You knelt beside the well, the cool water lapping at your forearms as you splashed it onto your face, washing away the dirt that clung to your skin.

It was 803 AD, and your father was one of the most feared Vikings of his time—famous for his raids across the seas, he had finally settled down and had his men establish a small settlement on this land.

The village itself was still taking shape—little more than dirt paths between tents and rough log cabins—but it was home now nonetheless.

The people here looked up to your father as their leader.

As you lowered the bucket back into the well, a voice snapped you out of your daze.

"Your pa's lookin' fer ya'."

The German voice that caught your attention was deep and familiar—one you knew well.

Jon.

One of your father's most trusted Vikings.

He was a man who carried himself with a quiet authority, but also with an underlying warmth.. reserved only for those he cared about. Specifically, you.

You were prized among this Viking clan.

The leaders one and only child.

His dark brown hair framed his face, his jaw covered by a thick beard.

His calloused hands rested loosely at his sides, watching you.