Page 45 of Daughter of the Serpent

His eyes held a certain pride as he placed the dagger carefully on the table beside her, and Sylvie’s eyes widened. Her breath hitched as she took in the intricate design, her eyes following the delicate curves etched into the shimmering gold. The energy that rippled from it was tangible, filling the room with a raw, pulsing magic.

“Fashioned from molten gold and garnet,” Godvick murmured, pointing to the large, blood - red gem at the blade's hilt, “It bears the Eye of Hallva.” The garnet shimmered in the light, pulsing with life. “Legend says it holds the All - Father's wisdom and knowledge. When one wields it, it is said to unlock one's deepest potential.”

Sylvie’s eyes flared with excitement, her fingers twitching with the urge to touch it, to feel the power in her hands, feel it hummingthrough the polished blade. “It’s… extraordinary,” she gasped, biting her lip as words failed her.

Godvick’s expression held his approval as he stood aside her. “It belonged to my ancestor Ivar, one of the first to complete the gods' trials and emerge victorious. He was among the first Drengr.”

Sylvie’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. “How did I not know this?” Her brow furrowed as she searched his face. “I never knew you were a descendant of a Drengr.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Not many do. To most, I’m just a humble scribe, a keeper of knowledge - and that’s how I’ve chosen to keep it.”

“But why?” Her voice cracked with confusion. “Why hide it? Why not claim the honor, the respect that comes with your lineage?”

His eyes softened.

“Because that’s not my path,” he said quietly, lifting the blade and placing it gently in her hand. “But it is yours.”

The weight of the dagger was solid as it kissed her palm, and the moment her fingers wrapped around the hilt, she felt a shift - a subtle, powerful thrum of energy that seemed to awaken something inside her.

“This should belong to someone who walks the path of the Drengr - the path of the gods.”

“Me?” Sylvie’s voice trembled, her breath catching in disbelief. “Godvick, I can’t - this is your heritage, your birthright.”

He shook his head. “My line ends with me. I have no sons, no family. But you…” His voice softened, filled with a tenderness that almost sent tears spilling from her eyes. “You are the closest thing I have to a child, to a daughter. And there is no one more worthy than you, to bear it.”

Sylvie’s chest tightened, emotion swelling inside her as the weight of his words sank in. Tears blurred her vision, but she could still see the pride and love etched in Godvick’s face.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she gripped the dagger tighter. Godvicks arms embraced her fully, whole, andtrue, and for this precious moment she soaked in the unfathomable love that he poured into her open heart.

“I would be honored to have you bear my name in pride.”

A tear escaped her eye as she stepped back to assess him, unable to contain her emotion.

“I would be honored to carry this into the trials, and swear on my life to bring honor to you and your family name.”

His eyes glistened, a smile creasing his lips. “May my ancestors look upon you and bring you protection. You are now part of our fame, and your glory is our glory.”

“This means more to me than you could ever know.” She wiped the tear from her cheek, filling her lungs back up with air.

“Now,” he clasped his hands together. “Let’s get you ready.”

She nodded, as she retrieved the box and gently returned the glowing dagger to its sacred place. Her fingers traced the carvings along the wooden surface - the figure of a man battling on a mountainside against a fierce wind. Snow swirled, and in his hand, the dagger gleamed. Below, runic symbols etched into the lid formed an inscription that sent a chill through her spine.

“May you be found worthy,” Godvick whispered, his voice so low it was as if he were speaking directly to her soul.

She looked up to his face, so wide, so knowing, yet even the skald couldn’t tell her of her fate.

“I can only hope I will be.” She whispered her heart sinking in her chest.

“Trust yourself.” Gidvick replied, taking her hand in his. “Trust your path, your destiny.”

Sylvie nodded as she took in her dearest friend. His weathered hands, his wrinkled cleaved face, and brilliant blue eyes that still held the gleam of youth, and yet the wisdom of what could be over a hundred lifetimes. She knew deep down that Godvick was like the father that she never had.

“How can I repay you for all that you have done for me?”

He looked up, eyes glittering. “You can train, learn - - and live.”

She nodded, a smile curving her lips.

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