"Rise of the Viking King."

The longships sailed south, cutting through the mist as the remnants of the battle disappeared beyond the horizon. The rhythmic creak of the oars and the distant cry of gulls were the only sounds that accompanied Dikun Silver and his warriors. The Reavers had been struck a decisive blow, but the war was far from over.

The silver serpent's mark had been left behind—a warning to all who dared threaten Hrafnsfjord. But now, it was time for the clans to decide their fate.

---

The Return to Hrafnsfjord

By the third day, the towering cliffs of Hrafnsfjord came into view. Smoke curled from the village's chimneys, a stark contrast to the blackened ruins Dikun had left behind. The sight of home brought little comfort. Every step closer reminded him of the burden he carried—proof of the Reavers' strength and the knowledge that they would return.

The villagers gathered as the longships pulled ashore. Murmurs filled the air, eyes wide with anticipation and fear. Dikun disembarked, his leather boots sinking into the damp sand. Behind him, Hakon, Marcus, and Sarich followed, their expressions grim.

Sigvard awaited them at the head of the dock, his lined face betraying little emotion. But the subtle furrow of his brow spoke volumes.

"You bring news," the Jarl said.

"And proof," Dikun replied, holding up the crimson-torn sail taken from the Reaver ship. The dark emblem of the enemy stood out against the tattered fabric, a symbol of destruction.

Sigvard's gaze lingered on the sail before shifting to Dikun. "Come. The council will hear of this."

---

The Council's Judgment

The great hall was filled with the flickering light of torches. The village elders and warriors gathered, their faces a mixture of worry and determination. Dikun stood before them, the crimson sail unfurled upon the table—a silent testament to the truth.

"The Reavers move unchecked," Dikun began, his voice steady. "They raze villages, slaughter innocents, and leave ruin in their wake. We struck them down, but this will not be the last attack. They will return. Stronger. Bolder."

A murmur spread through the hall. Some nodded in grim agreement, while others shifted uneasily.

"And what would you have us do, Dikun Silver?" one elder challenged. "We are but one village. The Reavers' numbers far surpass our own."

Dikun's eyes burned with resolve. "We do not stand alone. The clans must unite. Together, we can drive the Reavers back into the sea. But to do so, we need strength. We need the will to fight."

Sigvard studied Dikun in silence before speaking. "And the other Jarls?"

"They will listen," Dikun said firmly. "When they see what we have seen."

The council sat in contemplation, but the weight of the Reavers' threat was undeniable. Finally, Sigvard nodded.

"You will go to the clans," the Jarl declared. "Take the truth with you. And may the gods grant you strength."

---

A Brother's Resolve

The evening brought no solace. As the fires dimmed and the villagers returned to their homes, Dikun stood at the edge of the village, the dark sea stretching endlessly before him. The weight of the task ahead bore down upon him.

Marcus approached, his steps measured. "You're sure the clans will listen?"

Dikun's jaw tightened. "They will have no choice. The storm is upon us."

Marcus placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Then we stand together. As we always have."

Dikun nodded, the unspoken bond between them stronger than any oath. The Silver name would not falter. Not now.

"Tomorrow we ride," Dikun said, his gaze locked on the distant horizon. "And the clans will know that Hrafnsfjord stands ready."

To Be Continued...