It was the height of summer, the sun's relentless rays casting a golden glow over the land, leaving no shadow untouched. In the heart of the village, the air was thick with anticipation as the chiefs gathered for their annual council. The occasion was the much-anticipated summer games, a series of competitions where their sons would display their prowess in various skillful activities, vying for the coveted title and the honour of bragging rights that would last until the next season’s challenge.

This year, all eyes were on Gunnar, the eldest son of Chief Ingvi. Once, Ingvi's name struck fear into the hearts of his enemies as a formidable warrior, but now he was revered as a wise and gentle grandfather, often seen doting on the children of his second son, Erik. Yet, the legacy of strength and valour lived on in Gunnar, whose reputation for bravery and skill had already begun to eclipse even that of his renowned father.

The first test of skill was the axe-throwing competition, a true measure of a warrior’s precision and strength. As Gunnar stepped forward, the crowd hushed, their collective breath held in anticipation. The sunlight gleamed off his well-muscled form, his presence exuding confidence and an unspoken promise of victory. He grasped the hefty axe with practiced ease, the weight of the competition as familiar to him as the weapon in his hand.

Gunnar’s gaze sharpened, focusing on the distant target, a wooden post marked with concentric circles. With a deep breath, he drew back his arm, feeling the tension coil through his muscles. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the axe, the target, and the unwavering determination that flowed through his veins. In one fluid motion, he hurled the axe through the air, its path a graceful arc against the backdrop of the clear, blue sky.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the axe buried itself deep into the center of the target, quivering with the force of its impact. Satisfaction danced in his eyes, as he scanned the crowd until his eyes landed on you.