The night pulsed with the rhythm of violence. Firelight licked at the sky, turning the once-pristine village into a churning hell of smoke and flame. The boy's legs ached as he ran, his sister's hand clutched tightly in his own. The cold, damp air bit at his lungs, mixing with the acrid stench of burning thatch and spilled blood. Behind them, the village—their home—was devoured by violence.
They stumbled into the dense forest at the edge of the fjord, the towering pines swallowing them in shadow. The boy's mind raced, fractured images of what he had just witnessed playing on a loop: his father's defiance, his mother's brutal sacrifice, and the merciless faces of the raiders. The forest provided a fleeting illusion of safety, but the boy knew it was only a matter of time before the shadows would bring more than solace.
"Keep going!" his sister gasped, her voice trembling with exhaustion and terror. Her small feet stumbled over roots and uneven ground, but she didn't loosen her grip on his hand.
"We'll find somewhere to hide," he whispered, though his own voice betrayed his uncertainty. His eyes darted through the darkness, searching for any hollow or thicket that might shield them from the raiders.
The forest groaned—branches creaking in the wind, the distant cries of the dying, and the guttural shouts of the raiders as they swept through the village. The boy strained to hear the approach of footsteps or the snapping of twigs, his heart pounding with each second.
They came to a narrow stream, its icy water cutting through the land like a vein of silver. The boy paused, pulling his sister close as they crouched by the bank. He splashed water onto his face, desperate to clear his mind, and drank deeply. His sister knelt beside him, her small hands trembling as she cupped water to her lips.
"We can't stop for long," he said, his voice hoarse. "They'll come looking."
Her wide eyes met his, glistening with tears she was trying to hold back. "Mama said to run," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But where are we going?"
The boy didn't have an answer. His world—the only world he had ever known—had been reduced to ash and ruin in a matter of hours. He clung to the last words his mother had spoken, her voice fierce even in ythe face of death: Run. Don't stop, no matter what happens.
"We'll find somewhere safe," he lied, his jaw tightening as he pushed back the swell of fear threatening to overwhelm him. "I'll keep you safe."
Before she could respond, a sound cut through the night—the sharp snap of a branch. The boy froze, his pulse roaring in his ears. He grabbed his sister's arm and dragged her into the underbrush, motioning for her to stay silent. Together, they crouched beneath a tangle of brambles, their breath shallow and muffled.
Torchlight flickered in the distance, weaving between the trees. The guttural voices of the raiders grew louder, their harsh language foreign and cruel. The boy's grip on his sister's hand tightened, his mind racing for a plan. He slowly and silently pulled his sword from its sheath, the blade catching the faint light as he held it ready, its weight steady in his trembling grip.
The raiders moved closer, their footsteps heavy on the forest floor. One of them paused, his torch casting grotesque shadows over the trees. The boy held his breath, his muscles coiled as he prepared to fight, even knowing the futility of it.
The raider's gaze swept over the underbrush, his torchlight brushing dangerously close to their hiding spot. The boy's sister whimpered softly, the sound barely audible but enough to make the boy's heart seize. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, and held her trembling body against his own.
The raider took another step forward, his boots crunching on dry leaves. Then, a distant shout called him away. The man hesitated, his eyes narrowing, but he turned and lumbered back toward the voices of his comrades.
The boy didn't move until the sound of their footsteps faded completely. Even then, he stayed crouched in the underbrush, his breath shallow and his grip on the sword unyielding.
Finally, he let out a shaky breath. "We need to move," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
His sister nodded, her face pale and tear-streaked. Together, they emerged from their hiding spot and continued deeper into the forest, their movements slow and deliberate. The boy's senses were on high alert, every sound and shadow a potential threat.
As they pressed on, the forest began to change. The undergrowth grew denser, the trees twisting together like skeletal hands. The boy felt the air grow colder, the darkness heavier. It was as if the forest itself mourned the destruction of the village, its silence echoing the loss.
Hours passed in a blur of exhaustion and fear. The boy's legs ached, his bare feet raw and bloodied from the rough terrain. His sister clung to him, her steps faltering as fatigue set in. He knew they couldn't keep going much longer.
Eventually, they came to a small hollow beneath the roots of a massive tree. The boy knelt and guided his sister inside, tucking her into the cramped space. "Rest," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I'll keep watch."
"But—" she began, her voice thick with worry.
"Just for a little while," he promised, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You need to sleep."
She hesitated but finally nodded, curling up beneath the roots. The boy sat outside the hollow, his back pressed against the tree trunk. The sword still clutched in his hand, its weight a steady reminder of his father's words: "When I'm not here, it's your job to keep them safe." It wasn't just a weapon—it was a promise.
The night stretched on, the darkness pressing against him like a physical weight. His thoughts were a chaotic tangle of fear, anger, and grief. The image of his mother's broken body flashed in his mind, her screams echoing in his ears. He clenched his jaw, forcing the memory down.
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—a mournful, haunting sound that sent a shiver down his spine. The boy tightened his grip on the blade, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.
He didn't know how long he sat there, his body tense and his mind racing. Time seemed to lose meaning in the suffocating darkness. But as the first pale light of dawn crept through the trees, the boy felt a flicker of hope. They had survived the night.
For now.
He turned to look at his sister, her small figure curled beneath the roots. Her face was peaceful in sleep, a stark contrast to the terror of the night before. The boy reached out and gently touched her hand, the gesture both a reassurance and a promise.
I'll protect you, he thought. No matter what it takes.
The distant sound of the fjord lapping against the shore reached his ears, a faint reminder of the world they had left behind. The boy's heart ached as he thought of the village, of the life they had lost. But there was no time for mourning. The raiders would come for them eventually, and they had to be ready.
As the sun rose higher, casting long shadows through the forest, the boy made a silent vow. He would find a way to keep his sister safe. He would fight, run, and endure whatever the gods threw at him. The world might have taken everything from him, but it would not take her.
Not while he still drew breath.