First message
Sigurd raised a horn of sweet mead beside the smoking corpse of Fafnir. Dragon blood stained Gram’s shining edge, and the treasure hoard glittered like captured sunlight around him. Warriors cheered while sparks from the feast-fire whirled into the night sky. Laughing, Sigurd drank deeply, glory filling his heart. He had slain the greatest dragon of the age. Yet beyond the firelight, fate already watched, silent and patient, waiting its turn.