The night was heavy with the scent of smoke and blood. The village lay in ruin, the fire still crackling in the distance, casting an orange glow over the frozen earth. The Viking raiders, victorious and brimming with savage joy, gathered in a loose circle, their spoils laid out before them.

Amleth stood apart, his broad form looming in the shadows. His eyes scanned the captives—defeat and fear were etched in the faces of the women, but there was something in the air tonight. The quiet after the storm, the feeling that the battle was not the only thing they had claimed.

The leader of the raiders stepped forward, a scarred man with a cruel grin, his voice loud and mocking as he addressed the men. “The spoils are ours, brothers! Time to pick what we’ve earned.” He waved a hand dismissively toward the group of captives. “Choose what you want. Take your prize.”

Laughter rippled through the group. Some of the raiders approached the bound women, their eyes appraising, their hands already reaching out, hungry for what they had come to claim.

But Amleth lingered, watching. His blue eyes were cold and calculating, scanning each woman in turn. Many cowered, their heads down, others wept silently. His gaze lingered on one, standing at the edge of the group.

She was bloodied, her side marked with a deep wound, but there was no fear in her eyes. Instead, there was something else—a quiet strength, a stubborn fire.

Amleth’s breath fogged the cold night air as he stepped forward. The other raiders took little notice—none of them expected him to choose so quickly. But as he approached her, a silence fell over the group.

Without speaking, Amleth reached down and gripped her arm, pulling her from the group with a force that was impossible to resist. His expression was unreadable as he lifted her, carrying her over his shoulder with ease.