Page 6 of The Viking in the Vault
4
RAGNAR
The first thing I feel upon waking is the cold.
Cold that has seeped into my flesh, my bones…filled my lungs and my belly. The cold is so sharp, so intense, that it feels as if it’s slicing through my skin, clawing at my guts. My head throbs, limbs heavy, and for a moment, I think I must be dying. Yes…our ship was shot down, we were trying to evacuate, everything was shaking as we plummeted to the icy tundra of an unknown planet–
Something warm and wet brushes my face, a low, rumbling wine breaking through the panic. My eyes snap open, and I find myself staring into familiar, icy blue eyes.
“Fenrik,” I mumble, my voice grating against my long-unused throat. I cough, and it feels like this must be the first time I’ve moved in weeks. Fenrik is warm though, the skarnhound’s fur soft where he’s curled up in the crook of my arm. The two of us barely fit in this confined space, but at least we’re both alive.
Now that I’ve said his name, Fenrik’s long tail wags slowly. He whines and begins to lick my face, and I lift my other hand to scratch behind his ears. For a moment, I let myself breathe,holding onto the one piece of familiarity in this disorienting void.
It’s dark here–extremely dark, so much that I can only see Fenrik due to the soft glow of his eyes. I’m lying on my back, encased in…something. The surface beneath me is soft, holding me as if it was moulded to my form. I reach up with the hand that was scratching Fenrik and I splay my fingers out on what I believe must be ice…but it soon becomes clear it’s glass. A hiss of vapor sounds as something activates, and holograms flicker to life overhead, showing my vitals.
…I’m inside a cryopod.
The pod opens slowly, allowing me to sit up. Fenrik sits with me, whining again. Yes…yes, I remember now. After the crash landing, we tried to call for help, but we knew our distress signal wouldn’t reach the rest of the scouting ships in time to save us. That’s when we climbed into our cryopods, hoping that someone would find us.
It does not appear I was found–at least not by allies. There are no other Skoll here, and I seem to be entirely alone.
My muscles groan in protest as I look around, neck cracking. The air smells faintly metallic, tinged with something sharp and artificial. My eyes scan the space as much as I can, only able to see a little in the darkness. Something is broken in the distance, letting out faint crackles of light every so often. Off to the left, sleek panels display faintly glowing consoles lining the walls.
This technology is advanced, and there’s only one species I’m aware of that has this kind of tech.
Boreans.
I’ve been captured.
The thought brings my panic raging back, and my instincts kick in. I climb out of the pod, Fenrik hopping out with me. My balance wavers for a moment, but I grip the edge of thepod, steadying myself as my head swims. This is just cryo-sleep sickness…nothing to be worried about.
What’s more concerning is the fact that I’ve lost my crew, and I’m entirely alone in Borean clutches.
The cold nips at my skin, only enough to slightly bother me–but that must mean it’s very, very cold. I reach back into the pod, searching for the furs I’m certain I would have worn inside. I find them a moment later, then I drape the cloak around my shoulders. My body heat should be enough to sustain me here–the Skoll are a hardy species–but wherever I am, I want plenty of protection from the elements. Fenrik stays close to my side, soft blue ears perked up.
“Where are they, Fenrik?” I ask.
He seems to have as little idea of where we are–or where the rest of my crew is–as I do.
My eyes adjust to the light, finding shapes and color in the glow of the flickering displays. The room is vast, dimly lit, and filled with massive columns of ice encased in glass. Some are damaged, though it looks like the damage was recent; perhaps my people came here to rescue me, and they’re fighting in the levels above right now. I reach for the blades strapped to either thigh, finding them there as always–so at least I wasn’t disarmed by the enemy.
Good. If this is a Borean facility, I won’t go down without a fight. I grip the blade tighter as I glance down at Fenrik, who is sniffing the air. His tail gives a hesitant wag.
“What is it?” I murmur.
Fenrik whines softly and presses against my leg before lifting one paw and pointing his snout into the distance. He’s found something—or someone. My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I follow his gaze, finding no sign of what’s attracted his attention.
But then I smell it.
It’s faint at first, mingling with the sterile, metallic tang of the air. But as I focus, it grows stronger—a scent unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. Warm, sweet, and rich, with hints of something primal and deeply familiar. It tugs at my senses, curling deep into my gut and setting my blood alight. It’s intoxicating, almost overwhelming…
…and completely out of place in a cold, sterile environment like this.
I take a step forward, trying to trace the source. Fenrik lets out a low bark, his tail wagging more enthusiastically now, and I narrow my eyes.
“What is that?” I whisper, more to myself than to Fenrik.
It’s not Borean. It can’t be. Boreans smell of rot and corrupted Elixir. This…this is something else entirely. Something alive.
