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"They really are the graves of the people who died that night," he mumbled before a small smile appeared. "That raises the chances someone survived. I wonder who it was? And whether they\'re still alive today…"

Elora\'s melodious and soft voice sounded from the side. "You know there\'s an easy way to check, right? I doubt whoever buried them did the same to him or herself."

Erik chuckled a little at that thought despite the morbidity of it. "Good point."

He started to move from stone to stone as he traced the names with his fingers, each one evoking a face, a story, a life. They were more than just names; they were the legacy of Frostvik. The legacy of his youth.

As he read the names, Elora\'s presence on his shoulder was a silent anchor, her small hand resting lightly on his cheek. Her touch was a reminder of the life he had built, the love he had found, and the strength he had gained.

Eventually, he came to the last few stones, and he read the first name that truly hit him. Ingrid Gunnulf. His aunt and his father\'s sister; the best cook he had ever known and the most hospitable person you\'ll ever find.

He had never directly learned to cook from her, but it was his memories of her that guided his learning process for the craft back on Söl. He stopped a little longer at her stone and closed his eyes as he recounted his memories of her once again.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes again. "I won\'t forget you, Aunty," he mumbled.

He moved on to the next stone and expected to see his Uncle Viljar, but instead, he staggered when he noticed the name on this tombstone.

Leifur Gunnulf. Beloved father devoted husband.

He knew this was to be expected; he had prepared himself, and he had accepted it a long time ago. But actually seeing his grave was still a blow to the gut.

He sank to one knee and put his hand on top of the gravestone. "Dad," he mumbled.

Elora returned to her human size and hugged Erik from behind, while Emily and Emma had wide eyes and complicated expressions when they realised who was buried there.

Despite his feelings, Erik had prepared himself for this. He closed his eyes, and tried to recall what his father taught him of the Sámi customs. Finally, he took a deep breath of crisp air and, in a deep baritone, started a low, rhythmic chant, a melody that seemed as ancient as the mountains themselves.

It was a sound that transcended words, each hum and whistle weaving the essence of his father — the kindness in his eyes, the warmth of his laughter, the wisdom in his silence.

Around him, the world seemed to listen. The wind carried his song over the tundra, a mournful yet comforting melody that spoke of love and loss, of a son\'s reverence for his father.

As Erik whistled, hummed and chanted, memories flooded through him — lessons learned, moments shared. With each note, he felt as though he was conversing with his father\'s spirit, sharing his journey, his struggles, and his victories.

It was more than a tribute; it was a bridge between the living and the dead, a way for Erik to express what words alone could not. And as the last note lingered in the cool air, he felt a sense of peace. Finally, after seven years, he was able to honour his father the way he deserved.

Behind him, Elora had her eyes closed as a smile played on her lips. Not really for the song or for Erik\'s father, but because she could feel some tension being relieved from Erik\'s soul.

Meanwhile, Emma and Emily both had tears in their eyes, although while Emma cried openly, Emily had turned around to hide herself. They didn\'t understand a word of what Erik just sang, but it sounded hauntingly beautiful and full of emotion.

"W- What was that?" Emma asked.

Erik smiled at her, "That was a joik. It\'s a traditional Sámi music style, usually also sung in the Sámi language. My father was a Sámi, and he loved his heritage, so I gave him a farewell that I know he would have loved."

He started laughing joyfully, "I\'m just glad I still remembered how to do it."

"It was beautiful," Emma whispered.

Emily had turned back around and tried her best to look nonchalant, but her voice cracked a little when she asked her own question. "Boss… I don\'t know what your plans are after we\'re done here in Norway, but do you think we can pay a visit to our old estate in London?"

Erik knew immediately what she wanted to do there. It wasn\'t hard to guess, considering he had seen her memories and what just happened here. Perhaps normally, he would have teased Emily a little first, but he just couldn\'t bring himself to do it right now.

So he simply nodded. "Sure. It might be a little dangerous since they\'ll probably be watching the place, but I think we can handle it."

"Thank you," Emily whispered. Once again, feeling a powerful sensation of gratitude flowing over her.

Emma also realised what Emily wanted to do and smiled at her sister meaningfully.

Finally, Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing himself a last moment of grief, of honour, for those who had fallen. When he opened his eyes again, there was a new resolve in his gaze.

\'I\'ve come a long way since that day,\' he thought, \'and Elora and I have a lot longer to go still. I wonder where I will be in another seven years. If I have the chance, I\'ll visit here again by that time."

He looked down at his father\'s grave and patted the Earth. "Alright, Dad. It was good to see you again, but I have things to do and places to be. Particularly taking revenge and…" he caressed the letters carved on the headstone, which were clearly done with a shaky hand, unlike the other headstones, "find out if Mom is still alive."

He remembered every single person who once lived here, and he realised there were no more stones left, meaning there were two names missing. Runa Gunnulf, and Viljar Hafbjorn.

He never would have imagined his mother was still alive after that night. He had seen how the entire village was swarming with hunters, even as the defenders were barely able to resist due to the wolfsbane.

Sure, the awakening happened not long after, which may have wiped out many of those hunters, but that was only after Erik had already been running for several hours. Could Runa really have survived that long? And Viljar, too?

He shook his head, and conviction appeared in his eyes. "Well, regardless, I now have two goals. Revenge against Edda and finding my mother," he mumbled.

Knowing what he was thinking about, Elora spoke up. "You know there\'s one more stone missing, right? It seems your mother may have been holding out hope."

Erik chuckled knowingly, "Yeah, I\'m not surprised. She likely would have refused to fully accept my death until she actually found a body to bury."

He turned towards the sisters and the ghoulified Astrid, who had no changes of expression during any of this, with a smile. "Let\'s go see how my childhood home is holding up. We\'ll take a rest there for the night while we fix Astrid up."

The sisters nodded, but before Erik could get up, Elora suddenly flew down to the grave and put her hands on it.

A dark green radiance appeared at her hands and soon encompassed the entire grave. Suddenly, tiny specks of soft, glowing light began to rise up and gather right beneath the headstone, where a beautiful blue flower began to appear as it bloomed.

Erik smiled, as blue had always been his father\'s favorite color.

When Elora took her hands off the grave, and the flower had fully appeared, a soft blue radiance had begun to replace the dark green one from Elora.

Then, Elora took her place on Erik\'s shoulder again. "It\'s a guardian flower. It\'s an ancient ritual for honoring the dead and one of the few customs that is still shared between the Radiant Glade and the Obsidian Enclave. The flower will protect the grave from any disturbances."

She shrugged, "Well, up to a point, anyway. Even I am only a third-rank fairy, and therefore, so is the flower."

Erik smiled gratefully at her, "Thank you, Elora."

Proving once again her rules on only caring about family, Elora rolled her eyes. "No need for all that. Your father is extended family; there\'s no way I would leave his grave without a little gift."