'DONG… DONG… DONG'
A young blond boy lay on his back, sprawled on the floor next to his bed—as usual at this time of day.
The fiery sun was nearly gone by now, slowly sinking behind the mountains. After a long day, the boy felt tired… or lazy… or maybe just comfortable on the ground. Nobody really knew. He moved his knife steadily, carving a piece of bone in his hands.
'DONG… DONG… DONG'
He scritch-scratched it, giving the almost perfectly shaped boar head a few final touches. The bone shavings and dust fell onto his royal-blue tunic.
'DONG… DONG… DONG'
The alarm bell filled the village with panic. It meant only one thing: a beast attack.
Probably a dungeon break, the boy thought, snapping off a small piece of bone with a practised flick. I told them they should check those caves. You live in the mountains, by the eye of the Allfather—you are just challenging his patience at this point.
He clicked his tongue and sat up, groggy; heavy footsteps stomped to the animal-skin-covered entrance.
"Get out!" boomed a voice, so deep it barely sounded human.
The boy inhaled through his nose for nearly three full seconds before sighing. "Do I have to? It's not like you will have any trouble."
A massive forearm tore through the curtain, pulling it aside. A man so large he filled the doorway ducked to enter the room, his shoulders scraping both sides.
"Ragnar!!!"
The boy's eyes widened for a heartbeat, but quickly returned to their usual half-lidded calm. "What is it, Dad?! Why must you be so annoying all the damn time?!"
"You know what it is," Halfdan said, his tone calm yet furious.
"Yes, yes, I will go out in a sec, okay? It's just a dungeon break for Thor's sake; none of you should have much trouble."
The large man clenched his jaw—close to furious—but calmed himself. "Ragnar, this is your twelfth winter. You are about to be an adult. Someone of your talents…"
"Yeah, yeah." Ragnar waved him off. "I'm not interested in another sermon." He tossed the carved boar head into the corner, where it clattered atop a pile of other animal skull carvings, then tried to leave.
"Boy! This is serious—"
"Shut it, old man. That's what you wanted me to do in the first place. What? You are now going to keep me here to—"
"RAAAAGNAAAR!!!"
The whole longhouse shook. A young boy's voice from outside thundered louder than even Halfdan's shouting.
The two men sighed.
"We will continue this later," said Halfdan.
"Yeah, yeah," Ragnar exhaled, stretching his back.
"I'm coming, Egil!" He yelled; however, before exiting, he paused for a moment. "Stop being delusional, Dad. In no world am I—or ever will be—talented. Me being the last child you had with Mom, and the only one left at home… that doesn't change anything."
He left the room, leaving his father alone.
Halfdan stared at his palm, where he gently caressed a bit of hair tied into a small doll. He sighed, but it came out broken. "How would you handle him, Berdis?" he said, then brushed away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
Ragnar walked outside, grabbing a weapon in passing. He shoved the door wide open, letting the wind through.
The air hit him like a slap—sharp, cold, and thick with smoke.
He scanned around quickly, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Blood and burning wood; the smell was nostril-flaringly fresh and accompanied by numerous screams, roars, and war cries.
He let out all the air he had in his lungs and slowly opened his eyes.
The great tree's branches filled the sky with bright warmth; it rose above the village's walls and all the mountain tops that grew above the cliff where the villagers had built their homes, and there were very few of those.
It looked like its shining leaves hugged the entire sky; it was easy to lose oneself in its breathtaking beauty, even the people who lived in this place, who got to see it every second of every day, were still at a loss for words when they took a cup of cricket's time to look at it (and they did that often).
The smell of blood and burning wood did not fit the atmosphere of its beauty, though.
A pale face popped in front of Ragnar—Egil Flyter, his so-called peer; he kept bouncing on his toes with excitement, his ragged clothes already slightly torn in places. He hopped up to Ragnar and leaned in so close that Ragnar could see the bruise forming on his cheek.
"Ragnar! What's the hold up?! Come on, come on."
Ragnar stepped back, clearly annoyed but too tired to get into another argument. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I couldn't get out of my room with that giant piece of meat standing at the door."
"Ah, must be really nice having a room, ey?" said Egil with a big, goofy smile.
"Yeah, yeah. What's the situation?"
"It's crazy, nobody even saw them coming. They seem to be a combination of snow foxes, skoll-wolves, and frost bears."
Ragnar gave him a look, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean combination? That should not happen."
"Why not?" Egil shifted his head slightly.
Ragnar stared at him, unsure whether to call him stupid or punch him in the face…. "Never mind, let's just go." He brushed him off.
Ragnar was very much right; after all, different types of beasts can barely stand each other, and they would never dare live in the same dungeon as one another; they even name different beast types after that fact.
Have all three dungeons coincidentally attacked at the same time? Ragnar thought.
But that didn't make much sense either. After all, beasts hate one another far more than they dislike humans.
A glance at the front gate where the biggest battle was held led to a decision to head in a different direction; well, Ragnar did, and Egil followed, rather disappointed. They entered the forest of houses, with little space between each building.
After a while of walking, Egil looked down at Ragnar's hand. "Wait… isn't that your father's spear?"
Ragnar stopped to look at it. "Oh, yeah, it is. I just grabbed whatever was at hand, hehe, who would guess it would be his trusty old hunting spear. Cool."
"What? Shouldn't you return that? Your father doesn't allow you to use that, and he also needs it to fight, no?"
"Screw that old bastard. He has his hammer. If he really wants to go with a spear too, he can just take one of the old rusty ones."
He took another look; it truly was a fine spear. The butt of the spear was made of silver; it was round and shiny. The handle was of some very fine wood, fairly dark…
Where did he even get something like that?
While the head was long and wide with a few holes down the middle, a proper hunting spear; it could bleed out any beast.
He threw it up an inch and caught it a few times. Perfect weight, not too heavy nor too light.
There was one more thing, just at the top of the head—
There it was: a rune (ᚷ).
A rune engraved into the spear; those were rare these days. Most people used magic weapons, and with advancements in metallurgy, even the regular weapons became nearly as deadly. But the mystery made rune weapons even more dangerous. Few people know much about their capabilities or how to deal with them today; on the other hand, Ragnar doesn't exactly know how to use them either.
"Y… You, you should really return that." Egil repeated.
"What's up with you? Stop crying, who cares if I took it for a single hunt anyway?!"
"But—"
At that moment, three fox beasts appeared before them. They growled, foam spilling from their teeth.
"Egil, deal with these," Ragnar said, waving his hand.
"Ha?" Egil's head snapped toward him, but Ragnar already jumped back a couple of steps. Egil quickly turned to the beasts, just in time to raise his shield.
'SMACK'
The beast shook its head from the impact. The other two circled, looking for an opening.
[Lances, a woven fence; Become my blade]
Glowing particles formed around Egil, one by one turning to stone, before they all rushed to coat his sword, compressing around it and creating an even sharper blade.
The one on the right attacked; Egil blocked with the shield, then tried to cut the one on the left, but it jerked out of the way, then attacked.
[Swell]
Suddenly, the rock pieces coating Egil's sword expanded into a shield, and the fox rammed right into it. Egil's sword reformed, and he got a cut in. But the damage was minimal.
'ARRGGHH'
Then Ragnar whistled behind him. "Follow me."
"Why are you always running away?" Egil pushed the beasts off and ran after him.
They reached a small alley, barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through. Ragnar was leaning against the wall as Egil reached it. He turned and placed his shield in front.
As soon as the beast stood before him, he pushed forward, turned it onto its back, and tried to pierce its heart. But the sword couldn't get through the skin; he pushed harder, but nothing gave. Then Ragnar slammed the butt of his spear against Egil's sword pommel, and the blade went through, killing the thing on the spot.
They prepared for the other two, but now that they couldn't circle around him, he dealt with them quickly, albeit with some effort.
Egil huffed after the fight, but Ragnar didn't let him rest long. "Let's go; there is more to do."
Egil gritted his teeth, but followed—with a smile.
They returned to the more spacious alley and continued searching for beasts.
Then stopped.
They felt shivers; the snow crunched, and the wood creaked, followed by a deep growl above them.
A huge white fox with six eyes was observing them from the roof. Its snout was completely red with blood.
Viscous drool slowly dripped down, fusing with blood before hitting the icy snow.
Two boys stared at it across the street; the house behind them could be their safe zone.
Running forward into the smaller home on top of which stood the beast wasn't out of the question either.
Ragnar certainly contemplated those options….
Egil, on the other hand…
"Well, I guess it's too late for the spear; just make sure not to damage it," he said, his voice trembling with excitement as he readied his shield and drew his sword.
Ragnar bit on his lower lip. "Thor, give us strength," he murmured.
"I'll make sure not to."
Ragnar lowered his centre of gravity and gripped his spear tightly.