.*

  “I couldn’t save them,” Haldor continued, his voice breaking, a tremor running through his large frame. “No matter how strong I was, no matter how many monsters I killed... I couldn’t save the people who mattered most.” He looked at Throne, his eyes shining with unshed tears, reflecting the pain of a loss that time had not healed. “When I found you in that ruined village, you reminded me of Alric. Same fire in your eyes, same stubbornness. I thought... maybe, just maybe, I could save you. That I could make up for the people I failed.”

  Throne’s chest tightened, a knot of guilt and grief twisting within him. He wanted to tell Haldor the truth, to explain that he had come back to save *him*, to change the future. But the words stuck in his throat, choked by the weight of what he knew, the weight of what he had seen. *He wouldn’t believe me. And even if he did… would it change anything? Or would it just make the pain worse?*

  “You’re like a son to me, Throne,” Haldor said, his voice thick with emotion, placing a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm. “And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

  Throne swallowed hard, his resolve hardening, a fierce protectiveness rising within him. “I won’t let anything happen to you either, Master. I swear it.” *I’ll protect you. I’ll protect them all. This time… it will be different. I’ll make it different.*

  Their path led to a clearing where the remnants of their camp stood: a modest forge, an anvil blackened by years of work, and rows of weapons buried in snow like forgotten relics. This place was as much a sanctuary as it was a crucible, a place where steel was forged and destinies were shaped.

  Haldor motioned for Throne to begin. “Before the monsters come, we need more steel. Show me what you’ve learned, boy.”

  Throne nodded, rolling up his sleeves to expose his forearms. The faint glow of the tattoo beneath his skin flickered for a moment, unseen by Haldor but felt by Throne—a reminder of his mission, a reminder of the power he now wielded. “I’m ready,” he said, his voice firm, his gaze fixed on the forge.

  The hours that followed were grueling. The heat of the forge licked at Throne's skin, even through his thick coat. The smell of sulfur and burning metal filled the air, acrid and sharp, stinging his nostrils. Haldor was an unforgiving teacher, his voice a constant prod, demanding precision with every hammer strike. “Hesitating again!” The words echoed in Throne’s mind, not just from Haldor’s lips, but from a memory, a past lesson where the same words had been spoken, just before… *Before the attack. Before the screams. Before the blood. Before… Oakbridge.* The image flickered in his mind – a monstrous shape emerging from the trees, its eyes glowing with malevolent intent, its claws dripping with… *blood. The blood of the villagers. The blood of… Haldor.* He flinched, a tremor running through his hand, the hammer almost slipping from his grasp.

  “Don’t stop now,” Haldor said, his voice softer this time, but no less commanding. He noticed Throne's hesitation, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is something amiss, lad?”

  Throne exhaled, the breath catching in his throat, and finished the swing, the hammer striking the steel with a resounding clang. *Just like the past,* he thought grimly, his heart pounding in his chest. He could almost feel the phantom weight of the sword in his hand from the previous timeline, the one that had failed to save anyone. *This time… it will be different. I have to make it different.*

  When the blade was finished, Haldor inspected it with a critical eye, running his fingers along the edge. He nodded once, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, and handed it back. “It’ll do. For now.” He looked at Throne, his eyes filled with a deep concern. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, Throne. What’s driving you so?”

  As Throne lay in the dim glow of the dying embers, his mind refused to settle. Haldor’s confession weighed heavily on him. The man who had seemed so indestructible bore his own scars—burdens Throne had never fully understood until now. *He lost his family… just like I did. Just like I will again… unless I change things. But how can I be sure? What if I make it worse? What if…* He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the intrusive thoughts, the haunting images of the past, the fear of the future. *Oakbridge… I have to prevent Oakbridge.*

  Throne’s thoughts wandered to the tattoo on his forearm, glowing faintly beneath his skin. The past was a cruel master, and he had been given the power to defy it. Yet with every step he took, every choice he made, he felt the weight of the unknown, the crushing weight of potential consequences. Could he truly rewrite the ending of this tale, or was he simply delaying an inevitable fate? *What if I’m not strong enough? What if I’m not… worthy? What if I fail them all?*

  The wind howled outside, a mournful sound that seemed to carry the voices of those who had fallen—Haldor’s family, Throne’s people, the countless others who had been consumed by the chaos of war. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images, the sounds, the *feelings* of that other life, that other failure. *I can’t let it happen again. I won’t.*

  “I’ll change it,” he whispered to the darkness, his voice steady but quiet, filled with a desperate resolve. “No matter the cost.” *I have to. For them. For him. For everyone. I swear it.*

  He rolled onto his side, staring at the faint outline of Haldor’s resting form across the room. The older man’s breaths were deep and steady, a rhythm that spoke of a peace Throne envied, a peace he knew Haldor had not truly felt in years. *I won’t let him down. I won’t let anyone down. I swear it on my life.*

  Tomorrow would bring new trials, as it always did. But for tonight, Throne clung to the fragile hope that his second chance would be enough. That he, and Zara, and Alex, together, could somehow be enough. *We have to be. We have to succeed.*

  The embers in the forge flickered one last time before fading into darkness, leaving the forest and the two warriors within it to the cold embrace of the night… and the looming shadow of the monstrous shape he knew was coming, the shape that haunted his dreams, the shape that would bring death and de

  struction to everything he held dear… *the shape that would bring the fires of Oakbridge.*