Hamund met with his son Thorkell as he prepared to lead an exhibition party for a hunt. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and wheat that surrounded the city, it was a stark contrast to the simmering tension that had filled the throne room only hours before.

  Thorkell, a young man of imposing stature, he had the same fierce blue eyes as his uncle, was busy sharpening arrows for the hunt. His hands, calloused from years of training, moved with practiced ease, but Hamund noticed the nervousness in his demeanor.

  “Father” Thorkell began, glancing up slightly from his task. “What if they do not come? What if the people choose not to attend the feast?”

  Hamund placed a reassuring hand on Thorkell’s shoulder as he picked up and arrow and examined the head. “They will come, son. Curiosity and hope are powerful motivators, even if they despise me, no one will miss a chance to dine with a king.” Hamund paused for a second as he admired the precision that went into each arrow “They must feel they are heard and respected, that will be the biggest hurdle for us.”

  Thorkell nodded, though the doubt lingered in his eyes “And what of the royal guard? Are we sure they can be trusted to maintain power? The accusations are heavy, I don't think they will be easily forgotten.”

  “Don’t stress it, son.” Hamund replies, lifting his hand off of Throkells shoulder. “I have a plan for all of this, I am just hoping this hunt can show that we want peace.”

  Thorkell’s face still displayed his doubt, but he knew he had to have faith in his father. He worried about his fathers trust in the people of this world. He may had been a young boy when earth was destroyed, but he could still remember the way it affected Hamund. The long nights drinking, the many violent encounters he had got himself into, Thorkell knew the only reason Hamund ever pushed forward was because of him.

  Throkells grip tightened around the arrow he was sharpening, the scrape of metal on stone filled the air between Hamund and him. He lowered his gaze, the weight of his thoughts pressed down on him. “I may have just been a boy, but I still remember the stories of earth,” he muttered, his voice low but laced with sorrow from old memories. “What happened there… What happened to you… how you were after.”

  Hamund’s calm expression shifted for a brief moment as he pictured what he witnessed on earth. He tried to bury those days, locking them away deep in the back of his mind, but Thorkells words brought them rushing forward like a tidal wave. “That's the past, Thorkell,” Hamund replied, though his voice lacked his normal confidence. “We can’t change it, and we can't let it rule us. What matters is the now.”

  “That's what I am worried about, all I hear is talks of rebellion. I can’t walk through the square without hearing someone calling for our head.” Thorkell puts the arrow down and stands up, staring his father in the face as he asks “What happens when those talks become more than that? What would you do if they were to kill one of us? Admadra? Val? Me?”

  Hamund’s face doesn't break as Thorkell continued, his voice ripe with concern, his eyes searching his fathers for any signs of hesitation. “We can’t pretend they don't hate us. The feast, the gestures–they may not be enough to quell the coming storm.”

  Hamund sighed deeply, his shoulders bearing the weight of his sons fears. He stepped closer to Thorkell, meeting his gaze with steady resolve. “The people have every right to be angry, to be scared. We came here a few short years ago, and took over their homes. But I will not be swayed by fear of possibility. If they come for us with violence, we will respond, but I can and will not be the first to spill blood.”

  “Who has to be first? That's all I am asking, I just worry your memories of earth blind you from the reality of our situation.” Throkells says as he steps back from his father and begins preparing his bow.

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  Hamund watched as Thorkell rubbed animal fat onto his bow stings, he felt a blend of pride and concern. Thorkell had grown into a man of strength and conviction, but Hamund knew his sons sense a bitterness all too well. He knew the weight and guilt that came with survival. The aftermath of the destruction of earth had forced both of them into positions they weren’t comfortable with. Hamund sought to temper that weight with hopes of a better life, Thorkelll leaned towards caution–towards fear.

  “I understand, Thorkell,” Hamund said softly, taking a deep breath, his voice losing its authority and becoming that of a father. “But leadership isn’t about avoiding every risk, and it's definitely not about striking before every sign of danger. It’s about knowing when to act and when to show restraint. What happened on earth, and what came after was awful. I swore I would never put our people through that again.”

  Throkell, now strapping his quiver to his back, paused, his brow furrowing as he glanced at his father. “But the circumstances are different now. These aren't our people, they make sure we are reminded of that every passing second.” His voice wavered slightly, as if his statement pained him. “We rose this kingdom up from ashes… Us, not some faulty king who wanted nothing to do with the crown. Yet, why is it that we must be treated like outsiders?”

  Hamund felt a familiar beat in his chest with Thorkell’s words. They were the same doubts that haunted him in the stillness of night, gnawing at his confidence when the weight of the kingdom pressed too heavy on his shoulders. He knew that his son's frustrations were born not just from the present, but from a long history of wanting to find a home. Hamund always made promises of finding their new home, yet, here they are in a world of their own design, still outcasts.

  The weight of Thorkell’s words hung in the air, and Hamund felt the tension between them deepen. His son’s bitterness wasn’t unwarranted–there was truth in it, a truth even Hamund couldn’t deny. They helped form this kingdom, rose it from ashes and famine, and yet, for all his crews efforts, they were still seen as interlopers, nothing more than an occupying force on land that wasn’t theirs. Thorkells frustration came from a deep wound of feeling like a stranger in a world he helped shape.

  Thokell’s jaw tightened, Hamund could see his muscles flex as he grasped arrows and secured them in his quiver. “How long do we have to keep pretending?” he asked, his voice was filled with a deep desperation. “How long until we stop trying to please these people? The people who will never accept us.”

  Hamund sighed, with Thorkell’s words he was reminded of his youth and inexperience. “We don't do this stuff to please them. We do it because its the right thing to do. You will have to learn, leadership isn’t about being accepted–its about doing what is right for those that follow you. Sometimes it is just hard for them to see that.”

  Thorkell shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “And what if their hatred for us blinds them to that? What if, no matter what we do, they choose to see us as invaders?What then?”

  Hamund didn’t have an easy answer to this, it was a question he had to ask himself more often than not. He brought his crew here in hopes of building a new life, but it seemed lately it only made things more complicated.

  “They will see, eventually,” Hamund tried to reassure Thorkell but even to his ears these words felt hollow. “We still have generations that know of past kings and dream of old times. As long as they are around it's going to be a battle we fight.”

  Thorkell’s gaze hardened, and he looked away, focusing on his bow, though his mind seemed distant. “I hope you're right.” he said, his voice quiet.. “But sometimes it feels like hunting without a bow string.”

  Hamund wanted to comfort his son, but he worried it would only anger him more. “Don’t lose faith. We’ve been through worse, and we’ve always made it through. This hunt, the feast–it’s just another step. If we can bring the people together, even for a day, then it's worth it.”

  Thorkell glanced at his father, the doubt still lingering in his eyes but softened by his fathers words. “And if it fails?” he muttered out quietly.

  Hamund’s struggled to hold his calm expression, truth was he fear the answer to that question, he wasn’t sure how to move forward if things fell through. He knew what he was willing to do should his back be to the corner, that wasn’t a reality he wanted to set free. “Then we face whatever comes next, Together.”

  Thorkell gave a small nod, though Hamund could tell he was still wary of the situation. As his son prepared to lead the hunting party, he watched him go, his heart pounding with the knowledge of the storm on the horizon wasn’t just the winter battles or the rebellion–it was a test of everything they helped build, everything they sacrificed for. He wasn’t sure if that was something he was truly ready for, yet.