Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 63: Trial.

Chapter 63: Trial.

(At the Scyl Village)

Freyr lay on the cold, unforgiving stone floor of the prison, her body stiff from the countless hours spent curled up in the shadows. The damp air clung to her skin, the silence suffocating—until the sharp clang of metal shattered the stillness.

Bang! Bang!

Two guards pounded on the bars with iron batons, the sound ringing through the narrow corridor.

"Wake up!" one barked. "It’s time for your trial."

Before she could even lift her head, rough hands grabbed her arms, yanking her upright. Cold shackles clamped down on her wrists and ankles with a brutal snap, the weight dragging at her every movement. She barely registered the pain as they shoved her forward, forcing her to stumble through the stone passageway, each step dragging against the chains that bound her.

The streets beyond the prison were alive with murmurs, eyes staring at her as she was dragged through the village toward the open-air assembly. Men, women, children—all gathered in anticipation, their faces twisted with fear, disgust, and betrayal.

And at the center of it all, on his throne, sat King Ivar—his expression unreadable, his gaze like a blade cutting through the crowd. To his right stood the law speaker, the chieftains flanking either side of the royal dais, their expressions sharp and stern.

As Freyr was forced to a stop, the muttering of the crowd grew louder, turning into an unsettling chorus of bickering voices.

"Silence!" the law speaker’s voice boomed, commanding instant obedience.

The assembly fell still.

"The accused stands before us, charged with treason against our nation," the law speaker continued, voice crisp, controlled. "By the laws of our land, they are granted the right to defend themselves. But first, let the charges be spoken."

The law speaker took a slow breath before listing the accusations:

Disobeying the King’s Decree – The laws state clearly: no foreigners may enter the village walls. And yet, she brought three within them. Their presence has led to bloodshed, destruction, and the deaths of our own people.

Harboring Foreigners Without Approval – When ordered to cast them out, she refused. She ignored the decree. She held onto them.

Aiding and Abetting Spies – She cared for them, sheltered them—without knowing who they were or what they intended for our land.

The charges hung in the air, heavy, suffocating.

The law speaker turned toward Freyr. "Do you wish to defend yourself? I remind you—you stand under oath."

Freyr lifted her gaze, her voice eerily calm despite the weight of the moment.

"I don’t," she said simply. "You can do whatever you want with me."

A ripple of shock passed through the crowd, murmurs rising once again. Some whispered in horror, others in triumph.

"Enough," the law speaker commanded. "The chieftains will decide your punishment."

The four chieftains huddled together, their discussion brief, decisive. When they straightened, their faces were grim.

"I vote for execution," the first chieftain declared.

"Execution," the second echoed.

"Execution," the third confirmed.

The final chieftain—a woman with dark eyes and a hardened expression—stepped forward. She locked her gaze onto Freyr, and for the first time, there was something beyond anger in her stare. Pain.

"Freyr," she said, her voice steady but laced with sorrow. "I won’t lie—you’ve done much for this village. We owe you our gratitude." She swallowed hard. "But betrayal cannot be ignored. What you’ve done cannot be forgiven. I cast my vote for execution."

The moment the final sentence was spoken, the crowd erupted. Jeering, shouting, their voices a whirlwind of rage.

But then—

"Wait! People, stop!"

A broken voice cut through the noise.

Heads turned.

Erling.

He stumbled forward, his body barely able to carry him. He was wrapped in bloodied bandages, his chest rising and falling in painful gasps, but his eyes burned with desperation.

"Freyr hasn’t done anything," he rasped, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the chaos. "If you need to punish someone—it should be me."

The law speaker frowned. "What are you saying? The judgment has been passed."

"I was the one who brought them in!" Erling shouted, his voice cracking. "I told her to help them. It was me who defied my brother’s orders, me who kept them here."

The silence was deafening.

King Ivar’s gaze sharpened. Slowly, he stood, moving forward, his presence demanding attention. "Brother," he said coolly. "Are you truly standing here, begging for a commoner?"

Erling inhaled sharply, and despite the pain wracking his body, he dropped to one knee before Ivar. The movement was agonizing, but he forced it.

"I’m not protecting anyone," Erling said, voice hoarse. "I just won’t let you convict someone who’s innocent." His hands shook against the ground. "Brother... please. Don’t kill her."

For a long time, Ivar simply stared. But in that moment, something flickered in his eyes—something old, something buried.

Memories surfaced. The day he chose to seal off the village with walls. The desperation that led him there.

Finally, his gaze shifted to the law speaker.

"We won’t kill her," Ivar announced.

The uproar was immediate.

"What?!"

Shock rippled through the assembly, some voices rising in outrage. The law speaker tried to protest, but Ivar raised his hand sharply. The noise died.

Erling collapsed forward, bowing his head to the ground. "Thank you, brother. Thank you."

Ivar remained impassive. "But neither of you will stay here." His voice hardened. "From this day forward, you are both exiled. You will be thrown out immediately."

The crowd erupted once again—anger, relief, disbelief all clashing in a storm of voices.

The guards wasted no time. Rough hands grabbed Freyr and Erling, shoving them toward the gates.

"You are never to return," the law speaker declared. "And should you be found near these walls, we are obligated to kill you on sight."

Freyr clenched her teeth as villagers jeered, spat, hurled curses at them as they were dragged through the streets.

Some stayed silent, sympathy hidden in their eyes.

But none dared to speak up.

At the gate, the guards didn’t hesitate.

"Get out!"

With a violent shove, Freyr and Erling were thrown onto the dirt beyond the village.

Rocks followed, striking their backs, their shoulders, their legs.

Freyr gritted her teeth, ignoring the sting as she turned and saw Erling struggling to push himself upright.

She knelt beside him, lifting him onto her back, her tears blurring her vision.

Without a word, she started walking.

Behind them, the village gates slammed shut.

And just like that—everything was gone.