The snow fell relentlessly over Ulfrfjord, covering the rooftops of the longhouses and the hard ground with a white, icy blanket. The wind howled like a starving wolf, sweeping through the empty streets and making the torches flicker in their holders. Inside the main fortress, the warmth of the fire roared in the great hall, but Yrsa stood outside, her icy gaze fixed on the horizon.

She was in the training ground, without the white wolf fur cloak that usually covered her shoulders. Her bare arms were marked with scars, muscles tense as she hurled an axe against a wooden post already filled with deep gashes.

"Again," she muttered to herself, teeth clenched as she pulled the axe from the wood. The blade cracked as it was yanked free, sending splinters flying. Her breath came in heavy puffs, turning into white clouds in the freezing air.

"Yrsa!" Thora's voice echoed, approaching with quick, worried steps. The younger sister held a fur cloak in her hands, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight braid. "You're going to freeze out here. Father is asking for you."

Yrsa did not respond immediately. She stared at the axe in her hands, the blade reflecting the falling snowflakes that quickly accumulated. "What does he want?"

"What do you think?" Thora draped the cloak over her sister's shoulders, but Yrsa did not thank her. She simply kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, her eyes as cold as the ice.

"He wants me to go see her."

Thora looked away. "It's been three days since you brought her, Yrsa. She hasn't said a word. Barely eaten. Asa is worried. She says the girl will die before you decide what to do with her."

Yrsa clicked her tongue, irritated. "She won't die."

"She is not just a girl. Weak. Scared," Thora continued, choosing her words carefully. "Maybe you should..."

Yrsa twirled the axe in her hand, the metal gleaming. "She is not just a girl. She is mine."

Thora sighed, shaking her head. "Father wants you to decide soon. He doesn't like how much attention you're giving her. Says you're getting distracted."

Yrsa let the axe fall to the ground, the sound echoing through the empty training ground. She ran a hand through her hair, now damp from the melting snow. Without another word, she started walking toward the longhouse.

Inside the fortress, the air was warmer, smelling of burning wood and roasted meat. Yrsa moved through the corridors until she reached a small room, the door slightly ajar.

Inside, you sat by the fire, knees pulled to your chest, eyes fixed on the dancing flames. The heavy cloak covered your shoulders, but you shivered slightly.

Yrsa stopped at the entrance, watching you in silence. For a moment, her severe expression softened, but only for an instant. She took a deep breath, hardening her gaze once more.

"Are you comfortable?" Yrsa's voice came out firm, almost casual. She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

You did not reply. You only hugged your knees tighter, eyes never leaving the fire.

Yrsa moved closer, stopping beside you. The silence between you was heavy, oppressive. Then, Yrsa crouched down, bringing her face level with yours, their faces just inches apart.

"I saved your life," she whispered, her voice low, almost gentle. "And now it belongs to me."

You finally tore your gaze from the fire, meeting Yrsa's eyes. There was no fear there. Only a mix of hatred and something Yrsa could not quite decipher.

A dangerous smile curled at Yrsa's lips. "Better start getting used to it."