Deep within the frigid mountains of the Nordic lands lived a tribe of the Goliath race. King, a young Goliath, watched his tribe's training grounds. His breath came in puffs that dissipated like clouds in the icy air.
"Hey, weird kid, why do you insist on trying?" taunted Bjorn, one of the older warriors, surrounded by others who laughed. "Do you think you can be like us? With that exotic skin of yours?"
King looked at them, his eyes sparkling with a determination that concealed his sadness. He replied in a firm voice: "One day, I will be stronger than all of you."
For years, King endured the taunts, the scornful glances, but always returned to training, honing every technique he had learned. His father Knull, the tribe's leader, watched from a distance, rarely addressing his son directly.
"Father," King dared once, his steps hesitant as he approached. "Why doesn't anyone want to stay with me? Why does everyone hate me?"
The leader of the Giants, without lifting his eyes from the maps he was studying, coldly replied: "If you are truly my son, you should use this to strengthen yourself! Remember: a barbarian is defined and known for being able to transform fury into brute force. But perhaps you should just accept your weakness, what you truly are: An abomination!"
These words echoed within King, but he refused to yield. Instead, they fueled his anger and his desire to prove his worth, not only to his father, but to the entire tribe.
Years passed, and the missions became increasingly dangerous for King. Knull had no pity for his own son. His contempt for him stemmed from his mother's death giving birth to King. Since then, he always sent him on the most dangerous missions, hoping King would die on one of them.
On one of these missions, King advanced with careful steps, his breath forming clouds of vapor in the frigid air. He was hunting a mountain bear, a colossal beast known for its aggression and ferocity, which had dominated that territory for generations.
The approach required cunning and patience. King moved among the trees, his hands steady on his sword, ready for the confrontation. The wind carried the scent of the beast. Slowly, the bear emerged from the trees, its dark brown fur stained by snow and its breath panting; with a roar that echoed through the forest, it lunged at King.
The impact was devastating. Sharp claws tore through his leather armor, carving deep furrows into his flesh. King staggered, the brute force of the animal throwing him against a tree trunk. Pain exploded through his body, but adrenaline kept him conscious.
King tried to stand, but the bear gave him no chance. With a paw strike, the beast struck him again, making a huge hole in his chest in the shape of its claws, throwing him to the ground. King tasted blood in his mouth, his vision blurred. The world seemed to spin around him. Death seemed inevitable.
But, deep within his soul, a flame ignited. The ancestral fury of his people, the strength of the barbarians who faced countless dangers, awakened within him. His eyes gleamed with a wild light. A fierce roar escaped his lips, echoing the bear's roar, challenging him.
With his strength renewed by his fury, King gripped his sword. The cold metal against his skin seemed to inject him with new energy. He rose, staggering, his body covered in blood and wounds. The bear lunged for the final blow, but King, with unexpected agility, dodged. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, and with a war cry that pierced the silence of the forest, he delivered a precise strike to the beast's flank.
The bear roared in pain, the force of its attack diminishing. King, driven by fury and the thirst for survival, continued to attack. Each blow was a challenge to death, an affirmation of his indomitable will. The snow around them was stained red.
Finally, with a last gasp, the colossal bear fell, its enormous body crushing the vegetation. King remained standing, panting and covered in blood, the sword still firmly in his hands. Victory was his, but at a high price. He had survived, but the fight had left him on the brink of death, yet his fury wouldn't let him faint.
The snow fell softly, covering the fallen bear's body and staining its immaculate white with scarlet red. King, leaning on his sword as if it were the only thing keeping him upright, staggered to a nearby tree. With each breath, a sharp pang of pain coursed through his body. He knew he needed to stop the bleeding, but his movements were slow and hesitant.
With trembling hands, King tore a piece of his blanket and pressed it against the deepest wound in his chest. The pain was intense, but he endured it with the same stoicism that characterized him. His eyes swept the forest, searching for any sign of life, any hint of danger. But the forest was silent; only the sound of the cutting wind and the creaking of the trees broke the silence.
Darkness began to approach, swallowing the little light that remained. King felt the cold penetrate his bones, weakness spreading through his body. The fight against the bear had drained his energy, leaving him on the verge of collapse. He closed his eyes, exhaustion overwhelming him. Images of his life flashed through his mind, flashes of battles, the memory of his family, the look of contempt from his father. Would this be his end? To die alone, in the heart of the snowy forest?
A distant howl broke the silence, bringing King back to reality. He opened his eyes, his gaze fixed in the direction of the sound. A Dire Wolf, a creature about the size of a tall human, emerged from the shadows of the forest. Its eyes gleamed with a savage hunger, and its fur as black as night contrasted with the white snow. Hunger had drawn it to the battle site, the scent of fresh blood guiding it.
King knew he had no strength to fight again. A bitter smile appeared on his lips. It would be a fitting end for a barbarian to die in battle rather than succumb to his wounds; it would secure him a place in the fields of Fólkvangr. The Dire Wolf growled, baring its sharp fangs, and slowly advanced toward King. With each step the creature took, King's hope dwindled.
King closed his eyes, accepting his fate. But, at the last instant, a new sound echoed through the forest. The skies began to glow, and suddenly, a lightning bolt struck the Dire Wolf squarely. The creature howled in pain and collapsed to the ground, its body convulsing. The lightning's light illuminated the forest for a brief moment, revealing a hooded figure mounted on a white horse. The figure dismounted and approached King.
"Are you alright?" the figure asked, its voice soft and calm.
King opened his eyes, surprised. He looked at the hooded figure, unsure what to say. Who was this mysterious person who had saved him? And how had they arrived so suddenly? The figure extended a hand to King, offering to help him to his feet. King hesitated for a moment, but then accepted the help, feeling a new wave of hope course through his body. Perhaps he still had a chance to survive.
The figure placed its hand on King's chest, and a warm, comforting light emanated from its palms. King felt a wave of energy course through his body, healing his wounds. The pain that tormented him vanished completely, as if it had never existed. He stood up, feeling renewed and stronger than ever. The hooded figure watched him silently, its face still hidden by the shadows of the hood.
Intrigued and filled with gratitude, King asked, "Who are you? And how did you do this?"
The figure replied in a deep, booming voice, like thunder itself: "You venerate me, but do not recognize me, mortal? Do not be deceived by my current form. I am Thor, son of Odin, the Allfather, god of thunder and protector of the earthly plane!"
King, intimidated by the divine presence, quickly knelt, looking at the ground and stammering, "Thor... but... why did you save me?"
Thor smiled, an intense gleam in his eyes. "I saw your bravery in battle, barbarian. You fought with the ferocity of a bear and the tenacity of a wolf. Such a warrior spirit should not be wasted. The Valkyries told me of your worth."
"Valkyries? But I thought..." King hesitated, still confused.
"Did you think you were destined for Fólkvangr? Perhaps," Thor replied, "but your destiny is not yet fully written. There are still battles to be fought, glories to be won. And I see great potential in you."
Thor extended his hand and gave King a medallion. "Take this, a symbol of my blessing. May it remind you of your strength and guide you on your journeys."
King accepted the medallion, feeling a vibrant energy emanating from it. "Thank you, Lord Thor," he said reverently.
Thor nodded and, with a thunderous roar, vanished in a flash of light, leaving King alone in the forest, renewed and ready to face what the future held for him.