Freja held her horn of warm mead in her hands, the drink chasing the chill from her skin and bones brought on by the harsh winter outside.
Her furs and cloak was dusted with half melted snow, soaked against her skin beneath. She was sure she'd catch ill if she didn't find a warm bed to sleep for the night.
Men and women filled the hall with their laughter, drunken songs, and tales.
In the center of the great hall roared a large fire where a sow was slowly being turned by a young lad no older than eight, his youthful face covered in dirt. Some people huddled together in groups at tables while others, like her, sat alone. Toward the back of the hall, cooks prepared the meals that the tavern sold while the servants brought out dishes to the tables.
For weeks Freja hadn't seen this much vibrancy and warmth.
She kept to herself as she traveled; a true lone wolf. Keeping ties with people wasn't something she was skilled at, preferring solitude.
Traveling throughout the lands of the North, she had met many people, young and old, and had seen many battles. Battles weren't her style after witnessing just a few.
She didn't want to rely on another person to ensure the hit was completed. As a child, she had lost many who were close to her and she didn't want that to happen again.
Finishing her mead, she paid a passing servant some coins and left the building, bundling beneath her furs.
Just a few steps outside was the inn's entrance, a large wooden building like the tavern.
The snow crunched beneath her leather boots as she went inside. Once she paid for the room, she gathered her pack on her back and headed toward it on the second floor.
Inside the room, it was warm with a fire already lit in the fireplace, warming the small area up. A fur and blanket covered bed dominated the far wall, a large white fur rug covered the cold stones of the floor. There wasn't much for decoration but she didn't mind; she just wanted somewhere warm to lay her head for the night.
For the small amount of coins, this was fit for a noble, which she wasn't.
Leaning her sword against the wall beside the bed, she removed her furs and cloak, draping them onto the chair by the small fireplace to dry. She sighed as she removed her leather boots and sat on the edge of the bed, letting her feet rest.
Walking for such a long distance wasn't unusual for her but she wanted to reach her destination as soon as possible. Breaks were limited and she even traveled in the night. Traveling during the night was dangerous but anyone who dared cross her were met with a swift end by her sword.
In the mountains, thieves were worse than in the wooded lands where she came from.
Growing up, she climbed trees and explored nature. Up here, in the harsh North that she now called home, children were bred tough with thick skins for the harsh weather.
The Northern people were a strong people who worked hard and dug their feet in when the going got tough.
In the Middle Lands, her people relied on the timber from the forest and had to be handy at everything they did. It was the way of life. There was no place for idlers who wasted time and one was shunned for slacking.
Freja had once been like that, but now she was just like any other Northern twenty-five-year-old; a hardened woman ready to face the storm. She had always been smarter than her peers, teaching herself what noble people were taught, her mind always curious.
Her curious nature had made her a social outcast as a child but she developed a tough skin and left when she could.
She was on the way to finding what she was destined for and growing up it had taken a long time to accept it. Nothing was changing her course.
The fur blankets warmed her body as she lied down, letting her exhaustion get the better of her at last, the warmth welcoming sleep's embrace. Tomorrow would bring a new day and she was eager for it.
Zarek trekked into the small inn, buying a room for the night. He shed his dark fur cloak and blood-stained shirt, throwing the shirt into the fire.
Sitting in the chair he cleaned the dried blood from his skin with water from the bedside table washing bowl.
Rivulets of bloody water dripped onto the floor as he tended his wounds. The adrenaline from running had dulled the pain of the stab wounds, setting it on the backburner as survival mode kicked in.
For miles, he had been chased out of his territory, one that had been violently torn from him to the North. That land was his, as were the skies above it.
He was going to make that fool wish he was never born once he healed and found a way to take back what was his.
Humans knew better than to mess with him.
They knew what violence he was capable of.
They knew what a monster he truly was.
Leaning back in the chair, he raked his fingers through his shoulder length black hair as he stretched his sore limbs out.
Right at six foot eight he was no small man, much bigger than most Northern men; most who averaged at six foot four. He was built big like a typical Northerner, his body on the muscular side; a wall of muscle and hardened sinew beneath his bronze skin.
People shied away from his hulking form and kept their distance, practically smelling the dangerous creature he was. With his bare hands, he could kill a legion of men, and he had.
Zarek removed his boots and stretched out beneath the heavy fur blankets, letting fatigue finally have its way.
Downing the hot mead, Zarek set the metal mug on the wooden table beside the plate of his breakfast on the table. He finished his meal of porridge and mead before he tossed a few coins on the table and left.
Outside the sun was just rising, causing the snow to glisten on the rooftops. People moved about the little village, doing their daily routines, all dressed in furs and cloak to keep warm.
The sun was high and bright but it did little to bring warmth to the land held in the grasp of Mother Winter.
These mountains were harsh and unforgiving in the Winter, leading to the death of at least one hundred people by the end of the cycle before Spring melted the snow.
People of the North, whom they called Crikerians, were built a little thicker in body size and paler in skin tone, a natural adaptation so they could better handle the harsh environment of the Crikerian North.
The Southern Crikerians were warmer in skin tone, built leaner and taller, better adapted to warmer weather and harsh summers, for those who lived in the desert region.
People of the Midlands were lean and tall, like their Southern neighbors, but were adapted to living off the land and being able to camp anywhere. Their woodworking skills helped keep the continent running with firewood, furniture, and an endless supply of building material.
Each part of the continent had its unique traits that made each place its own world, thousands of villages connected by well-worn paths from the thousands of years travelers trekked back and forth.
Zarek was born in the far North a few hundred years ago. He was one of the last people of his kind and each year that grew smaller. One day his people would disappear entirely if something wasn't done about it.
Humans feared him and his kind for a reason. They dominated the skies of the Far North and even held land in various patches around the continent, each like its own fortress to protect his people. His people could easily blend in with humans since they're all naturally born with the power to shape shift into a human, even having their children as humans rather than their natural forms.
Mating, sleeping, eating. It was all done as a human. Not all his people chose to stay in their human form as some chose to remain a dragon and stick to the cave systems or soar the vast open skies. For the most part, Zarek preferred to be human, especially when dealing with diplomacy and human matters.
He wanted to get out of this town as soon as possible so he could regain what was his. That traitorous Tauric's head was going to be on a pike when he was finished with him. One of his most trusted men, his First, had betrayed him in a clash for the throne.
Blood had been spilt and the attack had spurned in the dark of night as he had been lying down for the night. Tauric's men had tried to kill him in his sleep but they had underestimated him and quickly regretted it, each man being viciously torn to shreds before reinforcements came causing him to tuck tail and run.
His most trusted men had turned against him and he hadn't seen it coming; he should have known but his attention had been stolen by another matter altogether.
Zarek had dreamed of his mate.
He had made a connection with her and knew she was near his territory. Dragons could feel their life mate when he/she came near them and had vivid dreams of that person. Her face was always blurred but he could make out her body, a body that attracted his attention. She was a mere five foot three but was built lean with all the right curves in all the right places. Her hips were made to bear children and her body was womanly, sensual and ripe.
He had taken many flights in and around his territory, hoping he could find her by chance, wandering around a village or living in one.
He had set aside various duties to locate her but look where that got him?
He had lost his throne and was nearly killed in the process.
His week had been fine until that point, the night his life was turned upside down. That betrayal had reawakened the beast inside; a beast that clawed at the human flesh to crawl out and maim everyone that betrayed him.
Thankfully he had more self control than that and was going to take the smart route in taking back what was his.
He was a quarter of the way out of the village when a dark shadow flew overhead towards the village. In the distance behind him he could hear screams and shouting.
Turning heel, he watched as a grey dragon dive toward the village before swooping just above the roofs to roar at scrambling humans. It was a big beast, his wings measuring from tip to tip fourteen feet, one of the smaller dragons existing but still enough to scare humans.
No doubt Tauric had sent one of his men to terrorize and bully more humans into giving more of their land.
Tauric had fought him for the longest time to get more territory for their people to roam but he had dropped the topic for years. He was not one of the nicest people around but he didn't want to fuck with humans and cause trouble. He wanted nothing but peace between the two species.
One building was on fire by the time he made it back into the village. Zarek kept his cowl lowered so the dragon wouldn't recognize him when he came close.
He would have to fight the dragon to keep these people safe.
As he withdrew his sword he noticed a person standing in the center of the snowy square with a sword already drawn.
The person was fairly short, he guessed five foot four, but he couldn't tell what their body looked like through the thick furs and cloak they wore.
"Hey, you better run. It's not safe here, boy!" Zarek yelled towards the figure.
He guessed it was a young boy seeing the stature of the person a few feet away from him.
"Excuse me?" the person spun on a heel with speed he hadn't seen on a human before. "I shall have you know I am a woman. It's you who is not safe, my lord." The woman said, her blue eyes squinting in annoyance.
He stopped in his tracks when her eyes met his, his world spinning upon itself, the axis losing its balance and throwing him off the deep end.
It was her.
The woman he had been seeking.
Freja glared at the man before her. How dare he call her a lad? Yes, it was hard to tell her gender from behind given her clothing, but she still was offended. She looked nothing like a boy.
The man that stood before her was a massive mountain of a male with bronze skin and inky black hair that fell to his shoulders in waves, framing his handsome face.
His jawline could cut glass. Set beneath dark slashes of eyebrows were a pair of molten liquid eyes of gold. They were unlike anything she had ever seen before.
With a little effort she tore her eyes from the male to the dragon circling the village.
The dragon had appeared from the sky, diving at top speed before flying upwards sending people scattering for safety. She could tell he was male by his coloring and shape, that much she knew about dragons.
Male dragons were bigger and bulkier than the smaller slender females. The males also had dull colors compared to the various gem tones of females.
Fighting this one would be easy since he was one of the smaller dragons and wouldn't be very difficult to take down, she figured.
As soon as the man had made eye contact with her, she felt suddenly odd.
Her world took a three-sixty degree turn and instantly she saw the man in a different light. She felt her anger towards him diminish and a strange warmness spread through her body. The ground seemed out of balance beneath her feet for a few seconds before returning to normal.
She was yanked from her thoughts again as the dragon looped around and landed before her and the big man behind her, his claws digging holes into the snow before them. He stood five feet taller than both and roared, causing Freja to shield her face from the flying spittle.
Stretching her shoulders, she ran at the dragon with sword in her hand and battle in her mind. The dragon lunged at her, flying low to the ground, green-yellow eyes locked on her.
Right as the dragon would have snatched her in its jaws, she jumped and spun around over the dragon, slicing her blade down its back. Bright red blood bloomed from the wound she inflicted and the creature screamed in pain. The beast flew upwards toward the sky and looped back around, making a dive to her with clawed feet extended towards her.
She found it annoying the only tactic this dragon seemed to have was diving and she figured his intelligence was low, causing her to smile right as the dragon would grab her again.
Throwing herself backwards, she thrust her sword into the soft underbelly, holding it there with all her strength as the creature killed itself on her blade. It came crashing to the ground behind her, blood smearing the white snow.
Rising to her feet, she wiped her blade off with some snow and the bottom of her cloak, ridding her prized weapon of the filthy lizard's blood.
The villagers came from their hiding spaces to look at the beast, lying dead in the square, his blood staining the pure white morning snow. People murmured all around her in low whispers, speaking of the beast and her.
"Could she be the dragon slayer from the midlands?"
"When will that Wyrm king stop these raids?"
"We can get a lot of meat off that beast, mi lord."
The voices grew more distant with every footstep away from the village, her boots crunching against the hard-packed snow covering the dirt pathway.
Taking a quick glance back she noticed the big man looking between the dragon and her, his rugged features growing more indiscernible the farther away she was.
This hadn't been the first dragon she had killed. She had killed many before that in preparation to kill the biggest one of them all, the king.
It was a goal she had sought ever since learning of where her fate led her and she was going to stop it before it all came to be. If it took becoming a murderess and losing her dignity, she would do it to stop her predetermined fate.
Freja was the one who led her own destiny, not some pre-birth prophecy. A prophecy that ostracized her from the people around her as she grew up.
The forest around her grew thicker and denser on the sides of the old path the further she walked. For hours she trekked on, coming closer to her destination with every stride.
Above her the sky was white with a small breeze blowing her hair slightly wayside.
One thing she noticed as she grew closer to the dragon King's territories, the forests were thick and untouched, with little sign of being milled.
Much of the territory was left like it had been always been, like nature intended.
Animals roamed worry free of being hunted, the waters were crystal clear devoid of no human pollution, the air cleaner, and the best thing was that none of those Southern religious zealots had lain their poison upon the native people inhabiting the lands.
Many had scattered around her homeland, the Middle Lands, and were actively trying to brainwash the people with false truths and dreams of a grand afterlife. Her people actively battled these people and were winning, much to her relief.
Unlike the Southern Lands, the Mid and Northern Lands were full of people who frowned upon such wild beliefs. They were too busy working and fulfilling their duties to worry about dreams of grandeur and ostentatious afterlives.
Contrary to popular belief, her people and the Northern folk were well educated.
It was a known bullshit rumor spread by the Southern people but the people who lived in the Midlands and North shrugged it off.
Freja stopped to rest once she crossed a large frozen river. Thankfully, a wooden bridge had been constructed over it for safe passage. She cleared snow off a large boulder and rested her feet, drinking water from her drinking horn.
She inhaled the cool dry air of the North and let her body relax, closing her eyes and enjoying the quiet and solitude.
Time had passed until she heard the snap of a twig a few feet behind her, causing her to perk up and unsheathe her sword from her side. Slowly she stood up and surveyed the land around her, taking in every detail around her, looking for what had caused the noise.
Scanning the area around her, she saw nothing until something caught her eye. A sliver of movement behind a large tree a few feet before her, the slight brush of a cloak against the bark of a tree.
Freja took a few cautious steps forward, towards the tree where the sound came from. All her senses were on high alert, ready to face whatever had made that noise.
Just by hearing the twig snap she could guess the size of whatever had stepped on it was not a small creature but one bigger than her. Her body was prepared instantly to take on something twice her size.
Growing up in the Midlands was advantageous when it came to hunting skills and being able to quickly calculate the size of what she was after.
The closer Freja came to the tree, the more she readied her body for a possible brawl.
Right as she got close enough to touch the bark at arm's length, a figure she had seen before revealed himself and once again she found her world doing a full three sixty turn.
Staring into eyes that seemed to hold molten lava held her captive, the outside faded except for those golden pools gazing at her.
