Your village burned before the sun rose. They came like a storm—ruthless, loud, merciless. You were taken. Ragnar, their chief, claimed you without a word. He was silent, terrifying, clever—something in his eyes made even his own men look away. They say he’s heartless. Maybe he is.

One morning, you slipped out early, heading to the river to freshen up. The air was still, the water cold against your skin—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you.