The midnight sun lingered over Vinterhavn like a watchful eye, its golden light filtering through the mist that had rolled in overnight, turning the village into a dreamscape of shadows and half-seen shapes. My shoulder ached where the shadow's claw had grazed me, a dull throb that pulsed with every step as I made my way toward the harbor. The wound wasn't deep—barely a scratch, really—but it felt like a brand, a reminder of the fight in the cave and the uneasy alliance I'd been forced into with Torin Varg. The whispers had quieted since last night, but they lingered at the edges of my mind, a faint hum that promised more to come.
I adjusted the scarf around my neck, hiding the faint red mark, and clutched my carving knife tighter. The harbor was quiet, the fishing boats still tethered to the docks, their hulls creaking in the gentle swell. The abandoned lighthouse loomed ahead, a skeletal silhouette against the fjords, its cracked lens reflecting the aurora's faint shimmer. Sigrid's warning echoed in my thoughts—*if those shadows are real, they'll follow him*—and I couldn't shake the image of those ember-like eyes closing in. Torin had insisted we go together, and though every instinct screamed to send him away, the voice in the cave had tied our fates to the amulet. I hated it, but I couldn't deny it.
Torin was already there when I arrived, leaning against the lighthouse's weathered base, his satchel slung over one shoulder and his dagger glinting at his hip. His dark auburn hair was tousled by the wind, and his blue eyes met mine with a steadiness that unnerved me. He straightened as I approached, his expression unreadable but his posture tense, as if he expected another attack at any moment.
"You're late," he said, his voice carrying that same low timbre that had haunted my dreams last night.
"I'm not on your schedule," I snapped, brushing past him to examine the lighthouse door. The wood was warped, its iron hinges rusted, but a faint rune glowed faintly near the lock—old magic, older than Sigrid's carvings. I traced it with my finger, feeling a tingle that made my scar itch. "This place is warded. Someone didn't want it opened."
Torin stepped closer, peering over my shoulder. "Can you break it?"
I shot him a glare. "Maybe. If I want to risk the spirits turning me inside out." The rune was complex, a web of lines that pulsed with a warning. Breaking it would invite attention—likely from the shadows or worse. But the voice had been clear: *The amulet is in the lighthouse.* I sighed, pulling my knife and beginning to carve a counter-rune beside it, my hands steady despite the unease coiling in my chest.
He watched in silence, his presence a solid weight at my back. "You're good at that," he said after a moment, almost grudgingly.
"I've had practice," I muttered, finishing the last stroke. The original rune flickered, then faded, and the door creaked open with a groan that echoed across the harbor. The air inside was damp and cold, smelling of salt and decay, and the stairs spiraled upward into darkness. I hesitated, the whispers stirring again—soft, urgent, like footsteps in the mist.
"After you," Torin said, gesturing with a mock bow that didn't hide the tension in his frame.
I rolled my eyes and stepped inside, my boots echoing on the stone steps. The lighthouse was a hollow shell, its walls streaked with moss and the remnants of old nets tangled in the corners. The higher we climbed, the thicker the mist became, seeping through the broken windows and curling around us like ghostly fingers. The whispers grew louder, a chorus of *up, up, up* that made my head ache, and I gripped the railing to steady myself.
Halfway up, Torin's hand brushed my arm, stopping me. "Wait," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. I turned, ready to snap at him, but his gaze was fixed on the shadows pooling at the base of the stairs. They moved, coalescing into the same ember-eyed figures from the cave, their forms shifting like smoke.
"Damn it," I hissed, drawing my knife. Torin's dagger was already in hand, and we backed up the steps together, the shadows advancing with a silence that was more terrifying than any roar. The first lunged, its claw slashing toward me, but I ducked, slashing back with the rune-etched blade. The shadow recoiled, hissing, and Torin struck the next, his movements fluid and precise.
We fought our way upward, the stairs narrowing as the mist thickened. My shoulder burned where the earlier wound had been, and sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cold. The whispers turned to screams—*the amulet, protect it, destroy it*—and I stumbled, my vision blurring. Torin caught me, his arm around my waist, and for a moment, I leaned into his strength before pulling away, my face hot with embarrassment.
"Focus," he said, his voice tight but not unkind.
I nodded, pushing forward. The top of the lighthouse opened into a circular room, the broken lens casting fractured light across the floor. In the center stood a pedestal, and on it rested a small, rune-carved amulet, its surface glinting with a dark, oily sheen. The air pulsed with magic, and the shadows froze, their ember eyes fixed on the prize.
"That's it," Torin breathed, stepping toward it.
"Wait!" I grabbed his arm, the whispers screaming now. *Don't touch it, it's trapped, it's alive.* But before I could explain, he reached out, and the room erupted. The shadows surged, and the amulet flared, sending a shockwave that threw us both back against the wall. Pain exploded in my head, and the whispers turned to a single voice—deep, resonant, and furious.
*You dare claim what is mine?*
The shadows solidified, their forms towering, and I scrambled to my feet, knife raised. Torin was beside me, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead, but his dagger was steady. "What did you do?" I demanded, my voice shaking.
"I didn't know," he growled, wiping the blood away. "The spirits said it was safe."
"Safe?" I laughed bitterly. "You've unleashed something, Torin. Something big."
The voice spoke again, echoing off the walls. *The amulet binds the curse. Take it, and the shadows become flesh. Leave it, and I remain bound.* The shadows shifted, forming a vague shape—a man, perhaps, cloaked in darkness. *Choose, seeker. Choose, listener.*
I stared at the amulet, its runes pulsing in time with my heartbeat. The whispers urged me to take it, to end the curse, but the voice's warning rang true. If we took it, the shadows would grow stronger. If we left it, the spirit—whatever it was—would stay trapped, and Torin's quest would fail. My gift had never felt so useless.
Torin's hand closed over mine, his grip firm. "We need to decide together," he said, his eyes searching mine. "I won't force this on you."
I wanted to pull away, to tell him I didn't trust him, but the warmth of his hand grounded me. The mist swirled, the shadows waiting, and for the first time, I felt the weight of a choice that wasn't just mine. "We leave it," I said finally, my voice steady. "For now. We need answers first."
He nodded, though I saw the frustration in his jaw. The voice laughed, a sound that chilled my bones, and the shadows retreated, fading into the mist. The amulet's glow dimmed, but its presence lingered, a promise of danger yet to come.
We descended in silence, the lighthouse groaning around us. Outside, the harbor was still, the mist hiding the village from view. Torin stopped at the base, turning to me. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For not letting me damn us both."
I met his gaze, surprised by the sincerity there. "Don't thank me yet," I replied. "The shadows aren't gone. And neither is this."
He nodded, and we parted ways, the midnight sun watching over us like a silent judge. The whispers returned as I walked home, softer now, but carrying a new note—*he's part of it, Eira. Trust him.* I shook my head, unwilling to believe it, but deep down, I knew the amulet had bound us tighter than either of us realized.