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Prince Erik, The Seafarer
The wind howled through the high cliffs of Hrafnnes, rattling the stone walls of the palace and carrying with it the bitter scent of frozen pine. Inside the great hall, King Akbar paced before the great fire, its orange tongues doing little to chase away the cold that had settled deep in his bones. Beside him, Queen Egrida stood, her silken robes a muted gray that mirrored the sky outside. For years they had stood together on the throne, their rule marked by prosperity and peace, but their joy was incomplete, hollowed by a single, aching absence. He was fifteen winters old when the iron clad scent of salt first…
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Príncipe Erik, El Navegante
El viento aullaba a través de los altos acantilados de Hrafnnes, haciendo vibrar los muros de piedra del palacio y trayendo consigo el amargo aroma a pino congelado. Dentro del gran salón, el rey Akbar paseaba ante la gran hoguera; sus lenguas anaranjadas apenas ahuyentaban el frío que se había instalado en sus huesos. A su lado, la reina Egrida permanecía de pie, con su túnica de seda de un gris apagado que reflejaba el cielo exterior. Durante años habían permanecido juntos en el trono, con un reinado marcado por la prosperidad y la paz, pero su alegría era incompleta, empañada por una única y dolorosa ausencia. Tenía quince inviernos…
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Príncipe Erik, El Curandero
El bosque siempre había sido un lugar de murmullos secretos, un tapiz viviente de aromas y sonidos que la mayoría en el reino prefería ignorar. Para el príncipe Erik, sin embargo, el Bosque Susurrante se había convertido en un segundo hogar, un reino donde las reglas ordinarias del palacio se disolvían al ritmo del viento, la corteza y los huesos. Todo había comenzado a los doce años, el año en que su padre, el rey Aric, lo envió por un camino sinuoso para encontrarse con la anciana vidente y sanadora conocida como Elsinka. Elsinka no era una mujer de gran estatura, ni estaba envuelta en los habituales adornos del poder.…
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Prince Erik, The Healer
The forest had always been a place of secret murmurs, a living tapestry of scent and sound that most in the kingdom chose to ignore. To Prince Erik, however, the Whispering Woods had become a second home—a realm where the ordinary rules of the palace dissolved into the rhythm of wind, bark, and bone. It had begun when he was twelve, the year his father, King Aric, sent him down a winding path to meet the old seer and healer known as Elsinka. Elsinka was not a woman of great stature, nor was she cloaked in the usual trappings of power. She was a head full of silver hair, a…
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Prince Erik, The Woodsman
The first winter in the mountains was a bitter teacher. Prince Erik of Hrafnnes, aged ten, stood knee-deep in a drift of snow so pure it hurt his eyes, his small fingers too numb to properly work the knots in the rabbit snares Sigurd had shown him. The old forester’s voice, when it came, was not unkind, but it was as immutable as the granite peaks around them. “The cold does not care that you are a prince, boy. It only cares that you are slow.” Erik’s lips were chapped, his stomach a hollow, aching thing. He had missed the evening’s catch. Supper had been a husk of tough bark-bread…
