(Kaelen's POV)
The air was thick with pine smoke and the scent of roasting boar. A fire, fed with entire trunks, roared like a living thing, casting its glow across the faces of Kaelen's new tribe. This was no council. No peaceful gathering of elders. This was a pack of wolves, and he was their alpha.
Kaelen stood atop a mound of charred earth, mead horn raised, the same young warriors who had followed him through darkness now shouting his name. Their faces were streaked with blood and ash, their devotion raw and unfiltered. They didn't see a man—they saw the storm he had become.
"Drink, my wolves!" Kaelen bellowed. "Tonight, we feast on the flesh of what we will become! We are no longer children of weak men, bowing to gods who ignore our prayers. We are Storm-Born! Chosen of the flame!"
The horn of their cheers crashed over him like thunder. Kaelen felt it pulse through his veins—a warm, intoxicating current of power. These warriors followed him not for loyalty but for greed, for the lust of conquest. He would give them what they hungered for.
"Tomorrow, we hunt—not just for meat, but for empires!" he roared. "The tribes of the fjords are sheep without shepherds! Their gold, their grain, their women—they will all be ours!"
He gestured to the surrounding forest, a dark, endless canvas. "We will paint it with fire and steel! The weak will break before us. The strong will kneel! And those who defy us will learn what it means to face a god!"
A guttural chant began, low at first, then rising into a frenzy: "God-King! God-King!"
Kaelen's grin was predatory, sharp. He had waited his whole life for this. Denied by a man who saw him as a boy, betrayed by a brother who saw him as a rival, he had claimed his destiny.
"There is no sacrifice too great for those who follow me!" he roared, raising the horn high. "No price we will not pay! Everything we desire will be ours!"
The horn drained, fire warming his throat, and he slammed it down. The feast continued, a celebration of power, plunder, and the god he was becoming.
"Forget my brother," Kaelen spat, his voice cutting through the noise. "He is a man of peace in a world that demands war. I am the wolf they need, the god they fear, and the king they will worship!"
A warrior shouted, hoarse with mead. "What is it, chief?"
Kaelen's eyes glinted in the firelight. "The world. All of it. Our birthright." His voice dropped to a low growl. "He builds walls. I burn kingdoms. He begs. I take."
The mound became a throne. Kaelen's sword rose, reflecting the flames. "Ever since childhood, I was his shadow. No more. I am the god you've been waiting for! We will raid, we will conquer, and the old gods will envy our gold!"
The crowd's roar answered him, a chorus of fire and bone.
By dusk, the village of Skaldvik lay beneath them, small, quiet, nestled in its cove. Kaelen's warband descended like a tide of shadows. No horns. No warnings. This was demonstration, not honor.
"Look at them," Kaelen said, voice dripping with contempt. "They pray to gods who've abandoned them. Tell me, my wolves… what do they deserve?"
"Fire!" they roared.
"And blood!"
Kaelen silenced them with a hand. "Not yet. We give them a choice. Worship me—or burn."
The village watched in terror as Kaelen's eyes flickered. Flames leapt from thatched roofs like lightning, and screams tore the night. "Join me!" he bellowed. "Your swords, your gold, your lives—and you live. Stand against me—and you burn!"
Some fell to their knees, others reached for axes. Steel clashed, screams mingled with flames. By sunrise, the village was ash and ruin. Survivors huddled, wide-eyed, awe-struck. They had seen a god walk among men.
Kaelen surveyed them, cold and calculating. "Your old lives are gone. Follow me, and you will be feared. You will be rich. You will be kings."
The weak rose to zealotry, their loyalty bought with blood. With every raid, every village scorched, Kaelen's legend spread—storm-born god of fire and empire.
(Xylos Pov)
Xylos stood in his longhouse, cold creeping into his bones. Elders and warriors whispered of Kaelen's rise, of villages incinerated by a man they now called god-king.
"The thrall from Skaldvik… he saw it. Fire from the sky. Madness in his eyes," a warrior said.
Xylos's jaw tightened. Kaelen was no longer the boy he had known. He was a god. And the Bearslayer's death—his own father's death—now seemed all but confirmed.
"We must protect the people," Xylos said, gripping the hilt of his father's axe. "Forge an army, prepare. We fight not for glory, but survival."
He looked to the night sky. A fiery shape streaked across it. Not a star, not a comet. A dragon, massive and dark, riding the horizon with Kaelen upon it.
The wind carried a sound Xylos hadn't heard in decades—a growl, deep and hungry. Then, sharp, ugly laughter, echoing across the fjords.
Xylos's grip tightened. The game was no longer between brothers. It was between men and gods.
And in that frozen moment, the world waited for the storm.
Months have passed.....
(Xylos's POV)
The dawned sharp and clear, the fjords wrapped in a golden mist. The storm of visions clung to Xylos's mind like frost, but he wore his warrior's face as he stepped out of the longhouse. Today, the tribes would not see a haunted man—they would see their king.
The village bustled with life. Fires roared, spits turned with boar and venison, drums thudded in a steady heartbeat. Children laughed, chasing one another through the snow, and warriors stood in gleaming furs and armor, their axes polished as though the gods themselves would witness.
And in a way, they would.
Fyra waited at the longship's prow, crowned in woven antlers and a cloak of wolf pelts. Her eyes met his, bright as northern stars, and for a moment the war, the prophecy, even his brother—all of it fell away.
The seer's words whispered in his mind. Only one will stand when the smoke clears.
But when Fyra's hand slid into his, he found strength.
The old god-priest raised his staff, carved with runes so deep they seemed to hum.
"Today we bind not just man and woman, but tribe to tribe, blood to blood. As the gods bore sons of thunder and fire, so shall you bear sons of honor and strength. May your union outlast the mountains."
The crowd roared their approval. Mead horns clashed, warriors howled, and the drumbeat grew thunderous.
Xylos lifted Fyra's hand high.
"I take you not as my wife alone, but as my queen. Together, we will forge a future where our children need not bow to false gods."
She leaned in, her voice low enough for only him:
"And together, we will make sure your brother's fire does not burn it all away."
They sealed their vows with a kiss that brought the village to frenzy.
That night, after the feast, Fyra whispers she feels a child stirring within her. Xylos smiles, though his heart trembles with the weight of destiny.
Kaelen pov
Kaelen stood over a blackened village, Astrid at his side, hand on her stomach. She is also with child.
The camera lingers on both women, both carrying heirs. The drums of war echo across the fjords. The gods are not watching—they are waiting.
Waiting for what soon will come....