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“But… kissing? Seriously?”
Nilsa gaped at Egil, her eyes wide as saucers. She couldn’t fathom why no one else seemed shocked by the bombshell he’d just dropped. Lasgol, Astrid, and Gerd leaned in, hanging on to the rest of their friend’s tale about Viggo’s near-death heroics.
“Viggo should’ve warned me,” Astrid said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I could’ve backed him up.”
“According to him, warning us would’ve tipped off the assassin,” Egil explained, his voice tinged with regret. “It makes sense, but I’d rather not have come that close to him dying. It was too close.” He glanced at his companions, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Ingrid kept massaging his chest for nearly half an hour.”
Nilsa stared at them, dumbfounded. Yes, Viggo’s reckless stunt to protect Egil was pure insanity—another classic move from the Assassin who never stayed still. Another knucklehead´s feat with a bigger heart than he let on. The Snow Panthers, now Golden Eagles, couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. Even so…
“Hello? Are we really not going to talk about this?”
Her four companions turned to her. Astrid fought back a smirk, clearly enjoying Nilsa’s exasperation. Oh, Nilsa would settle that score later—Astrid was deliberately dodging the topic to tease her. Egil shrugged with a sheepish half-smile. Lasgol’s gaze flicked between Egil and Nilsa, waiting for the storm to break. Gerd was the one to speak.
“Sorry, Nilsa. This is just… massive.”
“Massive? My heart nearly leapt out of my chest when Egil said it!” Nilsa exclaimed. “And then he casually mentions it was Ingrid who started it!”
Gerd feigned confusion, as if he had no clue what she meant. Lasgol and Astrid burst into laughter.
“I think Gerd’s talking about the assassination attempt,” Lasgol clarified, grinning.
Nilsa waved a hand, brushing it off. “I was shocked and terrified when Egil told us, don’t get me wrong. But then he drops that bombshell and acts like it’s nothing! Come on, am I the only one freaking out?”
“It was surprising,” Egil admitted, his tone light. “Though the mood was pretty intense after the whole resurrection thing.”
“Egil, you’re a sweetheart and I adore you, but start spilling details, or Olmesson's attempt will look like a picnic compared to what I’ll cook up,” Nilsa threatened, narrowing her eyes.
Egil raised his hands in surrender and recounted the story again. Nilsa still couldn’t wrap her head around it. She understood the panic of thinking a friend was dying—especially while protecting them. But she wouldn’t have thrown herself into kissing any of the Panthers, even in that moment.
It just didn’t click.
She hadn’t had a chance to properly grill Ingrid either. The King’s mission had them diving into action immediately, and tracking the Dark Rangers was proving trickier than expected. They were frustratingly well-organized.
Her friends tiptoed around the situation, ignoring Viggo’s pointed comments toward the Panthers’ leader, which Ingrid deflected with practiced ease. Some of those rebuffs drew a fleeting grimace from the young Assassin, but it vanished quickly as he tried again with a kinder-than-usual remark.
If a mission came up, the usually reluctant Viggo was the first to volunteer if Ingrid’s name was mentioned.
The most infuriating part? Ingrid didn’t encourage him, but she didn’t shut him down either. Maybe sometimes, a hint of exasperation crossed her face. That was it.
And she was avoiding Nilsa.
Every time Nilsa steered the conversation toward the supposed kiss, Ingrid changed the subject or suddenly felt the urge to practice with her bow.
Their dynamic during the recent raid at the inn wasn’t surprising. They’d been in this strange limbo for weeks. The most maddening part was that it only seemed to bother Nilsa.
So, when she finally got Ingrid alone on the road to fight the rest of the Dark Rangers, she didn’t hold back.
“Spill it,” she demanded.
Cornered with nowhere to run, Ingrid half-confirmed Egil’s story but offered no further explanation. Nilsa could tell she was confused.
Ingrid was never confused. She was Ingrid—shooting arrows, punching villains, defending the weak, and bickering with Viggo over his nonsense. Ingrid didn’t go quiet and pensive when the young Assassin’s name came up. She didn’t avoid eye contact or seem genuinely hurt when Viggo said, “Fine, we’ll just be friends. Done.”
Events moved quickly, and Nilsa couldn’t talk to her friend privately again until days later, as they prepared for the journey to the Frozen Continent.
“Hey, you okay?” Nilsa asked.
“Me? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Ingrid replied, rummaging through her supply pack.
Nilsa didn’t answer, just stared. Ingrid was haphazardly stuffing elemental arrows into her bag—fire arrows that could explode if mishandled. Carefully, Nilsa took them, secured them in their protective casing, and rearranged them properly. Ingrid sighed, resigned, and met Nilsa’s gaze with a weak smile.
“Okay, I’m a bit distracted.”
“A bit, yeah.” Nilsa sat on her bed and patted the space beside her.
“Is it Viggo?”Ingrid groaned in frustration but sat down.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I told him to act like nothing happened, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Maybe if you tell me from the start, I can help.”
Ingrid flopped back onto the bed, eyes closed, and let out a heavy sigh. For a moment, Nilsa was startled—it was as if Ingrid was admitting defeat, so unlike her.
“It’s true,” Ingrid murmured.
“What?”
“What happened when Viggo almost died.” Nilsa made a small sound of understanding.
“He kissed you?”
“No.”
“But you just said—”
“I kissed him.”
“Oh. Oh! You?” Nilsa whipped around so fast she winced, rubbing her neck. “This is…”
“He was dead, Nilsa. Really dead. I felt his heart stop, his breathing stop,” Ingrid said, her voice thick with anguish. Nilsa stayed quiet, letting her continue. “And suddenly, everything just… vanished. I didn’t want to go on. When he woke up… I don’t know, Nilsa. I just let go.”
“And all this with Egil right there.”
“Ice Gods, how embarrassing!” Ingrid groaned, covering her face.
“What?” Nilsa asked, startled as Ingrid peeked through her fingers.
“Egil had to snap me out of it to check on him,” she mumbled.
Nilsa burst into laughter, collapsing onto the bed. Ingrid’s giggles started softly but soon matched her friend’s hearty laughs. It felt good to let loose.They didn’t fully recover for a few minutes. Nilsa nudged Ingrid with her elbow.
“So, the knuclehead, huh?”
“I must be out of my mind.”
“You’re not denying it.”
“I don’t think I can anymore, honestly.”
“Ugh, he’s going to be insufferable.”
“I doubt it. I think I messed up big time,” Ingrid admitted, a trace of sadness in her voice. Nilsa sat up, surprised.
“What? Why?”
“I already told you. I asked him to act like nothing happened.”
“And he took it badly?” Ingrid shook her head.
“Not at all. He said he didn’t agree because he felt something for me, and he thought I did too. But if that’s what I wanted, then fine.” Nilsa let out a low whistle. Who knew Viggo had such tact?
“So, the problem is you don’t want to act like nothing happened, right?”
“You know,” Ingrid said, staring at the ceiling, “I was unfair to you the other day. Sorry. You’re pretty sharp about this stuff.” Nilsa snorted.
“Sorry to say, but it’s not about being Sharp. You’re radiating regret from every pore.”
“Hey!”
“It’s true! You’re distracted. You keep staring where he was standing. Sometimes it feels like you’re picking fights with him on purpose. It’s not like you.”
“I know, I know. I’m not handling this well.”
“Handling what? Your feelings for him?”
Ingrid opened her mouth, indignant, ready to argue. She sat up sharply, but when she tried to speak, no words came.
“I can’t believe this,” she grumbled, flopping back down.
“I guess this is what you meant by ‘digesting it.’”
Nilsa didn’t push further. She was glad Ingrid had finally opened up. Besides, preparations for the Frozen Continent took precedence. Still, she noticed a shift in her friend. Ingrid was as stern and antagonistic with Viggo as ever, but subtler—more attentive. Like on the ship.
Viggo’s seasickness always made Nilsa feel a gleefully mean— She got a kick out of seeing that smug knucklehead turn green every time he set foot on a ship.
This time, though, Ingrid stayed close, keeping him from any mishaps while he was seasick. She joined the teasing, but Nilsa caught her stealing concerned glances at him.
Ingrid, ever cunning, took advantage of Viggo’s focus on keeping his stomach in check. She was more physical—subtle touches, almost imperceptible. But Nilsa was watching. Closely. She shot her friend a few accusing looks, and Ingrid had the decency to blush.
There was no time for more teasing or prying. The skirmish against Asuris and his crew was grueling, and Camu’s hibernation troubles, plus his separation from Lasgol and the Panthers, dampened everyone’s spirits.
At the critical moment, Viggo proved what Nilsa already knew: he was a reckless knucklehead with no scruples—except when it came to Ingrid.
He didn’t hesitate to throw himself between her and a giant, saving her from certain death. Amid the adrenaline, he kissed her, shamelessly. Ingrid didn’t hold back either, praising him after the battle and returning the kiss, leaving Viggo stunned and smug.
The journey back to Norghania was calmer. Nilsa couldn’t talk to Ingrid—her friend spent the trip glued to Viggo, watching for any seasickness mishaps.
Nilsa chuckled every time she saw them.They still bickered over nonsense, but a single tender comment from Viggo softened Ingrid’s expression, her smile barely hidden.
Nilsa didn’t press Ingrid for more. Her friend knew she was there if needed. But she did seek a private moment with Viggo.
She found him two days later in Norghania, before returning to the Shelter. He was alone, laying in this bed, tossing his knife at the ceiling as usual. Nilsa stumbled in, barely catching herself. Lucky she didn’t fall. Unlucky that Viggo noticed.
“You’re going to hurt yourself one day, clumsy.”
“Is there ever a moment you’re not a pain?”
“Nah, it’d be boring.”
“I was actually looking for you,” Nilsa said, sitting on the bed across from him.
“No missions for me. I’m on well-deserved rest.”
“Don’t be an ass. It’s not any mission. It’s about Ingrid.”
Viggo shot upright, concern flickering in his eyes before he masked it.
“Something wrong?”
“Relax. She’s fine. I just wanted to talk about her.”
Viggo gave her a skeptical look, exhaling softly. Nilsa caught it. His posture shifted—hands on his knees, elbows bent, ready to spring up if needed.
“What do you want?”
Nilsa took a breath. She hadn’t expected his cautious, almost predatory tone.
“Don’t hurt her, okay?” she said quietly, staring at the floor. “It’d take her a long time to recover. She’s more sensitive than she seems.”
Viggo’s brow softened, his entire expression transforming. Nilsa had never seen such gentleness on his face.
“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. I’d rather end my own life.”
Nilsa nodded, meeting his gaze. They sat in silence for a moment. Then she stood, heading for the door.
“Don’t get too comfy, knuclehead. We’re off to the Shelter tomorrow.”
“You lot have an unhealthy obsession with work. You’re sick. Life’s better without the weirdo and the know-it-all dragging us into their messes.”
“Quit whining and pack. Or I’ll tell Ingrid.”
Viggo let out a resigned grunt, starting to pack while still muttering complaints. Nilsa grinned as she opened the door and found Ingrid standing there.
“Right on cue! This knucklehead’s whining about going back to the Shelter.”
Viggo glared at her. Nilsa was going to have a blast throwing him to the wolves—aka Ingrid—every chance she got.
“That’s not true. The redhead’s sabotaging me.”
“Don’t be a fool and hurry up. We leave tomorrow,” Ingrid scolded.
“Okay, okay. Let’s get to the Shelter. Maybe then you’ll all be too tired to nag me.”
Nilsa headed toward Gondabar’s office, a genuine smile on her lips as she heard Ingrid and Viggo bicker yet again over some trivial nonsense.
Funny how, just weeks ago, the idea of Ingrid and Viggo together seemed strange. Now, it felt utterly logical. Well, stranger things could happen, Nilsa thought, trotting down the halls. Unless an army of dragons invaded Tremia though, she couldn’t imagine what could be weirder.