The air was thick with a chaotic chorus of sound.
Vendors shouted from their stalls, their voices overlapping in the din—some hawking rare wares, others haggling loudly with stubborn customers. The metallic clang of a blacksmith's hammer rang out from a temporary forge at the far end of the street, while nearby, a dwarf strummed a battered lute, playing a lively tune that was nearly swallowed by the roar of the crowd.
The smell of roasted meat drifted through the air, mingling with the cloying sweetness of honey and overripe fruit. Between stalls selling enchanted trinkets and battle-worn weapons, travelers, mercenaries, and townsfolk pressed shoulder-to-shoulder as they navigated the narrow aisles between shops.
Among the throngs of people, Fiona and Galdur walked in silence.
Both wore heavy cloaks with the hoods pulled low to obscure the upper half of their faces, avoiding anyone who might recognize them as members of Farran's faction.
It was somewhat unusual, as Farran himself held no official position of power within the village. However, out of deep respect for Málóei—the supreme leader of the community—the citizens of this Icelandic capital knew well that Farran was the man instrumental in propelling Málóei to leadership following the departure of the god Modi.
Because of this, although Farran possessed no formal authority, his name commanded as much respect as any of the city's appointed leaders.
Moving through the crowd, Fiona scanned the weapon stalls lining both sides of the thoroughfare. Her eyes drifted over the various shields mounted above the shops—some crafted from thick wood reinforced with iron rims, others forged of solid steel and engraved with ancient patterns.
But no matter how intently she looked, none of them gave her pause.
Fiona's own shield had been shattered long ago, lost during her fateful encounter with Dark Asanee.
"Are you still looking for a shield?" Galdur grumbled, his voice laced with irritation. "Our room is barely navigable as it is; it's piled high with the things."
Fiona exhaled a soft, weary sigh. "I just haven't found one that truly feels right yet."
Galdur shook his head in exhaustion, acting as if he had suffered this explanation a thousand times.
"How many times must I tell you? That old shield of yours was a masterpiece from the primordial age," the old man muttered as they pushed through the throng. "I went through the trouble of plundering it from a High Elf tomb. Nothing forged in this era could possibly compare to it."
Fiona raised a slight eyebrow before scanning the gleaming weapon stalls under the lantern light.
"Who knows," she replied softly. "Maybe tonight I'll be lucky enough to stumble upon another relic from the primordial age."
Galdur grunted. "Those two shields that dancing dwarf gave you—those are as good as you'll ever get."
"The ones Gripr gave me?" Fiona shook her head gently. "They are sturdy enough, but the problem is... they're entirely too heavy."
"Heavy is good!" Galdur countered immediately. "It'll build your strength."
Fiona laughed ruefully. "If they're that heavy, I'd never be able to keep pace with the rest of you in a real fight."
Galdur narrowed his eyes at his great-granddaughter before a mischievous grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "You can't keep up with a frail old man like me... or is it Farran you're truly worried about keeping up with?"
Fiona stiffened for a fraction of a second before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "Great-grandfather... please stop teasing me about this."
The truth was that Fiona and Farran were peers of a similar age. Because of this, Galdur frequently seized the opportunity to tease her, insinuating a hidden affection for the young man—a claim she vehemently denied at every turn.
Before long, Fiona spotted a weapon stall that finally drew her attention.
The shopkeeper was a Forest Elf with dark brown hair.
Fiona stepped into the stall, which was sheltered by a makeshift canvas awning, while Galdur waited outside with an expression of utter boredom. Inside, several shields were arranged meticulously—some bearing the proud scars of battle, others newly forged, the metal still carrying the faint, sharp tang of the forge.
Fiona examined them for a long while, but none sparked that crucial sense of "certainty."
She sighed quietly in disappointment; finding a Forest Elf vendor was a rarity in itself, yet she ultimately turned to walk away.
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"Wait," the shopkeeper's voice called out. "Are you seeking an enchanted shield?"
"Thanks, but what you have here... isn't quite what I'm looking for," Fiona replied flatly.
"Hold on," the young Elf urged quickly. "I have one last piece I've kept stashed away." He reached beneath the counter and dragged out a heavy canvas sack.
Inside the bag was a graveyard of broken armaments—splintered spears, swords reduced to mere hilts—but nestled among the wreckage was a metal shield.
The shield was split into two halves: the left gleamed silver, while the right shone gold. At a glance, it looked unpolished, almost as if it had been left unfinished.
The young Elven merchant hoisted it up and presented it to Fiona.
Fiona took hold of it and realized that its weight... was uncannily identical to her old shield.
"This shield is exceptional," the merchant praised. "Both sturdy and feather-light."
"How much?"
"A special price," he answered instantly. "Only sixteen gold coins."
Fiona smiled faintly before handing the shield back. "Too steep."
"Wait, look at this first." The merchant flipped the shield over. Etched into the metal near the grip was a distinct rune: "???????"
"This is the crest of the Bladnir clan," the vendor explained.
Fiona arched her brows, questioning, "The Bladnir clan?"
"Master blacksmiths among the High Forest Elves," he replied with evident pride. "Their metallurgy is said to surpass even Mithril."
Fiona shook her head. "I've never heard of the Bladnir clan. And a shield for sixteen gold... I have no intention of buying it."
"Then I'll drop the price to twelve," the Elf merchant offered, refusing to yield so easily.
"Better... but still not good enough."
The vendor sighed in defeat. "What is your offer, then?"
Fiona casually tapped the coin pouch resting at her hip and said, "Six gold coins."
"Oh... by holy Frey!" the young Elf groaned in agony.
"It's fine. I'll take my leave." Fiona turned, preparing to depart in earnest this time.
"Wait!" the merchant shouted, desperate to stop her before presenting a radical counteroffer. "How about this... I will take all the coin currently in your pouch in exchange for this shield."
Fiona stopped dead in her tracks. The proposition caught her off guard. The vendor had absolutely no idea how much gold was actually in her pouch, yet he dared to wager on such a blind exchange.
A sly smile slowly crept across Fiona's face. "Ha ha... you brought this upon yourself." She hefted the pouch slightly, letting the coins clink. "You want to trade the shield for this bag of mine?"
The merchant hesitated, his prior confidence visibly wavering. "Or is it..." he began suspiciously, "that there isn't even six gold in that bag to begin with?"
Fiona shrugged nonchalantly. "Who knows?" she smiled faintly. "But if you wish to make the trade... I accept."
The vendor fell dead silent. Now he was the one who felt entirely outmaneuvered. His features contorted slightly as his mind raced to calculate the odds.
Fiona watched his internal struggle for a moment before laughing softly. "It's alright, I'm not forcing your hand." She pivoted to walk away once more. "If the risk makes you uncomfortable... I'll be going."
"Fine, I'll trade," the Elf merchant blurted out. It had been days since he had made a single sale. In the kingdom of Iceland, though humans, dwarves, and elves coexisted, ever since the god Magni perished due to the machinations of the High Elves, Forest Elves like himself faced mounting prejudice from all sides.
Fiona reached out, snatched the silver-and-gold shield from the vendor's grasp, tossed him the coin pouch, and swiftly exited the stall.
Galdur, waiting just outside, watched his great-granddaughter emerge wielding a rather shabby-looking metal shield. He cocked an eyebrow and remarked, "Bought yourself another shield, did you?"
Fiona nodded crisply before grabbing the old man's arm, practically dragging him away from the storefront.
"And just how much did you pay for that?"
"Eight gold coins and six silver coins," Fiona answered briskly.
Galdur halted his steps immediately. "Have you been swindled? Paying such an exorbitant price for a shield!"
Fiona lifted the shield slightly, her smile returning. "It's no ordinary shield. This was forged by the Bladnir clan."
"What clan?" Galdur frowned, his brow furrowing. "Never heard of them."
Fiona was just opening her mouth to explain further when—
CRACK!!
A deafening thunderclap tore through the sky, despite the heavens above remaining entirely cloudless.
The people in the market froze. Many snapped their heads upward to stare at the sky; others exchanged glances of pure confusion.
A heavy silence descended for a fleeting moment.
Then, a solitary voice broke from the roadside. The dwarf who had previously been strumming his lute looked up, murmuring, "Thunder... without a single cloud?"
He narrowed his eyes at the sky looming over the village, speaking in a tone that was half-thrilled, half-terrified. "Could it be... that the god Modi has returned to our village?"
The instant those words left his lips, the very atmosphere of the market shifted.
A wave of frantic murmurs rippled through the crowd. People exchanged glances of mounting dread before a palpable panic seized the entire market.
Within seconds, the crowd scattered.
Vendors scrambled frantically to pack their wares into crates and burlap bags. Stalls were shuttered in a blind rush. Many simply abandoned their goods on the tables entirely, fleeing desperately for home.
Because if what the dwarf said was true—
The appearance of the god Modi had never once brought peace. That deity possessed a temper as volatile as a raging storm; no mortal could predict his whims. The people chose the only logical sanctuary available to them: the swift confines of their homes.
In the blink of an eye, the once-bustling night market was reduced to a desolate silence, leaving only Fiona and Galdur standing amidst the forsaken stalls.
With no one left around, Fiona reached up and pushed back the hood covering her face, turning to the old man. "That thunder just now... does it mean Lord Modi has truly returned?"
Galdur stroked his long white beard slowly. "Sooner or later... he was bound to return," the old man replied languidly. "This kingdom, after all, was built by Lord Modi's own hands."
His roundabout answer, typical of his elusive nature, made Fiona sigh. "If that is the case... will Málóei remain the supreme leader?"
"More or less. They are father and son, after all," Galdur answered pragmatically. "Even if he is stripped of the supreme title, he will inevitably retain a position of paramount importance."
Fiona realized that if Málóei lost his absolute authority, the entire hierarchy would shift. She asked in sudden alarm, "Then... what about Farran?"
Galdur narrowed his eyes at his great-granddaughter, a sly smile returning to his face. "Round and round we go, and your mind always circles back to Farran." He tapped a finger against his own chest. "Has it ever occurred to you... to worry about this old man?"
Fiona scrunched her face in dismay. "I'm not speaking to you anymore," she grumbled. "You never stop teasing me."
With a huff, Fiona marched briskly ahead, her new silver-and-gold shield gripped firmly in her hand.
"Hey, wait for me!" Galdur called out, hurrying after her.
At that exact moment, a sudden drop of moisture struck the cobblestones.
Rain began to pour, defying the cloudless sky of merely moments before. The torrential downpour would wash over the city for the remainder of the night.
By daybreak, a proclamation echoed through the streets of Mj?llnirshús: The god Modi had returned to the kingdom of Iceland. Nevertheless, Málóei would retain his seat as the supreme leader.
Simultaneously, however, Farran and Dodan received an urgent summons for an audience with the god Modi. A monumental quest was being set into motion: the search for Megingj?re, the sacred belt of power that had once belonged to the God of Thunder. And the quest would begin without delay.