The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage

Interlude WM [108.5] Playing For Keeps

Eira sat hunched in the eye of a storm made of ink, parchment, journals torn open, scrolls unfurled, diagrams pinned on walls, and arcane artifacts humming softly with spent magic. Her fingers were stained with ink and chalk and something that smelled of wither.

It had been months since she met it, the entity that smelled like endings and felt like frostbite. She had named it Kaldruna, though she wasn’t sure it had ever truly had a name. Kaldruna was not a woman, not a True Immortal, not a thing meant for mortal eyes. She had worn the shape of a woman the way a hunter wears the fur of past hunts. Her voice had sounded like wind through tombstones, and her touch… Eira shuddered.

The entity had torn the regression magic from her soul like it was rot to be excised. Since that moment, Eira had been unraveling, one thread at a time. Now, with every heartbeat, Kaldruna was closer.

Eira could feel her—the cold breath behind her shoulder, the whisper curling through the candle flame. Kaldruna hadn’t returned, not physically. But she was there. She was always there. Every time Eira closed her eyes, she felt the weight of a coffin lid brushing her skin. Every time she blinked, she imagined waking up nowhere.

She had lived a thousand lives. She had died in every conceivable way. She had laughed in the face of blades, fire, poison, and the void itself. But now? 

“How do people do this? How do they only live once and not fear the end? Do they not know? Ignorant that that thing is waiting just out of sight.” She said as she chewed her nails as she wrote. “This has to work. No-no, I already tried that.”

Sobbing, Eira scratched another line into the crumbling remains of a failed spellform she had been constructing. She needed to remake the reincarnation spell but she couldn’t remember it. She could feel that part of her memory had been excised just as thoroughly as the spell had been ripped from her soul. Concepts that she held as immutable and unforgettable were held just out of reach. The ink bled, like it knew it was useless.

“Why won’t it work?” she hissed, teeth clenched. Then louder: “Why won’t it work!”

She slammed her fist into the desk. Wood cracked. Her voice cracked with it. The chair clattered to the floor behind her. She swept her arm across the table in one violent arc, flinging tomes, writing utensils, ink and countless notes to the ground. Her aura erupted, a brief storm of starlight mana surging from her core infusing into her aura. For a heartbeat, her skin looked as brilliant as a thousand galaxies, burning with power.

She screamed then, silence. The light dimmed. Her breathing slowed. Her shoulders sagged. The dread remained.

“Calm down Eira, calm down.” Her voice was far from steady. “Your soul has healed. You have fought a thousand wars. Lived a thousand times. You can solve this, you did it in your first life, when you were your weakest.”

The wound Kaldruna had left in her soul had scabbed over. However the fear was as raw and primal as the moment she first saw the entity.

How did anyone live like this? Knowing that death would stick? How did mortals smile? How did they breathe, or sleep, or fall in love? Did they not see it? Did they not feel her lurking behind every heartbeat?

Eira pressed a trembling hand to her neck. Cold phantom fingers were already there.

Eira flinched and blinked to the other end of the room. Her breath quick, wand raised, spears of light already formed and ready to strike. There was no one there. Only her books and papers strewn across the floor. She swore she felt the cold hand that grasped her. 

She slowly lowered her wand. The spears of light flickered, then vanished into nothing. But she didn’t look away from the empty space in the center of the room. Her gaze stayed locked, unmoving, as if Kaldruna might simply appear from the void and finish what she had started.

Her heart pounded as she backed away, every motion careful, controlled. Like prey inching away from a predator it couldn’t see but knew was there. Her shoulder brushed the wall and she kept one palm flat against it as she moved, step by step, circling the room’s edge. The other hand gripped her wand like a lifeline. 

She kept going until she reached her door and her hand touched the doorknob. She hesitated there for a moment, a long moment. Slowly the door creaked open and as soon as she could fit through she turned and ran.

Eira collided with someone just beyond the threshold. Hard. She screamed, wand snapped up too late. A hand snatched it from her, and she fell backwards onto the hardwood floor of her room. Her limbs scrambled for purchase, breath caught in her chest. She raised her arms to shield her face, sure this was it.

“What are you doing?” Ragnar’s voice cut the silence. “Stop playing around Lord Father is calling us.”

Eira looked up and saw her older brother looking disappointedly at the messy state her room was in. She blinked, once, twice a third time like he was suddenly going to turn into a monster and eat her. After a moment he reached out his hand for her to take. His other hand had her wand which he snatched to keep her from casting a spell. She was frozen only for a second before she realized she was safe. She had to compose herself so she took his hand and was pulled up to her feet.

“Be sure to hold on to this next time and keep your eyes open if you are going to cast a spell.” Ragnar said as  he put her wand in its holster on her waist. He patted the dust off of her and even straightened her hair with his hand. “I can’t keep looking after you all the time. So come on before Father gets angry.”

“S-sorry, Heir Ragnar.” Eira said as she regained breath. “I am ready.”

“Are you okay?” Ragnar asked. “You look like you have been crying.”

“It is nothing that I would bother the Heir with.” Eira responded.

Ragnar pressed his lips into a line but said nothing. She saw him looked conflicted as his gaze flicked across the mess that was her room. He wanted to say more but chose not to. Eire knew she could not trouble Ragnar with her insecurities. She was a Salstar, she had to handle her own affairs. Besides there was nothing a fifteen year old boy could do to save her from Kaldruna. 

***

Eira found herself in the medical ward of the Salstar estate. Looking at an unfamiliar face in the arms of her changed mother. Eira wasn’t the only one that was touched by forces beyond this world. Her mother Ingrid was given a divine touch by the Forest Father. She was now Skaði and apparently no longer just a wendigo but not quite a greater either. She was a jötunn wendigo, a new ethnicity or something.

Skaði reclined on a thick fur-covered bed, flanked by the estate’s healer and midwife on one side, and by Ulfar on the other. A content smile played on her lips as she looked down at the newborn suckling quietly at her breast.

“Lord Father. Mother. We’ve arrived,” Ragnar said, voice composed but reverent.

“Good, come look at your sibling, the next to inherit the name Salstar. He is Freyr Whitewater Salstar” Ulfar said, he looked up to the midwife and healer. “Leave us.”

The two bowed and quickly left the room. Once the door was closed there was a shimmer of magic. Eira was familiar with the spell; it was an anti-surveillance ward which would keep anyone from spying on them. 

“Ragnar, Eira, what we have to say is important and you must be ready.” Ulfar continued. “Nothing we say now can be repeated outside, do you understand?” They both nodded. “We have been blessed beyond reason but with that blessing comes burdens. In the coming days things will become dire.” Ulfar knelt down and touched both of their shoulders. “You will have to grow up fast to face the road set out for us. Freyr will be adopted by the First Princess and although he will be far from us he will still carry the blood and legacy of the Salstars.”

“She is taking him?” Ragnar questioned.

“It was a deal, one that I made,” Ulfar said. “Your mother has told me many things from her time with the True Hand of the Forest Father. War is coming and we will have to be united as a family to face it. I don’t mean war with the Druids, I mean war for the kingdom. War for our right to exist at all. In order for us to survive we must prepare for the Fimbulwinter.”

“Fimbulwinter?” Ragnar repeated.

“It has many names.” Skaði said in a whisper. “The Long Winter. The Great Quiet. But it always means the same thing: the True Immortals have turned their eyes back to our plane. When they return, they do not come quietly. They bring ruin. Dominion. Reckoning.”

Eira and Ragnar gasped in unison. It was hard for her to fathom that so much had deviated in this life from her previous ones. The True were acting in ways she had never foreseen. Two different Salsters were touched by the True Immortals, three if she counted her new little brother who was ordained by the Forest Father to be born. 

What did it mean? The True Hand of the Forest Father was acting to prepare them for war. Kaldruna also mentioned war. She mentioned that she would soon take souls again. Were they talking about the same thing?

“This is not all, my children,” Ulfar continued. “We have been given a mission one, that will put us at odds with the kingdom but we must accomplish if the wendigo are to survive the coming storm. Fourth Prince Baldur has overstepped his station and by the Forest Father’s decree he must die. The Salstar’s are going to war against the Fourth Prince’s faction.”

The news hit Eira particularly hard, she felt the world tilt as she processed the news. She had no connection to Baldur in this life, but in so many others he had been her husband. In others, her friend, her partner in the shadow games of court. He was always noble and kind. A beacon in the bloodstained chaos of succession and the political landscape of Yuhia. He had never entered into the succession war in any of her past lives. Something sparked a change. 

Eira thought she had heard the most shocking news but she was mistaken as the next words were totally unexpected.

“Freja is alive and she is a Greater Wendigo called a cernunnos.” Ulfar’s deep voice cut through Eira’s thoughts. “She now goes by the name Tanisha Scalebound and she will become the Patron Saintess of Lavi and the new Fourteenth Princess.”

“Big sister is alive?” Ragnar asked, his voice uncertain. “Does that mean she will become Heir?”

Ulfar stood up and sighed. “She is no longer your sister, she is a stranger to us now, with no rights to the Salstar name or House. She has left the country but when she returns she will take her place amongst the other princes and princesses.”

“The True Hand also informed me that she was a sage,” Skaði added. “Should she survive the coming turmoil, that girl will one day be a pillar of the wendigo. Your father and I have failed her, but that is where we want you to succeed. We have destroyed our familial bond with Tanisha, however despite no longer having the name, she has the blood of Salstar in her veins. Should you meet her, treat her with respect. She has come further than we ever imagined.”

Eira listened but she could not focus, she just heard the sound of her own heart thumping in her ears. She was sweating, as her breathing sped up. Nothing was right. Nothing at all was as it should have been. Not a single thing was familiar. Her mother being turned into a jötunn, a little brother being taken by the First Princess, the True coming down from the Higher Planes and starting a war? They had to kill Baldur for True’s sake!

This wasn’t the life she’d relived so many times. This wasn’t even a twisted variant, it was a corruption. A broken reflection of the world she knew, a grotesque mutation of what should have been. 

She looked at her family. They didn’t see it. Not a single one of them saw how fractured everything had become. But she did. She would find the crack in this world. The poison that changed everything. She would fix it! She had to!

Laughter bubbled out of her both manic and involuntary. Her body shook as she tried to breathe, tried to think. The absurdity of it all… it was all so wrong. Everything unraveled the moment Freja didn’t die. Everything started breaking from that single flaw. Now they wanted her to respect the girl who ruined it all?

No, no, no, no, fuck that!

“Eira-Eira!” Ulfar yelled. “What is wrong with you? Calm down.”

Her gaze snapped to him not with the look of a child barely past thirteen but with the cold stare of something ancient. For the first time since her rebirth, something within her coalesced into a deadly point. A new edge. Kaldruna had warned her: this time, play for keeps. No more waiting. No more trusting the world to right itself.

That meant she needed to build up her powers as fast as possible. She had a thousand lives worth of connections. She needed resources, power and people to ensure she would survive no matter what. 

She moved her gaze to Ragnar. He was going to hate her for what she was about to do. She didn’t care anymore; this would save him too. Tanisha must die, with her being outside of the country it was the best time to kill her. Then she could put this world back together. She could have the world as it was meant to be. A smile stretched across her face.

“I challenge Ragnar to Blóðrétt.” Eira said.

There was silence in the room as everyone had to process what she just said. Ulfar raised a brow then looked down at his daughter with a gaze that would make most crumble and bow their heads in submission. Eira didn’t bow she stood there strong and waiting his judgement.

Ragnar exploded in rage, “Eira, you can’t I am the Heir and you are not strong enough fo—”

“Silence, Ragnar,” Ulfar snapped, he turned back to his daughter. “Eira, do you know what it is you’ve asked for?”

“When a non-heir of the blood seeks to take the mantle,” Eira said as if reciting it from an ancient law. “They may invoke the Blóðrétt before the Patriarch. If granted, it ends only with one submission—or one death.”

“You think my choice in choosing your brother was insufficient?” Ulfar probed.

“No, I think you chose best from the information you had.” Eira said, still looking him in the eyes.

“And what information was that?” Ulfar questioned. 

“That between the two of us, he was the more driven.” Eira didn’t flinch. “The one who showed promise. The one who met your expectations again and again.”

Ulfar’s voice grew darker. “Then on what grounds do you challenge him now?”

“Grounds?” Eira said with a cold detachment. “We are Salstars. We are owed nothing. We take. We bleed for what we want. We kill to keep what we have.” She stepped forward. “I am ready to take what is his. And I will show you, Lord Father, that I can.”

Ulfar cracked a smile. “One week—” 

“No today, Lord Father.” Eira interrupted him.

“You think you can beat me,” Ragnar said. “After everything I have done for you, this is how you want to—”

“Ragnar. Go get ready.” Ulfar said sharply.

“Lord Husband, you can’t be serious. She is not ready to face Ragnar.” Skaði said.

“Then this will be a lesson she learns through blood.” Ulfar's voice was cold iron. “You wanted the Blood Right, my daughter, well then, show me what you have been hiding from me.”

***

The sun was setting in the distance casting long golden rays across the hardened stones and turning the clouds to fire. Shadows stretched like reaching hands across the training grounds, where every eye was fixed upon the center ring—an ancestral circle where countless heirs had earned glory, or bled in vain.

Family members had gathered from across the territory, called by blood and duty. They came riding upon storm-wreathed familiars, gliding on wings of summoned wind, or stepping from darkened portals carved through the shadows of darkness magic. From lesser houses to distant cousins whose Salstar blood was watered down through generations, they stood united in purpose. The Blóðrétt had been invoked and no Salstar worth the name would dare miss it.

Eira stood in her battle armor, blue steel plate and enchanted cloth that covered her small frame. At her hip rested a wand of ash and blacksteel, and beside it, an orichalcum sword, unfamiliar to this version of her, but not to the soul that remembered. Her armor had never seen direct combat; it still had the shine of someone untested. 

She remembered the confusion on her servants face when she asked for a sword. In this life she had never been trained to wield a sword. Though her tutors had never taught her to wield a blade, her hands remembered lives where she had been the Sword of Salstar, the Shield of Salstar, the Butcher of the Verdant Vale, the Battlemaiden. Let them doubt. She didn’t and she was done hiding her talent.

Across the circle, Ragnar’s rage hummed like a thunderstorm trapped in flesh. Red lightning flickered around him as his aura took on the properties of his magic. Unlike her he was tested, his armor bore the marks of battle, of blood spilt in border skirmishes, of dead druids and fallen traitors. He had earned his reputation. It didn’t matter though the few he’d killed were but a drop in the bucket of the thousands she had sent to the grave with spell and steel.

“I will give you one chance, Eira. Back down now and you won’t get hurt.” Ragnar said through gritted teeth. “If you go through with this I will have to hurt you.”

Eira fastened her bracers with one final tug, her eyes never leaving his. Her voice was calm, almost gentle.

“I’ll try to make this quick, brother.” She said.

A hush fell as the Patriarch, Lord Ulfar Salstar, stepped into the circle. The sun dipped low, kissing the horizon and the ancient magic of the blood circle awakened in response to his presence. Lord Ulfar stood as a towering monolith as he raised his voice. There was no anger, no rage, instead there was the cadence of a man speaking not to the people in front of him but instead to the ages of those past and those to come.

“Hear me, sons and daughters of Salstar! You have gathered here not because of names etched into tombs, or veins filled with noble blood. Our legacy was never forged in comfort. It was carved from suffering. From blade and flame and sacrifice. We do not inherit power. We earn it. Everything we have… every stronghold, every title, every breath of respect—was bought not with the blood in our veins… but with the blood we have shed.

Today, one dares to challenge the path set before her. And one stands to defend what he has taken and held. This is not rebellion. This is not betrayal. This is the law of our house. This is the Blóðrétt! Let the Circle witness. Let the ancestors watch. Let fate choose which of my children is worthy to carry our banner into the storm.

By right of blade and blood, I, Ulfar Salstar, initiate the duel. You may begin.”

He stepped back, the runes around the circle glowing with old fire.