Spirit Warriors: A clan shall rise

A tall, black weatherworn monument, chiseled with runes so old not even moss dared not grow on them. A soft pulse of energy could be seen moving around the monument.

Eirik stared in wonder, his gaze locked on the monument. With wide eyes, he limped forward. The mist curled around his ankles like coal smoke. The wind had ceased to blow entirely. No noise seems to penetrate the surroundings.

Only the silent sound of footsteps as he walked towards the monument. Finally, he reached the stone, but he fell to his knees as soon as he did. Pain flashed through his leg, and his wounds seemed to burn with intense ferocity.

With a heavy movement, he pulled out his blade and made a cut on his hand. With a trembling movement, he places his hand against the stone like he has been taught.

A few seconds later, a gust of wind began to surge, gathering like a tidal wave. It continued to swirl around Eirik and the stone. Eirik, still on his knees, raised his head and watched in wonder at the surroundings. 

His head suddenly jerked to the stone as a soft hum echoed and the ancient dust-covered runes lit up, like stars in the night sky.

That was the last thing he saw when he fell unconscious.

He woke up, lying in an endless plain of grey, the sky above was like fractured clouds and drifting stars. Eirik's eyes slowly fluttered open to see the scene, and he hurriedly sat upright. He gazed around cautiously.

'Where am I? I don't remember Father mentioning a field of grey.

He tried recalling his lessons on the spirit blessing ceremony, but no memory could give him an answer. 

'Did I fail to receive a blessing? But, if that were the case…'

A howl echoed through the plains, cutting off his thoughts. A howl that sounded so ancient it scraped against bone. Looking into the distance, a layer of mist seemed to part, and from it a figure emerged.

As he watched the figure walk closer, a feeling of reverence swelled in his chest, much to his own confusion. The figure walked slowly, standing on four legs, its limbs rippled like smoke, and its eyes, like twin moons lost in clouds, stared at him intently.

Coming to a halt before Eirik, who eventually gathered the strength to stand. It towered over him, like the ancient pines of old. And when it spoke, the world shook.

Finally, you have come… my successor.

As he spoke the last words, its body shimmered like northern lights. Eirik could not speak, no matter how he tried, but a feeling of closeness called out from within him. The figure before him felt familiar.

I have waited a millennium for this day. The time of war is coming again, and this time it falls upon your shoulders.

The voice shifted - soft as mist, deep as thunder. Raising its head, the powerful figure once more spoke.

Do you know my name?

Eirik forced himself to lift his gaze. His throat burned, but he spoke.

"...No."

A powerful gust of wind circled them both as the figure gave a snort and spoke.

Then know it. I am Ulthri Wind-Walker, Guardian of Vorrharn, Eldvorn spirit of the Old Wolf Path!

The world seemed to shake as he raised his voice, deep and thunderous. The words hit Eirik like a hammer of air, the world burst apart, and the swirling wind screamed into his body, slamming him to the ground.

Eirik howled. He didn't mean to, but pain unlike anything he had ever experienced appeared. His limbs began to seize and shake, his spine arched, and his skin burned red. Eirik felt something enter him, something strong and powerful, but the pain consumed his thoughts as he gritted his teeth in defiance.

Time passed, and Eirik woke; he found himself before the standing stone. The grey plain vanished, and the familiar mountain wind washed over him. The stone hummed slightly, the runes still glowing.

Eirik had a strange feeling, as if something had lodged into his soul and being, but he didn't know how to check or even understand why he felt like that. As he carefully pushed himself up, something caught his attention. A soft, icy white glow came from underneath his clothes.

He rolled up his sleeves to reveal a runic mark. The mark of being blessed.

So it wasn't a dream! I did it! I received a warrior blessing. Eirik jumped with joy; it was a moment meant to be celebrated. Not everyone is able to receive a blessing from the spirits, and over the years, the number of people who were blessed had dwindled in their village.

But… Ulthri Wind Walker? Who's that? I don't remember learning of any wolf spirit called Ulthri, he must be part of the wind wolf category, but I'm sure we don't have any information on him… hmm, guess I'll need to consult the elders later.

Eirik gazed at the runic mark, which stretched along his right forearm, coiling from his wrist to his elbow. Its appearance was that of a tight, inward spiral carved in angular lines, like wind wrapped around a tree trunk. The center rune holds a symbol resembling a stylized wolf's eye.

Days later, at the entrance to the Eldvorn Grag, a large group of people was gathered. The villagers had taken time off, the last few days, to come and wait at the entrance. They had anxiously waited for the arrival of the youngsters.

It had been four days since the first few arrived, four men and one woman had reached the village entrance, haggard and exhausted. Upon seeing them, the villagers hurriedly ran to support them, and they held gazes of hope and curiosity.

The five of them, however, did not obtain a blessing from the stone, much to the villagers' disappointment, but they quickly encouraged and tried to cheer up the five; after all, it was not an unfamiliar sight.

After they came two people, Torvald had reached the village, his clothes ripped and blood flowing slightly, but he was in high spirits as he showed off his runic markings, welcoming cheers from the villagers.