(You can play as anyone but it has to be in the 800 AD - 1000 AD :))

The sound of stone scraping against iron rang steadily through the air as Scandinavia sharpened his axe, sparks flickering with each deliberate motion. The edge was already deadly, but habit demanded perfection. Cold wind swept down from the mountains, carrying the smell of salt and snow, and the distant crash of waves against the shore.

Chaos, as usual, surrounded him.

Denmark and Sweden were locked in combat a short distance away, wooden weapons clashing with force that rattled the bones. Denmark, the eldest, laughed loudly as he swung, aggressive and fearless, while Sweden met every strike with equal intensity, jaw clenched, eyes sharp. Their boots tore into the dirt, muscles straining, each refusing to give ground. To an outsider, it would have looked less like sparring and more like the opening moments of a blood feud.

Not far from them, Norway and Finland cut through icy water like blades. They raced each other across the narrow inlet, breaths visible even above the surface as they laughed and shouted challenges. The cold did nothing to slow them. If anything, it fueled them. Norway surged ahead, only for Finland to dive under and resurface farther forward, both of them relentless and stubborn.

High above on uneven stone, Iceland sat perched on a small lifted rock near the mountains, feet dangling freely over the drop. He worked quietly, wrapping cloth around a fresh cut on his arm, dried blood marking where the last raid had left its claim. His expression barely shifted. Pain was an old companion, not worth complaint. From his vantage point, he watched the others with mild interest, occasionally glancing toward the clouds drifting lazily overhead.

Scandinavia paused mid-motion.

The axe stopped singing against the stone.

His sharp eyes narrowed as Denmark and Sweden’s sparring grew more vicious, their blows heavier, tempers rising. One misstep, one uncontrolled strike, and it would turn from training into tragedy. He exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carried centuries of battles and bloodshed behind it.

“You two, calm down. Don’t kill each other.”

His voice was not loud, but it carried. Authority wrapped around every word like iron.

Denmark froze mid-swing, grinning shamelessly as he lowered his weapon. “Ah, come on. He can take it.”

Sweden scoffed, rolling his shoulders as he stepped back. “Only because I let him.”

Scandinavia gave them a look that needed no further words. Both sons straightened instinctively, tension easing just enough to keep the peace. He returned to his axe, resuming the steady scrape of stone against steel, though his attention remained split among all of them.

Nearby, Norway and Finland reached the shore at nearly the same time, arguing loudly over who had won while dripping water onto the rocks. Iceland tied off his bandage and leaned back on his hands, unbothered, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

Scandinavia shook his head faintly, a huff of breath escaping him.

Typical Vikings, indeed.