In a small hut, the sound of a baby's cry filled the room, with the sound echoing all around. The mother's eyes, hollow and distant, stayed fixed on the window, her face lit by the flames from a fire outside.The baby name was Erik, Eirik's cry disturbing the silence in the room, which made the atmosphere more and more uneasy, The noise only growing louder with each unanswered cry.
The midwife had left hours ago, shaking her head at the baby born to Grim's widow.
"Stronger men have left stronger women," she muttered as she left.
As the months passed, Eirik's mother held him only as long as needed to keep him alive, as If he was a burden and a constant reminder of the man she'd lost. The villagers would bring food from time to time, and they sometimes took Eirik for a few hours, knowing she would Barely notice if he were missing for half the day.
In the village, they whispered and talked about Eirik, who had the striking blue-gray eyes of his father and whose small, stubborn jaw already seemed carved from stone and as hard as a rock. Grim had been a warrior who died far from his homeland, struck down by an enemy axe, and his wife had been inconsolable from that moment on. Left without means and with a young child, she became depressed, her grief turning bitter. She grew colder and harsher, her voice reflecting her hatred as she scolded Eirik even in his toddling years.
And by the time Eirik was three, he had learned to be silent and watchful, moving about the house like a ghost. His mother's occasional glances at him were filled not with tenderness but with resentment, hatred and suspicion, as if he were an intruder and burden in her life. She never spoke of his father, nor did she let him call himself by Grim's name. To her, he was only Eirik, a presence she endured because she had no choice.
One day, when he was nearly five years old, Eirik found her standing by the door with a pack wrapped in her hands. He could see the veins of anger etched into her face as she looked down at him with a cold distant stare, her eyes fixed, Staring blankly.
"Come," she said, her voice a flat command.
Eirik followed obediently, but even at his age, he sensed something heavy in her voice, a feeling he couldn't quite name. She took his hand, her grip colder and harder than he remembered. They walked through the village, past the huts, their paths crossing only a few villagers who looked at Eirik with a mixture of pity and sadness. He held her hand as the houses grew more distant as they walked deeper into the trees, where the air grew cool and quiet, damp with the scent of the forest, animals and nature.
They walked for hours, Eirik's legs struggling to keep up. Every now and then, he would look up, but his mother's face was unreadable, her face seemed empty and cold. When they reached a space, she stopped and let go of his hand, stepping back. Eirik turned to face her, confusion filling his eyes.
She knelt down, meeting his gaze for the first time, though there was no warmth in it. She held out the small pack she had brought a scrap of dried meat, a torn cloth, and a wooden toy he had always played with since he could remember. She placed it in his hands and let her fingers hold a moment too long.
"This is where you'll stay," she said softly, her voice like a chill wind. "It's better here. You'll be safe here."
Eirik's mind couldn't quite understand the words. His tiny hands held the pack tightly as he looked around, a feeling of unease forming at the back of his neck. But he trusted her, as all children trust their mothers, even as fear began to come in.
"Will you come back?" he whispered.
She didn't answer. Instead, she Got up and turned, walking back the way they had come without even glancing backwards. Eirik watched, his heart pounding in his chest as she grew smaller and smaller over the distance, swallowed by the trees.
He called her name, his voice breaking the more he screamed, but she didn't turn. She was already gone.
The meaning of her absence settled over him as he stood alone in that empty forest. Eirik's heart raced, his chest tightening with the feeling of panic. He wanted to follow her, but something told him that would be pointless, the memory of her final words, the way she'd looked at him as if he were a stranger, a demon. That fact settled into his bones, although he was too young to fully understand she was not coming back.
Night came, and the dark forest grew colder, packed with the sounds of animals and insects. Eirik stayed close to a big tree he had found, clutching the pack to his chest as he fought to keep his eyes open. The wind flew through the leaves, and the sounds of owls in the distance, each sound making him realize where he is at, filling him with a fear that sank deep into his bones. He held onto the wooden toy his mother had given him, rubbing the edges with his thumb until the sharp points dulled.
The days that followed all came together, he wandered through the forest, searching for some sign of his mother, some hope that she might change her mind and come back for him.
"Mother! where are you?
He repeated day after day
Hunger ate at him, and his throat ached with thirst, but he didn't know where to find food or water. He fell by roots and rocks, bruising his knees and hands, but he kept moving, driven by a need to survive.
At one point, he thought he saw her, something slipping through the trees, her dark hair catching the light. He called out, his voice breaking, but when he ran to where she had been, there was nothing but empty shadows.
On the fifth day, he found a small creek, its water was clear. He fell to his knees, drinking very much, the water stings his cracked lips. The ache in his stomach slightly came down, although the emptiness still existed. He knew he couldn't live on water alone, but the forest Was Big and dangerous. The berries he found were unfamiliar to him, and he remembered the stories the elders from the village had told about the poisonous plants that grew in these woods. But his hunger left him no choice, and he took a handful, hoping he wouldn't pay for it with his life.
The days passed, each one a test. Eirik grew thinner, his skin pale and scratched, his already torn clothes became more ragged. He learned to recognize the safe plants from the dangerous ones, to drink from the streams without swallowing too much silt, to build a small shelter from branches and leaves. He stopped calling for his mother, his voice worn and broken from days of unanswered cries.
As the weeks turned into months, a new thought began to take root in his mind, a question he had never dared ask before: Why? Why had she left him here, alone and defenseless? Why had she looked at him with such coldness, as though he were nothing more than a stranger?
The answers never came, but the question itself became a kind of shield, a hardening within him that dulled the sense of loneliness and transformed it into something colder, sharper. He was Grim's son, he reminded himself, a son of a warrior, born from strength and vallance. He would survive, not because of anyone's help, but because he had no other choice.
He swore an oath to himself
He would not forget. And he would not forgive.
" I HATE HER" He chanted with a loud cry.