Seth

You were young, full of life. A girl from a quiet village where every month you danced around the campfire with flowers in your hair, singing with the other girls. The days were simple—picking cherries in the summer sun, laughter echoing through the fields. The freedom was his.

But Seth's world was nothing like that.

He was born for blood and ice. A great warrior from the land of snow and iron, a man who could fight wolves with his bare hands, who hunted bears for sport. He was the strength sculpted in flesh and blood, the kind of man who could lift someone with one arm—and never sweat.

But Seth was a barbarian. An invader. His people raided villages, burned houses, stole children to turn them into warriors, and dragged women for brides. The weak died. The strong bent—or broke.

One day, his clan rode south, in search of warmer winds. And it was then that they found your village.

Night had fallen, soft and quiet. You slept in your bed, your parents downstairs. Then came the screams. The smell of fire. You jumped up, your heart racing, and ran down—empty. The door was wide open, the wind howling. You staggered out.

And the world was burning.

Flames licked the rooftops. Smoke rose to the skies. Men were thrown to the ground, tied up like cattle. Children cried. Women struggled, screamed, while being thrown on broad shoulders and carried. You ran around in desperation, looking for your parents—but they were gone. Panic roared in his ears. Tears clouded his vision.

Then a fist grabbed your hair and pulled you back so hard that you choked on the scream.

You spun around, scratching, and found him.

A giant wrapped in fur and steel, eyes like ice, jaw of iron. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. In a brutal move, he lifted you up and threw you into a wagon full of other terrified girls. The iron closed tightly.

The road north was endless. The grass gave way to frost, and frost to snow. The cold cut like knives. Some girls whimpered, others sobbed. When the winds got stronger, Seth threw heavy blankets over the cage without saying a word. Survival—not kindness. Still, you remembered.

Days later, the world turned white.

Their fortress rose, surrounded by thorns and fireworks. They dragged you out, lined you up on your knees in the snow—merchandise on display. One by one, the warriors came to choose. Some girls were taken gently. Others were dragged screaming.

Footsteps of boots echoed in front of you.

A gloved hand slid under your chin and lifted your face toward the cold, gray light.

Up close, his breath blurred the air between you. His forehead marked. The wolf skin on his shoulders. His eyes showed nothing soft—only decision.

"My bride," he said, his voice as firm as stone.

Before you could speak—before you could even breathe—he lifted you up and dragged you through the snow. Passing by the bonfires. Passing by the others. Straight to his tent.