"It is a debt...I can never repay. But you are now the only thing that keeps his legacy alive, and I want you to know that whatever you need, never be afraid to ask."

Ragnar walks with Torhyl at his side. They walk her father's old trails and Ragnar tells her stories of his youth. Torhyl's mind wanders at the thought her father at her age. He must have been Fearless. Fierce. Reckless. Courageous.

She smiles at the memories and follows Ragnar up an abandoned trail to a small cottage. Her eyebrows furrow at the sight, her mind not finding the connection between her father and the abandoned house.

"What are we doing here?" Torhyl questions as they approach the entrance. "Who owns this home?"

"It was your father's." Ragnar answers quietly as he pushes the door open.

Torhyl follows him into the small cottage and her senses are instantly filled with stale air. She coughs slightly at the dusty atmosphere. Her eyes dart around the small room. It is practically empty. It is furnished simply, as her father would like it. A bed, a chair, a table and a fireplace. It was all the necessities...all he ever needed.

"Your father lived a very simple life." Ragnar explains as he places a hand on the back of his chair. "I am afraid there is really nothing here to pass down to you. Your father never planned ahead...he was a man of impulse."

"That is alright," Torhyl smiles as she runs her hand over his bed. "I do not need material things to remind myself of his legacy."

"There may be nothing in here that I can give you, but I kept this place safe if this time ever came." Ragnar points around the room. "This land we stand is still written in the Firesygh's family name and I want you to have it. It's what your father would have wanted."

Torhyl's jaw drops open slightly and she shakes her head. "Ragnar, I could not-"

"It is not my gift to give," Ragnar explains. "This acreage rightfully yours. Your father always had this place to come home to. I want you to know that I considered your father my family, he was the person I trusted with everything. I see your father's hand of guidance on your life, Torhyl and I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to take care of you as I promised him I would."

Torhyl mouth parts, her breath stolen from her. "I don't know what to say."

"You do not have to say anything, Torhyl," Ragnar places his hand on her shoulders and gives her a gentle smile. "I just want you to know that though you may travel elsewhere, you always have a safe place to return to."

"Thank you." Torhyl breathes out, her face completely still with shock.

"I owe your father everything," Ragnar says, his tone sombre. "It is a debt...I can never repay. But you are now the only thing that keeps his legacy alive, and I want you to know that whatever you need, never be afraid to ask."

"My father spoke highly of you, Ragnar," Torhyl lets out a humoured breath. "Actually, you were practically the only thing he spoke about."

Ragnar lets out a small chuckle at her comment.

"Ragnar, I want you to know that my father thought of you as more than just a friend...you were everything to him. I want you to know that I too pledge my service to you, if you are ever in need of it."

Ragnar's eyes soften and he gives her shoulders a small squeeze. He gives her a small smile before turning to leave her, his heart saddened with the thoughts of his deceased companion.

Ragnar stumbles backwards suddenly, a curse slipping through his lips as he shields his face from the foreign animal. A hawk soars into the small cottage. Its wings are spread into a defensive position and its threatening caws echo throughout the building.

Ragnar reaches for his axe but Torhyl grabs his arm to stop him. "No, Ragnar, wait."

Torhyl takes a step closer to the agitated bird, but Ragnar pulls her back. He shoots her a confused glance. "What the hell are you doing?"

Torhyl looks back at the majestic hawk. She gently tugs her arm out of Ragnar's grasp and steps closer to the hawk. The hawk perches itself above the fireplace and stares at Torhyl. It cocks its head at her every movement, studying her motives and determining her identity.

Torhyl's eyes scan over the bird's body for marks of any sort to determine the owner of the distraught hawk. Her eyes are drawn to the bird's wings and her eyes widen at the sight. Half of its wings are miscoloured, as though they had been dipped in white paint. A large scar runs down the hawk's chest and at that sign Torhyl knew.

"Zuess." Torhyl whispers in awe.

The bird cocks its head at the name and screeches at Torhyl. The bird soars into flight once more this time flying straight towards Torhyl. Torhyl holds her arm out in front of her and holds her body firm. The bird buries his claws into Torhyl's arm guard and perches himself on her forearm.

A smile works its way onto Torhyl face at the sight of the bird. His majestic aura enraptures her with the memories of her homeland. He sits tall and he looks almost threateningly into Ragnar's eyes. He caws at Ragnar, his wings extended in a threatening manner.

"Calm yourself, Zuess." Torhyl scratches the bird's neck, causing the bird to settle into her touch, its body soothed at her touch.

"This bird is yours?" Ragnar asks, his hand still resting over his axe.

"Yes," Torhyl replies, her eyes still on the Hawk. "He is my best hunter."

Torhyl scrutinises the bird for any messages that the bird may have been sent with but his body remains clear. Her eyebrows furrow at the empty discovery. "Why have you come?"

The bird shrieks quietly and settles his feathers. Torhyl's mind rushes through all the possible reasons her commanders would have sent her best hunter over hundreds of miles.

"Torhyl," Ragnar awakens her from her thoughts. "There's another."

Torhyl's eyebrows cave in confusion as she steps outside the hut and scans the skies. A jet-black raven circles the sky above her and crows down to her silhouette below. The bird swoops down and lands in front of her. It hops closer to her and cocks his head side to side.

"You just couldn't stay away, could you, Nero?" Torhyl shakes her head at the cunning bird.

The raven simply screeches out a reply and remains where he stands. He shakes his leg furiously as if t remove an annoying object. Torhyl's attention is caught by a small white scroll attached tightly around Nero's leg. She releases Zuess and begins to untie the piece of scroll from around Nero's leg. Torhyl unties the final bind and unrolls the small message.

Her eyes skim over the page. The words blur into a haze as she concludes the letter. Her mind is blurry with the news that has sought her out and she feels a pang of sorrow clench her heart.

"Torhyl," Ragnar steps closer to examine the news. "What has happened?"

Torhyl hands clench into fists of rage and her jaw tightens. The note crumples into the enraged grip of Torhyl's palm. Torhyl does not meet Ragnar's eyes as she speaks for fear that he will see the ferocity in them.

"A foreign legion has arrived in Greece." Torhyl speaks with a restrained voice. "They made arrangements for a peaceful treaty but broke their commitments. There was a war..." Torhyl pauses, her eyes clouding over with sorrow. "My men who were left behind were slaughtered by the hundreds. These foreigners pillaged our villages and burnt our homes to the ground. They massacred innocent women and children without regret."

"What are your orders, Commander?" Ragnar replies, preparing to take her back to camp immediately.

Torhyl looks down over the small town of Kattegat. Her heart swells with admiration of the small village. In such a short time, she has grown close to her father's hometown and although she longs for home, there is so much here that beckons her to stay. Torhyl's eyes follow the shoreline to her fleet of ships and trace the water to the horizon.

Her heart aches for her people. The news of the desolation of her village cuts through her like a sharp blade. Her body fights emotion with emotion, her agony with rage. How could the King allow this tragedy to occur? Where was the national army to defend her people? Years of peace between her people and the Grecians had now been destroyed.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Blood pounds in her ears, her pulse so loud she could hear each beat. Rage swells within her and her body tenses. With every fibre of her being, she can feel her emotions and it clouds her conscience with raw passion. And amongst the rage and sadness comes a decision that has to be made.

She turns to Ragnar. Her eyes meet his with a destitute stare.

"I must return to Greece."