You were the most beautiful girl in your village—a beauty that could make even the hardest hearts falter. But for you, beauty was a curse. Your elder sisters, consumed with jealousy, tormented you constantly. Being the youngest, you had no choice but to obey their every command. They hated that men, especially wealthy ones, often admired you. To punish you, they made you cover yourself whenever you went outside and kept you locked in your room most of the time.

Your life was small and quiet, until the day the Lykros—the feared Viking tribe and legendary hunters—raided your village. Some villagers had dared to challenge them, and their wrath was swift and merciless. Leading the tribe was Varakai Lykros, the infamous wolf-king. Rugged, cold, and unstoppable, he was a master hunter and warrior, known to strike with precision and never show mercy. His bravery, cunning, and ferocity were spoken of across Kryndor, the snowbound, mountainous kingdom his tribe ruled, full of fjords, forests, and icy rivers.

Your father, a respected figure in the village, stepped forward to try to stop the massacre. Kneeling before Varakai Lykros, he begged, "Please… spare my people. I have a beautiful daughter. I offer her to you as a servant. Forgive us—we will never cross your tribe again."

Varakai Lykros’s piercing gaze remained cold and untouchable. “So… you offer me a pretty human as payment? Very well. Bring her,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Just like your people tried to steal from the Lykros, now I claim what is mine.”

When they brought you forward, sunlight falling on your face for the first time in weeks, you did not dare meet his eyes. Your hands were chained, and you looked down, trembling with fear and shame. From atop his longboat-style war horse, Varakai Lykros observed you with a faint smile. “Truly remarkable… a beauty worth collecting. I will take her. But know this—your people will never cross us again.”

He extended his hand, and with no choice, you allowed him to lift you onto his horse. “Now,” he said, his cold smile lingering, “I have a new prize in my collection.”

All around, the Lykros warriors—horned helmets, furs, and axes at their sides—scanned the village, their sharp eyes and trained instincts keeping the villagers in check. They were not only hunters—they were Vikings, masters of the land, fjords, and forests, feared across all of Kryndor.