The stars danced across the sky, each one piercing the dark void of night. A strange green light hovered around the twin moons, their silver glow washing over the huts that squatted low against the freezing wind, half buried in earth and snow. Smoke spiraled from shallow pits, carrying the sharp tang of burning pine and the acrid smell of iron and fur. Even from inside his small hut, Ragna could feel the weight of the night pressing against his bones.
Children boys of six and seven leapt and spun around shallow pits of fire, practicing the sword dance. Wooden swords clacked against round shields held in tiny, determined hands. Their laughter cut through the cold, bright and fearless, but Ragna hesitated at the edge of the circle. His fingers itched to hold a sword, but the weight of fear rooted him in place.
Above them, along the mountain ridge, lamps flickered weakly where the adults stood watching in silence. The air was tense, charged, as if even the wind had paused to witness the ceremony. This was the Night of Ascension.
The night when the God of War sent his green light to dance around the twin moons. On this night, cubs were bound to their chosen beast one that would walk with them for life. A companion. A comrade. It was said that within the Forest of Trials, before the green light faded from the sky, each would emerge beside a dire wolf, bound in blood and spirit for a lifetime. Ragna swallowed hard, imagining the beasts he had only ever heard about in whispers. His heart thudded against his chest like a drum of war.
From the haze of the huts, a giant emerged.
He stood nearly eight feet tall, his massive frame carved with scars stories of honor, battle, life, and death etched into flesh. A great axe hung at his side, resting against the fur of the colossal beast wrapped around his waist. They said that on the Night of the Frost Trials, he slew the King of Beasts itself, earning the deep X-shaped scar that split his chest. Tonight, his voice silenced the tribe.
"Tonight," he thundered, "is the Night of Convergence."
The fires stilled. The children froze. Even the wind seemed to listen.
"Our young cubs will merge and become one."
He gestured toward an old woman draped in bones and charms. She stepped forward, lining them up before him. Eight stood tall, ages seventeen to eighteen, their faces set in determination or masks of courage hiding trembling hearts. Ragna's eyes darted between them, then back to the giant, trying to measure what he would have to become.
"Tonight," the giant continued, "they become wolves."
A low murmur passed through the tribe.
"Tonight, my tribesmen, we send our cubs into the Cave of Trials. You once entered this forest afraid. You saw things meant to break you. Yet you returned warriors marked by ink, by pain, by strength, and by the wolves who walk beside you."
Ragna's stomach twisted. He pictured the forest: twisted trees, icy mists, shadowed figures that might be wolves or spirits. He had never faced anything like it. His hands tightened around the strap of his helmet.
The giant's gaze fell on a scrawny boy in the line. A horn-shaped helm covered one eye.
"Ragna. My son."
Ragna stepped forward, knees shaking. The weight of expectation pressed down on him, but the green light above seemed to whisper courage.
The giant placed a massive hand on his head and smiled softly. A gentle smile that felt impossible on a face carved by war.
"Tonight," he said quietly, "you enter the Frost of Trials. You will face fear. You will face pain. But remember the gods walk with you."
He leaned closer.
"You are the son of the north.
You are a cub of the north."
The green light shimmered brighter, washing over the snow, the huts, and the line of cubs.
"In seven nights, when the green light leaves the sky…
you will return."
His voice hardened.
"And you will return a Wolf of the North."
Ragna's heart pounded, the firelight reflecting in his wide, uncertain eyes. Somewhere beyond the shadows, a low howl answered, long and mournful. The sound wrapped around him like a promise or a warning. He didn't know what awaited him in the forest, but he knew one thing for certain: his life, as he had known it, was over.
And in the cold light of the twin moons, the cubs began their journey.