The council hall burned with torchlight and tension. Smoke curled toward the rafters, carrying the mingled scents of pine pitch and blood.
Brynja stood at the long table's end, her armor still dented from battle, her hair streaked with ash. Around her sat Frostfall's elders — men and women bound by scars, age, and pride.
At the table's center lay a Bjornskarn helmet, its iron warped and blackened where Zank had stood. It sat like a silent witness to what had happened.
Councilor Vadi, an older man with a bandaged arm, slammed his fist on the table. "We cannot ignore what he is, Brynja! You saw it yourself. Death moved through him as though it were his kin!"
Brynja met his glare, steady as a mountain. "Aye, I saw it. And I also saw fifty Bjornskarn flee in terror before his shadow. If Zank hadn't come down from the ridge, this hall would be ash and bone right now."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Councilor Estrid — her head wrapped in linen where a blade had grazed her temple — leaned forward. "Brynja, none here deny his strength. But power like that comes with a cost. What if the next time he loses control, it's one of us who falls?"
Brynja's voice rose. "Then we teach him control. We owe him that much! He bled for Frostfall—bled saving us. You sit here breathing because that boy faced death itself without flinching."
The hall fell quiet, save for the crackle of the fire.
Councilor Vadi looked down at his injured arm. "The healers say I'll keep the limb," he muttered. "If the boy hadn't broken their line, I'd have lost more than that."
Estrid sighed. "He frightens the villagers, Brynja. The children won't go near him."
"Then we remind them who their enemy truly is," Brynja said. "The Bjornskarn will come again, and when they do, I'll want Zank standing with us, not wandering the wilds alone. Fear him if you must — but remember this: without him, Frostfall would be a graveyard."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
At last, Elder Hallar, the oldest of them all, rose slowly to his feet. His beard was white as snow, his eyes sharp despite his years.
"The boy cannot be what he was before," Hallar said. "The people have seen what he's become. To deny it would be folly."
He turned toward the assembled warriors. "But neither can we cast aside the one who saved us. Let him stay — not as Zank the orphan, but as Zank the Frostfall Reaper. A guardian born of two worlds."
A murmur of uneasy agreement swept through the hall. Brynja's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Then it is decided."
The meeting ended under a heavy silence. Later, Brynja stepped into the cold night, the snow whispering beneath her boots. Beside her walked Rurik, the old archer who had once trained Zank.
"He'll not like the name," Rurik said quietly.
"No," Brynja admitted. "But maybe it's better he learns to wear it than to run from it."
They reached the healer's hut. Inside, Zank sat by the fire, pale but awake, a fur cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His bow leaned against the wall beside him, still stained from battle.
When he saw Brynja, he tried to stand, but she waved him down. Rurik closed the door behind them.
Brynja knelt so they were eye level. "How's the pain?"
"It comes and goes," Zank said softly. "Mostly when I breathe."
A faint smile touched her lips. "That means you're alive."
He studied her expression. "The council met, didn't they?"
"They did." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "You're to remain with Frostfall. No exile."
Relief flickered across his face—until he saw her eyes. "But?"
Brynja exhaled slowly. "They've given you a name. A title. 'The Frostfall Reaper.'"
Zank looked into the fire, the light dancing across his pale eyes. "So that's what I am now. A story to frighten children."
"No," Rurik said gruffly from the corner. "A story to warn enemies."
Brynja placed a hand on his shoulder—gloved, careful. "You saved us, Zank. Don't let their fear turn to shame. You're not a monster. You're the reason we're still breathing."
Zank's throat tightened. "But what if they're right? What if next time, I can't stop it?"
Brynja's gaze softened. "Then I'll stop you. But until that day comes, you're one of us."
For the first time since the battle, Zank managed a real, if weary, smile.
Outside, the wind carried the sound of wolves howling — not in fear, but in mourning.
Inside, the Frostfall Reaper sat in silence, unsure whether he had been saved… or cursed.