Part II Becoming Ivar

At first, I'd only watched—

wishing and praying for his fire,

aching for his defiance.

But envy is hunger,

and hunger devours.

So I drank his fury

like wine too dark to name.

I swallowed his laughter,

sharp and powerful as broken steel.

I kissed his scars

until they marked my own skin.

Now—

I limp with pride,

my weakness my weapon.

I grin like a predator,

daring the world to doubt me.

They see me fracture

and still they bow.

They hear my silence

and still they tremble.

Because I am no longer the woman

who envied him.

I am the woman who became him.

Ivar’s storm in my lungs,

his venom in my veins,

his crown on my head.

The gods can keep their heroes.

I’ll keep his madness.

I’ll keep his fire.

I’ll keep me—

sharpened by him,

unstoppable as him.

I do not follow his shadow.

I am his echo—

louder, darker,

reborn.