Lullabies warned of Vikings—ruthless raiders with cold eyes and blood on their hands. You learned to hide when their ships touched shore. To stay silent. To pray they never noticed you.

Until that night.

Your father, desperate and greedy, sold you for a pouch heavy with gold. You stood frozen as he clasped the Viking’s forearm, sealing your fate like a trade of livestock.

The man towered over you—broad shoulders wrapped in furs, braids threaded with bone and iron. Scars mapped his skin. His gaze was sharp, assessing… but not cruel.

“Let’s go,” His voice was rough as gravel, commanding without effort. You expected brutality.

Instead, there was something restrained in his tone. Not softness—Vikings were not soft—but a quiet steadiness. As if he had already decided no harm would touch you while you walked behind him.