Return Of The Northern War God

Chapter 1

The rain poured, turning the cemetery into a sea of mud and gray headstones. Adrian Lancaster didn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything except the small, trembling body pressed against his chest.

"I want Mommy." Celeste's voice was barely a whisper. She'd been crying for so long her throat had gone raw.

Adrian tightened his arms around his nine-year-old sister. Seventeen years old, and he was supposed to know what to say. Supposed to make this better somehow. But how do you explain to a child that their mother was murdered? That their father's affair with a powerful woman had gotten her killed?

"Celeste." He pulled back just enough to see her face. Mud streaked her cheeks, mixing with tears. "Look at me."

She lifted her red, swollen eyes.

"I need you to listen very carefully." Adrian's hands were shaking, but he forced his voice to stay steady. "I have to go away for a while. But no matter how long it takes, no matter what happens, you have to survive. You have to wait for me. Can you do that?"

"Where are you going?" Fresh tears spilled down her face.

"To become stronger." He brushed wet hair from her forehead. "Strong enough to protect you. Strong enough that people like her can never hurt us again."

"I don't want you to go. Please don't leave me."

The words almost broke him. Adrian glanced over his shoulder at the rusted lexus car idling near the cemetery gates. Aunt Betty sat rigid behind the wheel, eyes locked on the rearview mirror. They'd already stayed too long. 

The witch, Natasha Christian-Grey's people could arrive any minute.

"I promise you," Adrian whispered, gripping Celeste's shoulders. "I'm coming back. And when I do, you'll never have to be afraid again."

A car engine rumbled in the distance.

Aunt Betty's horn blared twice. It was the signal to hurry immediately.

"We have to go. Now." Adrian hauled Celeste to her feet and ran.

Behind them, fresh flowers already wilted on their mother's grave. Their father, the weak, pathetic Frederick Lancaster was probably at home cuddling with the witch that had killed their mother. 

Adrian shoved those thoughts down as they reached the car. He pushed Celeste into the back seat and looked at his aunt.

"Drive," he said.

Aunt Betty floored it.

As the cemetery disappeared behind them, Adrian stared out the rain-streaked window. His reflection looked back — young, scared and powerless.

He wouldn't be powerless forever.

…

Ten Years Later - Northern War Zone

"Target acquired. Coordinates locked."

"Squadron Seven, confirm position."

"Ground Unit Three, advancing on eastern ridge."

The war room hummed with controlled chaos. Dozens of voices overlapped, calling out positions and updates. Tactical displays covered every wall, showing real-time satellite feeds of the battlefield. In the center of the main screen, a massive enemy compound sat like a cancer that had been festering for six months.

Adrian stood at the command table, arms crossed, face expressionless. At twenty-seven, he'd become someone his younger self wouldn't recognize. The scared teenager from that cemetery was gone. In his place stood the man they called the King of the North — broad-shouldered, battle-scarred, with eyes that could freeze a soldier's blood.

"Sir." His chief strategist, Commander Walsh, tapped the screen. "Enemy forces concentrated here and here. Artillery is in position. We can launch the strike now and end this war in the next ten minutes."

Adrian studied the display. Two red clusters marked enemy positions. Between them, clusters of blue dots indicated civilian infrastructure — schools, hospitals, residential buildings.

"No."

Walsh blinked. "Sir?"

"I said no." Adrian's voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise like a blade. "Redirect Squadron Seven for aerial coverage here. Ground Unit Three pushes from the east ridge. When they reposition to counter, we strike the command center."

"Commander, that approach will take at least an hour longer. Our troops will be exposed…"

"Then they better not get hit." Adrian's eyes flicked to Walsh. "Those are civilians, not combatants. We don't win by becoming the enemy. Execute the order."

"Yes, sir."

Adrian watched the blue dots representing his forces shift across the display. Ten years of warfare had taught him that the easy path was rarely the right one. He'd started as a grunt private, eating dirt and taking orders. Then a squad leader. Then a platoon commander. Five years ago, he'd taken command of the entire northern campaign.

Now, seven different territories that had spent decades tearing each other apart had united under his banner. After today's strike, the last enemy stronghold would fall. The war would finally be over.

He could go home.

He could walk up to Aunt Betty's door and tell her and Celeste that they didn't have to hide anymore. That Natasha Christian-Grey would never be able to touch them again.

Ten years. It had taken ten years, but he'd kept his promise. He'd become strong enough.

The door to the war room crashed open.

Adrian didn't turn. "I gave explicit orders. No interruptions during active operations. I don't care if it's a politician wanting to shake my hand or some oligarch offering me a government position. Handle it."

"Sir." His assistant, Lieutenant Marcus's voice was tight. Strange. Wrong. "The caller... she says she's your sister."

The room seemed to tilt.

Adrian spun around. Marcus stood in the doorway, pale as a corpse, holding out a satellite phone like it might bite him.

Three strides closed the distance. Adrian snatched the phone. "Celeste?"

"Adrian! Oh god, why didn't you answer? I've been calling…"

Her voice cracked with terror, but she was clearly whispering.

Every muscle in Adrian's body went rigid. "What happened?"

"She found us." The words tumbled out between ragged breaths. "Natasha found us, Adrian. I don't know how. We've been so careful, moving every few months, never using our real names…"

"Where are you right now? Celeste, where…"

"They hurt Aunt Betty." A sob choked her voice. "They broke her legs. She's hiding somewhere in the house, trying to draw them away from me, but it won't work. They're searching every room. I heard them talking. They said…" Another sob. "They said they put a tracking device inside her body years ago. Maybe when we first ran. We were never safe. She was never safe. They've been watching us this whole time…”

Adrian's free hand clenched into a fist. "Tell me where you are."

"In the attic. The old house on Goor Street, the one Aunt Betty said was her friend's place. But they're already inside. I can hear them downstairs, breaking things, laughing…" Her breathing turned rapid, panicked. "I know what you've been doing these ten years. Aunt Betty told me. She said you were fighting, trying to become strong enough to protect us. But Natasha has too much power. Too much money. Too many people in the government who owe her favors. You can't fight her. Nobody can…"

"Celeste, listen to me…"

"I just wanted to hear your voice one more time." Her words came faster now, desperate. "I wanted to tell you that I love you. That I never blamed you for leaving. That Mom would be proud of who you've become…"

A door crashed open in the background.

"No…" Celeste gasped. "No, please…"

She screamed.

The sound was raw. It cut through the phone like shattered glass, drilling straight into Adrian's skull.

"CELESTE!" He roared into the phone. "CELESTE, ANSWER ME!"

Silence.

Then the line went dead.

The phone dropped from Adrian's hand. It hit the floor with a crack, screen splintering.

The war room had gone completely silent. Thirty soldiers and analysts stood frozen, staring at their commander. A few took unconscious steps backward.

Adrian just stood there. His face had gone blank—empty in a way that was somehow worse than rage. But his eyes. God, his eyes looked like they could burn cities to ash.

Then the building shook.

BOOM.

The western wall of screens erupted in light. Orange and red bloomed across every monitor as the enemy compound exploded. Missiles struck in perfect sequence — one, two, three, four — turning six months of siege warfare into a blossoming cloud of fire and debris.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then someone started clapping.

"We did it!" An analyst threw his fist in the air. "The war is over!"

The room exploded in celebration. Officers embraced. A few soldiers openly wept with relief. Someone started chanting Adrian's name. "Lancaster! Lancaster!"

But the celebration died like a candle in a hurricane.

Adrian stood in the center of the chaos, radiating cold fury. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. People who'd followed him through hell suddenly remembered that their commander was also called the Northern Devil by enemy forces. And right now, they could see why.

When Adrian spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. Somehow, it cut through every sound.

"Mobilize every aircraft we have."

His second-in-command, Major Gavin Ross, stepped forward hesitantly. "Sir? The war just ended. The men need…"

"Fighters. Transports. Gunships. Everything that flies." Adrian's eyes fixed on Gavin, and the major went rigid. "Full combat loadout. We leave in five minutes."

"Sir, where are we…"

"Greenville." The word came out like a death sentence. "My sister is in trouble."

The room erupted into motion.

…

The fighter jet screamed through the sky at speeds that would make civilian pilots vomit. Inside the cramped hold of the modified transport, Adrian sat surrounded by twelve of his best soldiers. These weren't regular troops. They were Apex Unit — the special forces team that had executed the most dangerous operations of the war. Each one had followed Adrian into hell more times than they could count.

Right now, they sat in absolute silence. Nobody dared speak.

Adrian stared at the floor between his boots, his mind was ten years in the past.

He saw his mother's grave. Rain and mud. Celeste's small hand gripping his jacket.

He saw Aunt Betty, who'd taken in two traumatized kids without hesitation. She'd been a school teacher. Barely made enough to support herself. But she'd scraped together every penny to keep them fed, clothed, and hidden.

She'd moved them seventeen times in those first two years. Different cities, different names, different schools. Always staying ahead of Natasha's searches. Always looking over her shoulder. And when Adrian turned eighteen and told her he was enlisting, she'd grabbed his face and said, "Good. Get strong, Adrian. Strong enough that monsters like her can't hurt us anymore."

So he did.

He bled for it. Killed for it. Tortured enemy commanders for information that saved his troops. Climbed from private to sergeant to lieutenant to commander. He united fractured armies that had spent thirty years trying to murder each other. He became the King of the North.

"Sir." Lieutenant Marcus leaned forward. His usual joking demeanor was gone, replaced by grim focus. "We're pushing the engines past maximum. ETA to Greenville is thirty-eight minutes."

Thirty-eight minutes. Celeste had screamed twenty minutes ago.

"Faster," Adrian said.

"Sir, the engines are already at…"

Adrian's head snapped up. His eyes locked on Marcus, and the lieutenant's words died in his throat.

"I don't care if this plane rips apart at the seams," Adrian said quietly. "I don't care if we have to glide the last fifty miles. Go faster, or I'm jumping out this door and running the rest of the way. Your choice."

Marcus swallowed hard. "Maximum burn. Yes, sir."

The engines screamed. The entire aircraft shuddered, metal groaning under stress it wasn't designed to handle.

Adrian closed his eyes.

Hold on, Celeste. I'm coming. I'm coming, and I'm bringing an army. And God help Natasha Christian-Grey when I find her.