After a month of brutal travel through the unforgiving Scandinavian wilderness, Oleksandr, Samorix, and Ivan approach the port town on the southern coast of Sweden, their bodies and minds ravaged by the ordeal. The journey has been relentless—bitter winds, treacherous snowstorms, and the constant gnawing hunger that comes with being down to the barest of supplies. Their faces are gaunt, their clothes ragged from the cold, and their hands raw from handling the reins in frozen winds.

  The town before them feels like a mirage, a shimmering oasis in the middle of a barren desert of ice. The salt from the ocean breeze mingles with the sharp scent of wood smoke, a welcoming fragrance that stirs something deep in their souls, something they thought had been lost in the bleakness of the tundra.

  They ride through the gate, their horses’ hooves clattering on the cobbled streets, a stark contrast to the silence of the frozen wilderness they’ve just escaped. The port is busy, with ships docked along the shore and a few merchants unloading goods, the warmth of the town contrasting with the icy grip of the landscape they’ve just traversed. To Oleksandr, it’s like a dream—the hearths are alive, the streets bustling with life. For a brief moment, the exhaustion and weight of their travels seem distant, like they’ve stepped into another world altogether.

  Their bodies protest the stillness as they dismount, their limbs stiff and aching from the brutal ride. The cold they’ve carried for so long lingers in their bones, but the promise of warmth is undeniable.

  As they move toward the town’s inn, a low murmur of conversation and laughter reaches their ears. The door swings open before they can knock, and a rush of warmth spills out from the hearth inside, smelling of roasted meat and freshly baked bread. For a moment, Oleksandr hesitates at the threshold, his eyes scanning the room—a collection of sailors, merchants, and travelers huddled together against the cold.

  The innkeeper, a tall woman with a broad smile, steps forward, wiping her hands on her apron. “Aye, you look like you’ve seen the end of the world. Come in, come in.”

  Oleksandr nods gratefully, his body aching with every step toward the warmth. We have seen it, he thinks to himself. He doesn’t speak, not yet, too lost in the sensation of warmth spreading through his limbs like a balm. Samorix, with a sigh of relief, slaps him on the back as they enter.

  “It’s good to be alive,” Samorix mutters, his thick accent drawing amused glances from the patrons of the inn.

  Oleksandr only nods, unable to voice the overwhelming exhaustion, the sorrow of the past few weeks that has followed him like a shadow. The warmth of the inn embraces them as they sit down at a large wooden table near the hearth, the flickering fire casting dancing shadows across their faces. Oleksandr, Samorix, and Ivan sit in heavy silence for a moment, their bodies still stiff and sore from the long, grueling journey. The cold from the tundra clings to them like a second skin, but the hearty stews they order and the ale that follows quickly bring relief.

  The stew is rich, thick with meat and root vegetables, its aroma filling their senses and making them feel human again. They tear into the food with an almost desperate hunger, the kind that only comes from days of starvation and frostbitten nights. Between mouthfuls of stew and swigs of ale, they speak, their conversation a quiet murmur punctuated by the clink of their mugs against the table.

  Back in Lithuania, before all the chaos, Oleksandr had taken the time to send a letter to the king. His message was short, concise, and practical:

  "Alive and well. Good progress. Should be able to meet a boat in the town near the southern port in the months ahead, if God wills we survive. Expect us in the spring."

  The king had promised to send a ship to retrieve them once they reached that town. It was their only hope, the tether pulling them back to something resembling normalcy. The thought of returning to the king's service, of making it back to Montenegro, seemed like a distant, almost impossible dream when they were in the freezing wilds. But now, with the warmth in his bones and a full belly, that dream seemed close, tangible. Samorix, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, leans in with a grin.

  "I’m guessing the king won't hear of yer little ‘family reunion’ with Oddvarr, eh?"

  Oleksandr’s hand grips his mug tighter at the mention of his father’s name. He looks up, meeting Samorix’s eyes. The old warrior’s grin fades slightly as he senses the shift in the room. Samorix respects the silence, letting Oleksandr gather his thoughts.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "I don’t plan to tell him about that part," Oleksandr says quietly, his voice still rough from the weight of his past few days. "There are things… things I need to sort out on my own, Samorix. Things I need to figure out first. But when we’re on that ship, when we’re finally away from all of this..." His voice trails off, and Ivan, sensing the shift in mood, raises his mug.

  "We’ll get there," Ivan says with an assured nod, his thick accent heavier with the ale. "And then you’ll have a new story to tell. A better one."

  Oleksandr lets out a humourless chuckle. "One I’m not sure I want to tell anyone."

  Samorix squeezes his shoulder. "Then don’t. Sometimes it’s best to keep a few scars hidden, even from friends."

  The warmth of the fire and the comfort of the food begin to ease the tension in Oleksandr’s body as he looks across the table at his companions. His thoughts drift back to the reason they’re all here, to the promise he made to Princess Vidosavka, and to the life he’s hoping to build. As the realization of that future settles in, he finds himself filled with a strange mix of anticipation and hesitation.

  After a long pause, Oleksandr looks at Samorix and Ivan, his expression thoughtful but sincere. “You both are coming to the wedding, right?” Oleksandr asks, his voice filled with a quiet hope. "I wouldn't dream of doing this without you two."

  Ivan looks up from his mug, raising an eyebrow as he gives a half-smile. “A wedding? Well, I’ve no reason to rush back home. I’ll be there, Oleksi.” He shrugs, the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, I’m curious to see how you’ll look in a fancy outfit. I can already imagine the bride having to drag you down the aisle.”

  Oleksandr chuckles, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. But as his eyes move over to Samorix, his smile falters a little, replaced with an unspoken understanding.

  Samorix's smile softens as he leans back in his chair, the pride in his eyes evident but mixed with a hint of sorrow. “I’d’ve liked to be there, Oleksandr. Truly, I would. It’s a rare thing, finding happiness after all the hell ye’ve waded through. It’s a great honor, lad, seeing ye grasp it with yer own hands. Ye’ve earned it, no question.” He pauses, his voice heavy. "But... I can’t stay."

  Oleksandr's heart sinks just a little. Samorix is more than just a comrade; he’s a mentor, a father figure in many ways. The thought of not having him by his side on such an important day stirs something deep in his chest, but he understands. Family, after all, is everything. Samorix has his own reasons to return.

  “You need to get back to Serbia, huh?” Oleksandr asks softly, though he already knows the answer.

  Samorix nods, his eyes distant for a moment, as if picturing his family waiting for him back home. “Aye. I’ve been away too long. They probably reckon I’m dead by now, and I won’t leave them hanging any longer.” He lets out a long sigh and gives Oleksandr a rueful smile. “But I’ll be raising a mug for ye in spirit, lad. Ye’ve earned this.”

  There’s a long silence before Oleksandr speaks again, his disappointment obvious in his tone, but his understanding unwavering.

  “I’ll set the date, Samorix,” Oleksandr says quietly. “I’ll set it to whatever suits you. Earlier, later... We’ll make it work.” His eyes soften with affection for his friend. Oleksandr's mind suddenly sharpens with a new realization. His eyes light up, and a slow smile spreads across his face. He leans forward, locking eyes with Samorix.

  "Samorix," he says, his voice steady but filled with an eager warmth, "I just remembered something. I promised you a fief in Montenegro. A place of your own, the lordship. I told you that if you helped me on this quest, I’d see to it that you and your family would have a future there."

  Samorix blinks, clearly surprised, his eyebrows furrowing as the memory resurfaces. "I remember that... but ye don’t have to—"

  “No, Samorix, I meant it,” Oleksandr interrupts gently, his expression serious but with the same warmth that had marked his words. "The offer still stands. I can send someone to Serbia to pick up your family, bring them to Montenegro. They’ll have a home there. You’ll have a place to rebuild, away from all the... chaos. The life you deserve."

  Samorix is silent for a long moment, processing the weight of Oleksandr's offer. A deep gratitude fills his eyes, but it’s mixed with a complex swirl of emotions that only Oleksandr truly understands—the responsibility of a promise, the burden of the past, the future he hadn’t expected.

  "I..." Samorix starts, then stops, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know what to say, lad. Ye’ve given me more than I ever thought I’d have." He pauses, looking at Oleksandr with a mixture of respect and affection. "If ye mean it, though... if that’s real... I won’t refuse. I’ve lost so much, but to start fresh with my family... I’ll take ye up on that. For them."

  Oleksandr nods, a sense of fulfillment settling within him. "It’s the least I can do, Sam. You’ve been my rock in all this. You deserve a future as much as anyone else, especially your family. It’s the least I can offer in return." The two men share a moment of quiet understanding, the bond between them deepened even more by this promise. Samorix lets out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling as he exhales the weight of years spent fighting, surviving, and now, finding a measure of peace.

  "Then I'll take ye up on that, Oleksandr. Thank you." Samorix finally says, his voice firm, a little softer than usual.

  Oleksandr smiles, his eyes reflecting a glint of hope for the future. "We’ll make sure your family is taken care of. And when you’re ready, you’ll have that land in Montenegro. You can make it your own. It’s your new beginning."