Story

The morning began with the usual quiet of the coastal village. Seagulls cried over the sea, their wings brushing the breeze, while the sun painted the sky in hues of gold. Eirik wandered through the woods on the outskirts, his small arms piled with firewood. Determined to help his family, he thought only of his father’s approval.

Then came the scream.

It pierced the serene air like a blade, stopping Eirik in his tracks. His heart thudded as he turned toward the village. Smoke rose in thick, black plumes. His legs moved on instinct, carrying him back, faster than he had ever run before.

What greeted him was a nightmare. Flames devoured homes, raiders shouted orders, and the cries of the helpless filled the air.

“Father!” he screamed, dropping the firewood.

Through the chaos, Eirik saw Bjorn standing before their burning house. His father was bloodied, but his stance was firm, a sword gripped tightly in his calloused hand. Behind him, Eirik’s mother clutched his younger sister, shielding her from the carnage.

Bjorn turned and spotted Eirik. His face softened for the briefest moment, then hardened with resolve. “Run, boy!” he bellowed. “Run to the forest and don’t look back!”

Eirik hesitated, frozen by fear and disbelief.

A hulking Viking charged at Bjorn, his axe raised high. Bjorn met the attack head-on, steel clashing against steel in a spray of sparks. The sound jolted Eirik into action, and he turned, tears streaming down his face, sprinting toward the woods.

He stumbled deep into the forest as the night fell. Smoke hung in the air, and the distant cries of the dying haunted him. Beneath the roots of an ancient tree, Eirik crouched, shivering. His father’s voice echoed in his mind: “A sword is only as strong as the heart that wields it.”

When the first light of dawn broke, Eirik emerged from his hiding place. The village was no more than ash and ruins now. Among the debris, he found a broken sword, discarded and forgotten. His small hand gripped it tightly, dirt and blood smearing his face as fear gave way to resolve.

In the distance, the raiders’ longship vanished into the misty horizon.

Eirik stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea, holding a rune pendant that had once belonged to his father. “One day,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the tears streaming down his cheeks, “I will return—not as prey, but as the storm.”

With the rising sun at his back, Eirik set off along the shore. The road ahead was uncertain, but his heart burned with a singular purpose

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