Waves rise and fall

The fortress endures

Since the beginning of time

The fortress stands tall

A ship sets sail

In times of need

A people’s last hope

Its freight is betrayal

Soon ends the illusion

A first time in aeons

The waves fall silent

They die in confusion

— Prophesy of Aelfdene the Völva

Hafleikr stands guard on the watchtower, looking at the faint silhouettes of ships on the horizon. The stormy sea clouds them, but the armada is waiting in the calmer, open ocean.

Below the sentry, high waves hit the fortress’ walls brutally like a furious beast eager to break into its prey’s burrow. If these walls had mouths, they would laugh at the feeble attempt. They have withstood worse storms for aeons that turned their surface as smooth as the rock they are built on.

Hafleikr knows this by experience. He had guarded this sanctum for 200 years. Not once, had he seen the walls crumble.

A giant wave smashes into the wall below the tower, catapulting the water 30 metres up the smooth stone. It barely reaches the balustrade. To Hafleikr, it feels like little more than a flip of a coin — a mundane event he witnessed countless times. These waves seem scary to an outsider, but those who live in the fortress know they are their most vigorous defence.

Despite his better knowledge, the prophecy bothers him. He is even more concerned that the council sent out a ship for supplies — the first time in 178 years. They do not believe in some crazy woman’s poem and smile at Hafleikr’s superstition.

All this doesn’t change the fact that he can see the faint silhouettes of an armada with crimson sails. They are out there beyond the storm — ready and waiting.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed the storm weakened.