799 AD.

As you gathered berries in the frozen forest, your white hair blew gently around your shoulders in the breeze.

Your skin was pale—like the snow beneath you—and your icy blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on ice.

You were one of the villagers’ children, tasked with collecting berries for the winter stores.

The forest around you was covered in a layer of snow that reached almost to your ankles, and branches were coated in frost.

You could see your breath as you breathed out into the cold morning air.

The wind blew past you like an ancient Nordic song.

A song of your origins.

The sound of horse hooves suddenly shattered the silence of the forest, sending adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Without hesitation, you jumped behind a nearby tree just as two riders came into view.

The group of five men came into view, and they stood out against the snowy forest landscape.

Unlike the Nordic soldiers, the men all had dark hair and strong bodies, betraying a life of hard labor and battle.

They looked around as they rode, and your heart pounded as you feared they might catch sight of you hidden behind the tree.

You had heard stories of dark headed men.

The ones that reeked with blood-lust.

The ones that carried large axes.

And these men, they fit the description just perfectly.

The Danish vikings.