"Rise of the Viking King."

The old man's words lingered in the air like the stench of rot. Dikun Silver stared at the sunken-eyed figure, his mind racing.

"The storm of men who bring no banners. Only death."

A raiding force with no banners — no clan, no loyalty. It could only mean one thing.

Reavers.

"How long?" Dikun's voice was low, steady.

The old man's gaze hardened. "Days, perhaps. They came from the east. Burned the villages that dared resist. Norvik had no choice but to flee."

"Where did they go?"

"Into the mountains. But even the stone won't keep them safe for long."

A grim silence settled over the warriors. Dikun could feel the weight of their unease. Reavers were no ordinary foe. They were men without honor — deserters, exiles, and murderers who lived only to plunder. Where they passed, ruin followed.

"Sigvard must know of this," Hakon growled, his hand tightening around his axe. "We came for silver, not to chase ghosts."

Dikun nodded, though the decision clawed at him. They had come to claim spoils, not to defend a village that no longer stood. But to ignore this threat would invite destruction upon others. The Reavers would not stop with Norvik.

"Gather what supplies we can," Dikun commanded. "We leave within the hour."

"And the old man?" Hakon's eyes glinted.

Dikun met the elder's weary gaze. There was no defiance left in him. Only the bitter acceptance of a man who had seen too much.

"He goes free," Dikun said. "His fight is over."

---

The Return to Jarnvik

The sun dipped low as the warriors marched back to the coast. The weight of unanswered questions gnawed at Dikun's thoughts. The village had been left intact — no corpses, no destruction. Only silence. It was unlike the Reavers. They reveled in chaos.

But this time, it seemed they had moved with purpose.

As the longships came into view, Sigvard stood at the shore, his arms crossed. His scarred face was etched with impatience.

"Where is my silver?" the Jarl growled, his voice like a storm.

"There was no silver," Dikun answered. "The village was abandoned. The Reavers came before us."

At the mention of the word, murmurs spread among the warriors. Sigvard's scowl deepened.

"Reavers? Here?"

"They move without banners. The villagers fled to the mountains, but the Reavers won't stop."

Sigvard's fists clenched, his knuckles whitening. "And you let them run free?"

"There was no battle to fight," Dikun replied firmly. "But the next village may not be so fortunate."

For a moment, the Jarl said nothing. The waves crashed behind him, the sea's endless rhythm echoing in the silence. Then, at last, Sigvard spoke.

"The Reavers are no concern of ours." His voice was cold, unyielding. "We are not the keepers of these lands. We take what we need, and we return home."

Dikun's jaw tightened. "And when the Reavers come for Hrafnsfjord? When they burn our homes and spill our blood?"

Sigvard's glare burned into him. But there was truth in Dikun's words, and the Jarl knew it.

"Prepare the ships," Sigvard barked, turning away. "We sail at dawn. If the Reavers come, they will find us ready."

---

A Warrior's Resolve

Night fell, but Dikun found no peace. The warriors celebrated what little plunder they had taken from Norvik, their laughter mingling with the crackle of the fires. Hakon drank deeply, his booming laughter rising above the others. Yet Dikun remained apart.

He gazed out at the darkened sea, the memories of the day still sharp. The hooded man's warning echoed once more.

"The road ahead will test more than your sword."

A storm was coming — one that no blade could halt.

Footsteps approached. Dikun did not turn.

"You defied the Jarl," Hakon's voice rumbled, though there was no accusation in his tone. "Few men would have dared."

"I spoke the truth," Dikun replied. "That was enough."

Hakon chuckled darkly. "Truth is a fickle weapon. Wield it too often, and it will cut you down."

"Perhaps." Dikun's gaze remained on the horizon. "But I will not stand idle while others suffer. That is not the kind of warrior I will become."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Hakon clapped a hand on Dikun's shoulder, his grip firm.

"Then may the gods favor your resolve, Silver. You'll need it."

---

The Morning Departure

The first light of dawn painted the sky in streaks of gold and crimson. The longships were prepared, their sails billowing in the cold breeze. The warriors moved with purpose, their laughter faded. The weight of the Reavers' shadow had settled upon them.

Sigvard stood at the helm of the lead ship, his expression grim. Dikun took his place near the bow, the sea spray biting at his face.

"We sail for home," Sigvard declared, his voice carrying across the waves. "But if the Reavers come, they will find no weaklings. We are the wolves of Hrafnsfjord, and we will not cower!"

A roar of approval erupted from the warriors. The longships heaved forward, their oars cutting through the water.

Yet even as the wind carried them toward home, Dikun's thoughts lingered on the mountains. On the villagers who had fled. On the Reavers who pursued them.

The storm had not yet come.

But when it did, Dikun Silver would be ready.

To Be Continued...