Smoke hung heavy in the air, curling into the sky in thick, gray plumes that blotted out the stars. The boy crouched behind the longhouse wall, his face pressed against a narrow crack in the wood. The village was in chaos, but his focus remained fixed on his father—Regnar—standing alone against a sea of enemies.
The boy's breath caught as he watched his father move, his sword flashing like silver fire beneath the moonlight. Each strike was precise, every motion deliberate, as though Regnar were a part of the storm itself, cutting through the tide of raiders like a wolf among sheep. Bodies fell around him, and blood splattered the ground in thick, dark arcs.
The boy had known his father was strong—his stories were legendary among the villagers—but witnessing it was something else entirely. Regnar was more than a man; he was a force, a mortal god whose strength defied comprehension.
Behind him, his mother's voice hissed, sharp and urgent. "Don't look," she said, pulling him back from the wall. "Stay with your sister. Now."
But her command couldn't stop the sounds: the clash of steel, the wet thud of weapons striking flesh, and the guttural cries of dying men. The boy's chest tightened, his hands trembling as he reached for his sister, who clung to his side.
"Why is this happening?" his sister whispered, her voice fragile and trembling.
He couldn't answer. His mind raced, struggling to piece together the scene unfolding outside. His father had killed so many already—how could one man do such a thing? And yet, even as awe filled him, so did dread. There were too many. Even a legend couldn't stand against the endless tide of men pressing forward.
Then the longhouse door exploded inward.
The wooden barrier splintered with a deafening crack, the force of a boot sending it flying inward. Shards of wood rained down as the raiders poured into the room, their blood-soaked weapons gleaming in the firelight. The first man through the door was massive, his scarred face twisted into a sneer beneath the dark shadow of his helm.
"Get behind me," their mother said, her voice tight with urgency as she shoved the children back.
The boy stumbled, his sister clutching at his arm as they both fell against the far wall. His hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his new sword, strapped to his back. But before his fingers could close around it, his mother turned sharply, her eyes blazing.
"No!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Run! Take your sister and run!"
"Move, woman," the leader growled, his voice rough and gravelly, like stone grinding against stone. "Or I'll cut you down with the rest."
"No!" His sister's shriek cut through the suffocating tension, but their mother didn't flinch.
The boy froze, torn between his mother's command and the weight of the sword, which felt like his father's hand guiding him.
"Take me," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Leave the children. Please."
The raider laughed, a low, guttural sound that made the boy's stomach churn. "Take you?" he mocked. "We'll take turns taking you."
And then she moved.
Her knife flashed in the firelight, slicing deep across the man's arm. Blood sprayed, vivid and dark, painting the walls as the raider bellowed in rage. He lashed out with his free hand, the back of his fist connecting with her face in a brutal blow that sent her sprawling.
"Mama!" the boy's sister screamed, her voice high and piercing.
Their mother hit the ground hard, blood dripping from her split lip, but she pushed herself up with a raw, desperate strength. Her knife was still in her hand, raised again as she faced the raiders.
"No!" the boy screamed, his hand flying to the sword. In one motion, he drew the blade, its edge flashing in the firelight.
A second man lunged forward, his axe gleaming as it descended. The blade struck her arm with a sickening crunch, severing it cleanly at the forearm. Her scream tore through the boy's chest, raw and primal, a sound he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The knife clattered to the floor, her severed hand still gripping it. Blood gushed from the wound, pooling at her feet as she staggered backward.
The boy exploded forward. His feet barely touched the ground as he darted into the dim light, his father's training igniting in his muscles. The raider's overextended swing left him open, and the boy didn't hesitate.
With a desperate cry, he drove the sword forward, the blade piercing the man's side. The raider howled, staggering as blood poured from the wound. The boy yanked the blade free, his grip trembling, but before he could react, another raider lashed out with a brutal kick.
The boy's body lifted off the ground, the force of the blow slamming him into the far wall. Pain exploded in his ribs as he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. His sister's small hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him as her terrified cries filled his ears.
The man he'd stabbed collapsed, clutching at the wound, but the second raider advanced, his eyes dark with fury. The boy scrambled to his knees, his hand tightening on the sword, but his mother moved first.
"Run!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with urgency. She turned toward them, her face pale and streaked with blood, her eyes wide with desperation. "Run! Don't stop, no matter what happens!"
The boy's body felt paralyzed, the sword hanging limply in his hand. His sister pulled at him, her small fists pounding against his chest.
"Please!" she cried. "We have to go!"
Behind them, their mother launched herself at the raiders, her body a broken shield as she fought with the ferocity of a cornered animal. The boy could only watch as they cut her down, their blades rising and falling in savage arcs until she crumpled to the floor.
Her blood stained the walls, the floor, everything. The boy's breath caught in his throat as he saw the light fade from her eyes.
His sister's scream shattered his trance. "Go!" she begged, yanking at his arm with all her strength.
He stumbled forward, his legs moving mechanically as his mind reeled. The chaos of the longhouse faded behind them, replaced by the cold, wet night air. They ran, their feet slapping against the ground, the cries of the raiders and the crackle of fire following them like ghosts.
The forest loomed ahead, its shadows stretching like grasping hands. Smoke rose from the village, a black plume against the starless sky. The boy glanced back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He could still hear the clash of steel, the screams of his people, the roar of the invaders.
And above it all, he could still see his father in his mind's eye. Regnar, standing alone against a sea of enemies, cutting them down with ghostlike precision.
His father's words echoed in his head: The sea is a cruel mistress, and the sword is a jealous master. Both will demand everything from you.
But this? This was too much.
The boy tightened his grip on his sister's hand, his heart a storm of grief and disbelief. His father was stronger than he had ever imagined, a force of nature who had made legends real. But even legends could fall.
And now, it seemed, everything was being taken.
The boy tightened his grip on his sister's hand and turned toward the forest. The shadows swallowed them whole.