"Why do you look so different?" Hvisterk asked.
"Hvisterk! Watch your tongue," Prince Harbard said, nervously pushing the boy to the far corner of the room. Hvisterk was merely curious about why his cousin looked so different from the rest of them. Though they shared the same golden hair and blue eyes, his skin was unlike theirs.
"I'll be mindful of what I say, Young Hvisterk," Prince Magnus said, with a calm but firm tone.
"If he's anything like my sister, you'd do well not to offend him," Prince Harbard whispered to his son. Ragna, however, heard this with his internal hearing, a smirk playing on his lips as he grabbed a drink from a tray one of the servants was carrying. He was beginning to piece together the dynamics between his mother and her family.
Helga and Freya approached him. Helga's gaze was sharp, sizing Ragna up, while Freya nervously followed her sister.
"You must be Helga and Freya," Ragna said, breaking the silence.
"And you must be Ragna, our cousin, the one we've heard so much about," Helga replied. "I must admit, you look different from what I imagined."
"I suppose so," Ragna said, his eyes flicking to Freya. He noticed a faint aura around her. She's the Volva. His psychic energy sharpened his senses as he focused on her. There's a core within her already? How is that possible? He had heard that the Volva's cultivation was different from what non-Volva went through, even though both used Runic Cultivation. Was that what allowed her to already have a core?
Freya felt Ragna's perception energy probing her and was surprised. She had not realized he could wield Psychic energy. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted when the door to the hall opened. King Sigurd entered, flanked by two guards. The cousins shifted their attention to their grandfather, the King of Norland. King Sigurd's eyes softened as he saw his family gathered together, his heart lightened by the sight of them all—his daughter safely back from Kattegat.
With a regal air, he moved toward the front of the dining table, his family following suit. Magnus took the far end of the table, opposite his brother. King Sigurd signaled to Bestla to sit in the chair at his right, while Prince Harbard took the chair on his left. Aksel chose the seat beside Bestla, with Ragna and Freya following. Princess Ingrid, Hvisterk, and Helga filled the remaining three seats on the left.
King Sigurd smiled as a servant poured a drink into his cup. The servants continued filling everyone's cups, including Ragna's. With the family gathered, King Sigurd raised his cup and addressed them.
"Blessing to the Aesir, the Disir, the Landvaettir, and the ættarfylgja, for bringing us together and for the blessing we are about to receive."
He said it with reverence, honoring both gods and ancestors alike. Though King Sigurd did not hold a deep belief in the gods or spirits, he observed the tradition out of respect for customs that had persisted through the ages. The rest of the family echoed his words, honoring the same higher beings—except for Ragna, who muttered something unintelligible before taking a sip of his wine.
Soon after they all took their seats, the family began to enjoy the lavish spread before them. The guards who had accompanied King Sigurd into the room had disappeared, blending into the shadows. Their presence was all but undetectable, remaining vigilant and ready to act should any threat arise. As Ragna dug into his food, he noticed the concentration of Essence in the meal was far denser than the food he had eaten in Kattegat. He felt something stir inside him with each bite, a sensation that hinted at the power embedded within the meal. King Sigurd watched his grandson, Ragna unaware of the King's scrutiny.
Ragna, preoccupied with the thought that his cousins had been consuming this high-quality food while his own meals in Kattegat had been more modest, wondered just how potent the Essence in their meals might be compared to his. However, he wasn't worried. He knew he had more advantages than they did. He continued eating the fried vegetables mixed with rice and a variety of beans and peas, his mind distracted by his own thoughts.
The boy doesn't seem to care that his Essence potency in his diet is weaker than his cousins', King Sigurd said to Bestla, speaking to her mentally.
Ragna's too strong to care, Bestla responded, understanding her son well. She knew he wouldn't complain about the disparity in resources. While his cousins' bodies may have been stronger, Ragna's mind was far more powerful.
As the meal neared its end, King Sigurd finally addressed the grandson he had interacted with the least.
"So, Ragna, I hear you're interested in the history of the lost civilization," King Sigurd said. Ragna paused, lowering his utensils. He wasn't sure how to respond. Should he engage with the King as a ruler or as a grandfather? After all, he had no real relationship with the man—only the stories his mother had shared with him growing up.
"Yes, I'm very interested in learning about what the world was like before the Desolation," Ragna replied. King Sigurd smiled as he heard his grandson speak with such enthusiasm. The King had lived through the chaos of Ragnarok and, though he had been a mere boy at the time, it was in that tumultuous age that he had grown up to become the renowned warrior he was today. He watched his grandson closely, noting the genuine interest in his eyes. Deep down, Sigurd wished Bestla had stayed in the capital, raising Ragna beside him. He would have cherished the opportunity to be close to his grandson. But alas, Bestla had insisted on staying in Kattegat, though she never gave a clear reason for her decision. Sigurd had respected her wishes, even if it meant they were separated.
"Well, the Library is always open to those who wish to study it," King Sigurd said. "I recommend reading the Heimskringla. It's the best collection of stories about the ancient kings, their deeds, and their origins."
"Does that include information about the Conqueror?" Ragna asked.
"The Conqueror, heh," King Sigurd chuckled. "Yes, it includes information about the Conqueror and his origins." Ragna couldn't help but smile at this. For years, he had scoured every available source in Kattegat for information about the Conqueror, but the Library there had yielded little. The few details he had found spoke of a figure who had conquered all the known lands of Midgard, uniting them under one rule.
"Why are you so interested in the Conqueror?" King Sigurd asked, curious.
"It seems to me that someone who could bring the world to its knees must have been a powerful cultivator," Ragna said thoughtfully. "I wonder what kind of civilization he must have created, what kind of world that would have been. A person like that would surely have achieved godhood in Valhalla."
"Indeed, he did achieve such a thing," King Sigurd replied, recalling the legendary heroes who had descended from the heavens to fight during Ragnarok. "He conquered the world and unified it, but that didn't stop the conflict that existed. Conflict will always exist as long as humans do."
"Did you know the Lothbrok are descended from the Norman lineage?" Prince Magnus suddenly said. The room fell silent as everyone turned to face him. Even King Sigurd raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his brother's statement.
"Really? I didn't know that," Ragna said, intrigued by the new information.
"Yes, we are," Prince Magnus replied. "One of our ancestors was a Norman who married into the Lothbrok family some time after the Conquest."
"All this talk of conquest, you don't happen to have an urge for conquering, do you?" Prince Harbard asked, his gaze flicking toward Ragna's mother beside him. Ragna raised an eyebrow, sensing a deeper, unspoken meaning behind his uncle's words. What had his mother done to unsettle him?
"Ha, not really. I believe it's better to understand one's history in order not to repeat it," Ragna said, recalling a similar quote from his past life.
"Not only book-smart, but also wise," King Sigurd commented, his voice tinged with approval. "A good combination. So, are you ready for the coming-of-age ceremony tomorrow?"
"Yes, I'm looking forward to it," Ragna replied. He had an inkling of what the ceremony would entail, especially after his recent discoveries.
As the Lothbrok finished their meal, King Sigurd rose from his seat, his gaze settling on his grandchildren, each about to step into adulthood. Tomorrow marked the beginning of their lives as Vikings—except for Freya, who would begin her journey as a Volva. King Sigurd raised a finger, and the cups on the table began to levitate toward him, drawn by the sheer force of his will. Ragna's eyes widened, startled by the finesse with which his grandfather controlled the objects. With a swift motion, King Sigurd cut his wrist. Reddish blood, tinged with a golden light, poured into the four cups.
Ragna's pulse quickened as he recognized the ritual unfolding before him. The cups, now filled with King Sigurd's blood, levitated back toward each grandchild. King Sigurd's wound sealed instantly, the blood no longer flowing from his wrist. Ragna took his cup, along with his cousins, each of them standing in silent anticipation.
"Drink of my blood, and let the divine blood of Odinson awaken within you," King Sigurd intoned.
Ragna swallowed the wine mixed with his grandfather's blood, feeling an immediate surge of power. The divine essence mingled with the wine, and as it passed his lips, he felt his blood heat up, an electric current rippling through every cell in his body. His vitality—his life force—seemed to strengthen, and his semi-transcendent soul expanded. Despite the rush of energy, however, he couldn't form a core within his soul to trigger his awakening. Instead, he felt something foreign, yet oddly familiar, stirring within him.
It must be the divinity of the Lothbrok lineage, he realized.
He glanced at his cousins, noticing the same awe and recognition in their expressions. It seemed the future of the Lothbrok family was indeed bright.