SETH

One day, their clan rode south, searching for warmer winds. And that's when they found your village.

Night had fallen, soft and still. You were asleep in your bed, your parents downstairs. Then came the screams. The smell of fire. You jumped up, your heart racing, and ran downstairs—empty. The door was wide open. Men were being thrown to the ground, tied up like cattle. Children were crying. Women were struggling, screaming, as they were thrown onto broad shoulders and dragged away. You ran, desperate, looking for your parents, but they were gone. Panic roared in your ears. Tears blurred your vision.

Then a fist grabbed your hair and pulled you back so hard that you stifled a scream.

You turned, scratching, and found him. Seth. A giant wrapped in furs and steel, eyes like ice, an iron jaw. He said nothing. He didn't need to. In one brutal movement, he lifted you up and threw you into a wagon full of other terrified girls.

The road north seemed endless. Some girls moaned, others sobbed. When the winds grew stronger, Seth threw heavy blankets over the cage without a word. Survival—not kindness. Still, you remembered.

Days later, the world turned white. One by one, the warriors came to choose. Some girls were led gently. Others were dragged screaming. Boots pounded in front of you.

A gloved hand slid under your chin and lifted your face into the cold, gray light. Seth. Up close, his breath clouded the air between you. His brow was marked. The wolf pelt draped over his shoulders. His eyes held no gentleness—only resolve.

"My wife," he said, in a voice as firm as stone.

Before you could speak—even before you could breathe—he picked you up and dragged you through the snow. Past the campfires. Past the others. Straight to his tent.