"Rise of the Viking King."

The sun had barely risen when Dikun Silver stood at the edge of Hrafnsfjord, the mist curling low across the water. The village behind him still slumbered, save for the distant figures of fishermen already tending to their nets. But the sea was awake. The waves lapped against the shore, restless, as if sensing the path Dikun would soon take.

Though the warmth of the feast still lingered in his memory, the weight of his oath pressed heavily upon him. He was no longer just Halvard's son. He was a warrior of Hrafnsfjord, sworn to seek his fate upon the sea.

But before he could claim that fate, there was one final farewell to be made.

---

Brothers' Promise

At the edge of the village, the sound of hooves echoed along the dirt path. Dikun turned to see his brothers — Marcus, Sarich, and Deen — racing towards him. Marcus rode at the front, his grin wide and defiant. Sarich followed just behind, his dark eyes calm and watchful. Even young Deen clutched the reins of a small pony, his face set with fierce determination.

"You weren't thinking of leaving without us, were you?" Marcus called, pulling his horse to a halt.

Dikun smiled, though a pang of sorrow tugged at him. "You'll see me off, then?"

"We wouldn't miss it," Sarich said, his voice steady. "Not when you're about to become the stuff of the sagas."

Deen, still mounted on his pony, puffed out his chest. "And when I'm older, I'll sail with you too!"

Dikun knelt, gripping the boy's shoulder. "One day, Deen. But until then, train hard. Swing that wooden sword of yours like a true warrior."

"I will!" Deen declared. "And when you come back, I'll be even stronger."

Marcus leaned down from his horse, his grin never fading. "And don't think we'll sit idle. Sarich and I will be warriors before you know it. Hrafnsfjord will remember the Silver brothers."

Sarich gave a slight nod. "We'll be ready when the time comes. No matter what."

Dikun's chest swelled with pride. The bond they shared ran deeper than blood. Though they were still boys, the fire in their eyes told him that one day they would stand by his side — not as children, but as men.

"Then it's a promise," Dikun said firmly. "The next time we stand together, it will be as brothers of the shield."

The three younger boys nodded, the silent oath sealed beneath the rising sun.

---

The Black Coast Longship

The great longship waited at the docks, its carved dragon's head gazing proudly over the fjord. The vessel's hull gleamed with fresh tar, its oars resting against the water like slumbering serpents. Warriors gathered along the pier, their laughter ringing out as they prepared the ship for its departure.

Dikun approached with steady steps, his leather armor freshly fitted and his sword resting at his side. Though his body still bore the aches of his first trial, the pain no longer consumed him. He had endured. And now, the sea awaited.

"About time," Sigvard barked as Dikun approached. "I was beginning to think the farmer's son had grown roots."

"I would not keep the sea waiting," Dikun replied, meeting the Jarl's gaze with unflinching resolve.

Sigvard smirked. "Good. There is much to learn, and little time for softness. You will earn your place on this ship, Dikun Silver. Mark my words."

The warriors cheered as the final crates of supplies were loaded. The air was thick with the scent of salt and pine, the cry of gulls mingling with the creak of wood. With a final nod to the village, Dikun stepped aboard, his boots finding purchase on the sturdy planks.

The ropes were loosed. The oars struck the water. And as the longship glided from the shore, the world of Hrafnsfjord grew smaller behind them.

---

The Sea's First Trial

Hours passed beneath the sun's watchful eye. The rowers moved in unison, their muscles rippling with each powerful stroke. Dikun took his place among them, the strain of the oar quickly burning through his arms. But he did not falter. Each pull of the water reminded him why he was here — to prove himself.

"Harder!" Hakon barked from the stern, his scarred face twisted into a scowl. "The sea does not forgive the weak!"

Sweat poured down Dikun's brow, but he did not relent. Around him, the seasoned warriors showed no signs of strain. They had tamed the sea with their strength, and Dikun would do the same.

"Why do you hesitate, farmer's son?" Hakon sneered, stepping closer. "Is the sea too much for you?"

Dikun's jaw clenched. "No. I will endure."

The words came not from pride, but from determination. The trials of the sea were no different than the fields he had once toiled upon. Both demanded strength. Both punished weakness. And both rewarded those who refused to break.

Sigvard's voice rang out from the helm. "Enough!"

The rowers ceased, the oars rising from the water. The ship drifted upon the waves, the only sound the rhythmic crashing of the sea. Sigvard's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

"You will learn to respect the sea, Dikun Silver," he said. "But today, you have shown that you will not bow to it. That is enough for now."

Dikun exhaled, his body trembling with exhaustion. But even as his muscles burned, he felt something else — pride.

He had faced the sea. And he had not yielded.

---

The Road Ahead

Night fell swiftly upon the open waters. The sky, once bright and clear, now stretched endlessly in a sea of stars. The longship rocked gently with the rhythm of the waves, the warriors gathered around the crackling embers of a small fire upon the deck.

Dikun sat among them, the warmth of the flames licking at his skin. Hakon, though still gruff, offered him a nod of reluctant approval. Even among the hardened warriors, Dikun was no longer a mere boy.

"Tomorrow we sail east," Sigvard announced, his voice low but commanding. "There are whispers of gold along the coast — weak villages with weak men. They will not stand against us."

The warriors murmured with satisfaction, the promise of plunder igniting their greed. But for Dikun, the prospect of battle stirred something far deeper. He had taken the first step on his path, but the true trials were yet to come.

He thought of Marcus and Sarich. Of young Deen, who still swung his wooden sword with dreams of glory. Dikun would return to them — not as a broken man, but as a warrior worthy of their respect.

The sea had called him. And now, it would shape him.

"Let the gods watch," Dikun murmured, his fists clenched. "I will not fail."

The waves whispered in agreement.

To Be Continued...