CHAPTER 63: NORTHERN BEASTS

The cold morning air stung Aric’s skin as he stepped out of his tent, now fully clad in the gifted steel armor of a Byzeth general.

Frost had gathered on the edges of the pauldrons overnight, clinging like brittle lace. His breath fogged in front of him, thin clouds vanishing into the pale dawn as if even warmth fled this land.

The soldiers were already at work, dismantling the camp with practiced efficiency. The Northrender warriors moved like shadows in the frost-laden dawn, silent but precise, their motions sharp with discipline.

Their furs rustled softly, steel glinting beneath layers of thick hide. Even the way they packed their gear felt alien—ritualistic, each action done with an efficiency born from generations of survival in the merciless north.

Aric’s southern-bred eyes, accustomed to stone cities and rolling fields, still found it strange. These people lived as if the earth itself was their enemy.

He made his way toward his horse, a stallion as black as night, though its temperament had soured.

The cold had started to affect not only the soldiers but the animals as well. The beast snorted angrily, stamping its hooves in irritation, ears twitching back as Aric approached.

"Easy," Aric muttered, reaching for the reins. But the stallion jerked its head, teeth snapping, as though resentful of his touch.

The reins slipped through his gauntlet. He gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath as he tried to bring it under control.

The horse bucked once, hooves cracking ice on the ground, forcing him to sidestep to avoid being struck.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Yrsa watching him, her piercing gaze like an ember glowing through smoke.

The Northrender commander, already armored in her furs and leathers, strode toward him with the same confident, predatory grace she always carried. Her hair, braided with bone charms, swung against her chest as she closed the distance.

"Horses are weak," she remarked, her tone laced with disdain. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching with undisguised amusement as Aric wrestled with the stallion. "Have you ever ridden a Kriger?"

Aric turned, following her gaze to the massive creatures tethered nearby. They were unlike anything he had ever seen in the southern lands.

Standing taller than any warhorse, they seemed carved from the essence of the north itself. Their fur was thick and shaggy, snow clinging to their coats.

Their muscular bodies looked built for endless endurance, while their glowing eyes burned with something primal—untamed, unbroken.

"Is that what those are?" he asked, nodding toward one of the beasts as it exhaled a plume of mist.

Yrsa smirked. "Yes. Krigers. One of the many beasts that roam the far north. They’re far stronger than any horse, and the cold doesn’t touch them. They’re born for war."

She gave a low whistle, and one of the beasts trotted over, its heavy hooves crunching through the snow like distant drums. Its head lowered slightly, not in submission, but acknowledgment.

Yrsa ran her hand along its neck, her touch confident, reverent.

"This one’s called Skadi," she said, the name rolling off her tongue with the weight of her native tongue. "Get on."

Aric hesitated, staring at the beast. Its sheer size and the wild gleam in its eyes made his instincts bristle. "I think I’ll stick with my stallion," he said carefully, but Yrsa shook her head, violet eyes narrowing.

"Nonsense," she said firmly. "The stallion will die before the day’s end in this cold. You want to survive, don’t you?" Her gaze locked onto his, sharp as a blade, daring him to refuse.

With a resigned sigh, Aric stepped forward. The Kriger’s breath misted over his face as he took the reins. The leather felt rough, foreign in his grip. With a quick leap, he mounted the creature’s back.

The difference was immediate—it wasn’t like riding a horse.

The Kriger’s wild spirit surged beneath him, raw and restless. Its muscles rippled as it shifted under his weight, every movement threatening to throw him. He gripped the reins tightly, trying to direct it like a horse, but the beast refused to obey.

It reared suddenly, letting out a deep, resonant growl more akin to thunder than any equine cry.

"Whoa!" Aric pulled hard on the reins, but the Kriger bolted forward, the world jolting beneath him.

His stomach lurched as the beast tore through the camp, weaving between tents and soldiers with reckless speed.

Northrender warriors leapt aside, some laughing, some shouting as the southern prince clung desperately to stay mounted.

"Hold, damn you!" Aric hissed, tightening his grip until his knuckles turned white. The Kriger bucked violently, its power unyielding, its will unbroken.

The Northrender soldiers erupted into booming laughter, their voices echoing across the frigid morning like rolling thunder. Some beat their chests, others jeered in their native tongue, mocking the southerner’s struggle.

Yrsa stood unmoved, arms crossed, her lips curled into a smirk. Then she let out a sharp whistle that cut through the chaos.

Instantly, the Kriger skidded to a halt, shaking its mane before turning back toward her. With a single gesture, she calmed it, the beast lowering its head beside her as though chastened.

Aric exhaled heavily, his pride stung more than his body. Before he could swing down, Yrsa was already moving.

She climbed onto the Kriger with the fluidity of someone born to it, seating herself in front of him without hesitation. Her body pressed against his, firm yet graceful, and his hands instinctively fell to her waist as she took the reins.

"You’re going about it all wrong," she said, not looking back but clearly savoring his discomfort. "A Kriger isn’t a horse. It won’t bend to the same commands. You must guide its instincts, not fight them."

Her hands shifted, guiding his, showing the subtle give-and-pull of the reins. The warmth of her body against his was a distraction, her scent of frost and leather sharp in his senses, but Aric forced himself to focus.

The Kriger moved again, but this time its steps flowed smoother, its power channeled instead of resisted. The beast seemed almost pleased, its growl softening to a steady rumble.

"See?" Yrsa said, glancing over her shoulder with a teasing smile. "Not so difficult once you follow its rhythm."

Aric clenched his jaw, regaining composure. "I’ll admit, it’s different. But I’ll manage."

With a satisfied nod, Yrsa dismounted, landing gracefully in the snow. She mounted her own Kriger in one swift motion, a seamless union of rider and beast.

By now, the Byzeth soldiers had finished breaking camp. Dark, looming shapes of Krigers dotted the white expanse, their breath steaming into the cold air.

Horses shivered at their presence, stamping nervously, while the Northrenders mounted with ease. The weaker animals—both horse and mule—were left tethered, abandoned to the mercy of the cold.

Aric’s grip tightened on the reins of Skadi. The beast shifted beneath him but did not resist. It was not obedience he felt, but a grudging acceptance. A fragile accord.

Yrsa’s voice rose above the chill. "March!"

The command cracked like ice, and the legion moved as one. The Krigers surged forward, their heavy steps drumming across the frozen earth, a sound both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Behind them, Byzeth soldiers rode the still-capable horses, their banners trailing dark shadows across the snow.

Aric rode at the head of the column beside Yrsa, his mount carrying him with a power no southern steed could match. Each breath of the Kriger steamed into the air, each step shaking the ground with defiance.

He exhaled beneath his mask, the air biting his lungs. Yet the cold no longer felt like an enemy. He was learning, slowly, what it meant to ride with the northern beasts.

And in that frozen march, he felt the first flicker of something dangerous: belonging.