"Rise of the Viking King."

The celebrations in Jarnvik lasted long into the night. Mead flowed like water, and the warriors of Sigvard's warband roared with laughter, boasting of their conquests. But amidst the revelry, Dikun Silver remained silent.

The hooded man's words echoed in his mind — a messenger, a warning. And though the figure had disappeared, the unease had not.

A test awaited. But what form it would take, Dikun could not yet see.

---

A Warrior's Doubt

Dawn broke slowly, the mist from the sea clinging to the town like a veil. The air smelled of salt and damp wood as Dikun walked the narrow streets. The remnants of the feast littered the ground — discarded bones and empty horns — but the town's traders were already awake, eager to claim their silver from the previous day's plunder.

Yet Dikun had no interest in silver. His thoughts strayed toward the road ahead.

"Still brooding, are you?" Hakon's voice broke the silence. The scarred warrior approached, his usual grin tugging at his lips. "You'd think victory would loosen the knots in your chest."

Dikun shook his head. "The battle is over. But the blood remains."

Hakon laughed, slapping Dikun on the back. "And so it will. You can drink and laugh, or you can drown in it. But either way, the gods will care little."

The words held a harsh truth. The dead did not haunt the victorious — only the weak. And yet, the unease refused to leave him.

"Sigvard plans to move soon," Hakon continued, his tone growing serious. "Another raid. North this time. The coastal villages there are ripe for the taking."

Dikun's expression darkened. "And the people?"

"Does it matter?" Hakon scoffed. "They'll fight. And they'll die. That's the way of things."

But Dikun said nothing. The weight in his chest grew heavier.

---

A Letter from Home

Later that day, as the sun reached its peak, a messenger arrived — a weathered man bearing the sigil of Hrafnsfjord. He carried a simple piece of parchment, sealed with the mark of a raven feather.

Dikun's heart tightened. He knew who it was from.

The words of his brothers greeted him — Marcus, bold and unwavering. Sarich, ever watchful. And Deen, the boy who still clutched a wooden sword, dreaming of battles he could not yet fight.

> To Dikun Silver,

The sea may carry you far, but we remain steadfast.

Marcus boasts that he will stand taller than you when you return, though Sarich reminds him that wit is sharper than strength.

Deen speaks of nothing but the day he will fight at your side. He swings his wooden sword until the sun sets, certain he will one day match your might.

Our father tends the fields as he always has. But he speaks of you with pride, though the fear behind his words is not easily hidden.

Stand strong, brother. And when the time comes, we will stand with you.

Marcus, Sarich, and Deen

Dikun traced his fingers over the words. The warmth of his brothers' loyalty reached him even across the sea. Yet the weight of his choices pressed harder than ever.

To them, he was a warrior. A hero. But how long could he wear that mask before the blood he spilled stained him beyond recognition?

The hooded man's warning surfaced once more.

"The road ahead will test more than your sword."

And Dikun knew the test had already begun.

---

A Jarl's Command

The great hall of Jarnvik was filled once again, though this time, no laughter stirred the air. Warriors gathered, their eyes gleaming with anticipation as Sigvard addressed them from his throne.

"The North calls to us," the Jarl proclaimed, his voice deep and commanding. "A chain of villages rests upon the coast, their walls weak, their warriors few. The silver they hoard belongs not to them, but to those strong enough to take it."

The hall roared in agreement. Hakon grinned, his knuckles white against the hilt of his axe.

"But strength without cunning is a fool's weapon," Sigvard continued, his gaze narrowing. "Dikun Silver, step forward."

The room fell silent as Dikun obeyed. He met the Jarl's gaze without wavering.

"You showed resolve in battle. But now, I ask for more," Sigvard said. "Lead the vanguard. Strike first, and show them the fear of the sea."

The weight of the command settled upon Dikun. To lead was an honor — a sign of trust. But it was also a burden. The blood that would spill would stain his hands alone.

"I will not fail," Dikun said, his voice firm.

Sigvard nodded. "Then may the gods watch over you."

---

A Shadow Returns

Night fell, and the warriors prepared their arms for the coming raid. But as Dikun sharpened his sword beneath the stars, a figure emerged from the darkness.

The hooded man.

"You walk your path without question," the man said, his voice low. "Yet you know where it leads."

Dikun stood, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his blade. "I walk it because I must."

"Must you?" the figure challenged. "Or do you fear what lies beyond it?"

"I fear nothing," Dikun spat.

The man chuckled, though no warmth touched his voice. "We shall see."

Before Dikun could move, the figure vanished into the shadows once more. No answers. Only doubt.

---

The Road to Battle

At dawn, the longships set sail once more. The wind howled, and the waves crashed against the hull. The North awaited — a land untouched by the sea raiders.

But even as the warriors roared and the salt air filled his lungs, Dikun's mind lingered on the choice that would soon come.

Would he be the leader his brothers believed him to be?

Or would he become the monster the hooded man warned of?

The storm on the horizon held no answers. Only the promise of blood.

And when the time came, Dikun Silver would face the test.

To Be Continued...