The Salt of Skjoldfjord

They say in the time before Jón's journeys, the warriors of Helgabyr fought well—but without fire in their hearts. Their bodies were strong, their blades sharp, but their eyes were dull. Their spirits flickered like flames in damp wind.

The Awakening

Jón knew the soul could not be awakened by meat alone. Something was missing—a foundation of flavour, drawn not from beast or flame, but from the bones of the world.

In dreams, the soil of Helgabyr sang to him. It hummed with the scent of salt and blood. It whispered a name: "Skjoldfjord"—the "Shielded Sea," where a crimson crystal lay buried beneath ancient tides.

"Where the cliffs bleed / and stone weeps / lies the salt of the first storm / red as the sky before ruin."

The Journey

Jón journeyed there alone. Across jagged stone and winds that stank of rot, he came to the drowned barrow of King Skjaldmar, a shieldbreaker hidden beneath the tide.

No blade could cut him, but in death, his tears of regret had turned to crimson brine, hardening into sharp-edged crystals said to sting the tongue and stir the soul.

The Discovery

Jón battled the tidewolves, offerings of the sea, and a hag of the shore who demanded his tongue for passage. He gave her instead a taste of his smoked elk, and she let him pass, laughing.

In the hollow at the base of the sea-cliff, Jón found it: A rock not of stone, but of ancient salt, glimmering red, humming with forgotten storms.

The Return

He took but a shard. Enough to awaken, not overwhelm.

And when he returned to Helgabyr, his meal that night brought warriors to tears and fury in equal measure.