The air was thick with the damp, earthy scent of the forest as dawn crept through the trees. Pale sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting a dappled pattern of light and shadow that shifted gently with the breeze, lending the forest an otherworldly glow. The boy stirred where he sat, his back pressed against the rough bark of an ancient pine. He had fought sleep for hours, his fingers gripping the fresh leather of his sword's handle as if it were the only anchor in a storm. But eventually, exhaustion crept in, dragging him into a restless, haunted slumber.
His sister lay curled beneath the exposed roots of the tree, her breathing soft and even. She looked so small, her golden hair tangled and streaked with dirt. The boy reached out and gently brushed a leaf from her cheek. For a moment, a fragile peace settled over him, and he allowed himself to hope that they might escape the horrors that lay behind them.
Then came the sound he had dreaded all night: voices—low, guttural, and close. The raiders.
The boy's heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled to his feet, shaking his sister awake. Her eyes fluttered open, wide with fear. "They're coming," he whispered, his voice tight. "We have to go."
He pulled her to her feet, and together they moved deeper into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the damp ground. The boy's ears strained for every sound, every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves. The raiders were relentless; they had followed the trail of broken branches and footprints, closing the distance with the precision of wolves on the hunt.
The siblings came to a narrow stream, its icy water cutting through the undergrowth like a silver ribbon. "Follow the water," the boy said, his mind racing. "It might hide our tracks." His sister nodded, her small hand clutching his with desperate strength.
They waded through the stream, their feet slipping on the smooth stones beneath the surface. The cold bit at their skin, but neither dared to complain. The boy glanced over his shoulder constantly, his heart pounding with each splash of their movements.
It wasn't enough.
The raiders found them within minutes. A guttural shout split the air, and the boy froze, his grip tightening on his sister's hand. Torchlight flickered through the trees, growing brighter with each passing second. "Run!" he urged, pulling her up the bank and into the thick underbrush.
They sprinted blindly, branches clawing at their clothes and skin. The boy's lungs burned, his legs trembling with exhaustion, but he pushed forward, driven by a single thought: protect her. Behind them, the raiders crashed through the forest, their laughter cruel and triumphant.
A root snagged the boy's foot, and he stumbled, dragging his sister down with him. She cried out as they hit the ground, her voice sharp with pain. The boy scrambled to his feet, yanking her up, but it was too late. The raiders were upon them.
The first man to reach them was massive, his shadow blotting out the dim light. He grinned wickedly, his teeth yellow in the flicker of his torch. "What do we have here?" he growled, his voice dripping with malice. "A little warrior and his treasure."
The boy raised his sword, both hands gripping the hilt tightly to steady his trembling arms. His father's lessons echoed in his mind: Stay balanced. Focus. Strike with purpose. With a shout, he lunged, swinging the blade in a desperate arc toward the man's chest.
The raider stepped back just in time, the blade narrowly missing its mark. His grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise. "He's got some fight in him," the raider muttered, raising his axe.
The boy swung again, aiming lower this time, and the sword glanced off the raider's leg, drawing a shallow gash. The man hissed in pain, his expression darkening. "You'll pay for that," he growled, advancing with renewed fury.
Another raider closed in from the side, and the boy turned sharply, slashing wildly. The blade connected with the man's arm, forcing him to drop his weapon with a curse. The boy's heart raced—he was doing it. For a brief moment, hope surged in his chest.
But the moment was fleeting. The first raider batted the sword aside with his axe, the force of the blow nearly tearing it from the boy's grip. Before he could recover, a heavy boot struck him square in the chest, sending him sprawling onto the ground. The air rushed from his lungs as the sword slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor.
The boy scrambled to his knees, reaching for the blade, but the second raider was on him in an instant. A hand like iron clamped around his wrist, wrenching it behind his back. "Feisty one," the raider sneered, yanking the boy to his feet.
Another raider stepped forward and grabbed his sister. She screamed, her small fists pounding against the man's chest. "Let her go!" the boy shouted, his voice raw with desperation. He thrashed and kicked, his struggles wild and furious, but the raiders held him firm.
"Enough of that," the first man growled, raising his axe threateningly. The boy froze, his chest heaving, his wide eyes darting to his sister as she sobbed in the raider's grip. He had tried, but he was no match for them. The weight of failure settled over him like a crushing tide.
The raider holding his sister laughed, a low, chilling sound. "She's a pretty little thing," he said, his gaze lingering on her tear-streaked face. "The men will like her."
"Don't touch her!" the boy roared, his voice cracking. He threw himself against his captor, but the man struck him hard across the head. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and he crumpled to the ground, his vision swimming.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was his sister's terrified face, her golden hair gleaming in the low light as she was dragged away.
When the boy awoke, the world came back to him in fragments—sharp pain, biting cold, and the relentless ache in his head that thudded with each heartbeat. His arms were wrenched behind him, the coarse fibers of hemp biting into his wrists, each movement scraping raw against his skin. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue, and his lips stung where they'd been split.
Blinking against the harsh light filtering through smoke and ash, he struggled to focus. Shapes sharpened slowly into broken walls and scattered debris. His chest tightened as he realized what was missing—his sword was gone. A surge of panic gripped him as another absence sank in, far worse.
His sister.
She was nowhere to be seen.
He was back in the village—or what was left of it. The once-lively settlement was now a smoldering ruin, the air thick with ash and the sickly sweet stench of death. Bodies lay scattered among the wreckage, some burned beyond recognition. The boy's stomach churned, but he forced himself to look away.
The raiders were busy loading their spoils onto the waiting longships. Crates of grain, barrels of mead, and bundles of furs were hauled aboard, their weight dragging the ships lower into the water. Among the spoils were people—villagers bound in chains, their faces hollow and defeated. The boy searched frantically among them for his sister, his heart pounding with a desperate hope.
She wasn't there.
"Move, boy!" A rough shove sent him stumbling toward the largest of the ships. He tripped on the uneven ground, landing hard on his knees. The raider behind him yanked him to his feet, dragging him toward the gangplank.
"Where is she?" the boy cried, his voice hoarse. He twisted in his captor's grip, his eyes darting wildly. "Where's my sister?"
The raider sneered, his grip tightening. "Dead, most likely," he said with a cruel smirk. "Or worse."
The boy's knees buckled, his body trembling with rage and grief. He screamed her name, the sound tearing from his throat like a wounded animal. But there was no answer, only the crackle of flames and the laughter of the raiders.
As he was forced onto the ship, the boy's eyes scanned the water desperately. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a figure in the distance, a small body floating on the surface of the fjord. But the waves swallowed it before he could be sure, leaving him with nothing but the hollow ache of uncertainty.
The raiders shoved him into the hold, the darkness swallowing him whole. The air was thick and stale, the stench of sweat and fear clinging to the wooden walls. He collapsed onto the rough planks, the weight of his chains pressing down on him. Around him, other captives huddled in silence, their faces blank with despair.
The boy curled into himself, his body shaking as the tears finally came. He had failed. He had promised to protect her, and now she was gone—lost to the violence that had stolen everything from him.
Above, the rhythmic creak of oars signaled the ship's departure. The fjord grew distant, its familiar shores swallowed by the endless expanse of sea. The boy closed his eyes, the darkness within him deeper than the one around him.
He whispered her name one last time, a broken prayer to the gods who had abandoned him.
And then there was nothing.