Eirik had not closed his eyes throughout the night. Lying on his bed, he stared at the shadows cast by the light.
Worry gnawed at him, but an inexplicable feeling of excitement also beat in his chest.
The fear of the unknown and the prospect of leaving behind his simple life mingled within him.
In a few hours, he would be on his way to the unknown, and despite his doubts, a part of him knew that there was no turning back now.
Something was calling him, a greater destiny, perhaps even one anchored in the stars of the northern sky.
When dawn broke, he silently rose, careful not to wake his family.
He put on his wool tunic, his worn but sturdy boots, and gathered the meager provisions he had managed to collect: dry bread, salted meat, and a water flask.
At the bottom of his bag, he slipped in a Thor's hammer amulet, a gift his mother had given him when he was a child, to protect him from spirits and storms.
A strange warmth filled his chest as he placed his hand on the pendant, as if there was a tenuous link between him and the gods.
As he stepped out of the cabin, he was surprised to see Freydis waiting for him at the door, still half-asleep.
She held a woolen blanket in her hands and silently handed it to him. "For the cold nights," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "And come back soon, Eirik. Mother will be devastated if you don't return."
He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "I will return, Freydis. But for now, I must leave. Watch over our family."
Freydis understood silently, and without another word, he turned to join the group gathered by the stranger, at the edge of the village.
They were a dozen men and women, their faces grim yet determined, each carrying a simple weapon: an axe, a spear, or an old leather shield.
The stranger stood among them, a gnarled staff in one hand, an air of mystery surrounding him. When he saw Eirik approach, he shook his head, as if to greet him with a simple but solemn gesture.
"You are brave," he said in a calm voice, addressing everyone.
"Many would have fled at the thought of defying giants and entering unknown realms. But courage alone will not be enough. You must show wisdom and loyalty. If any of you doubts, speak now and return to your family."
No one moved, and the stranger seemed satisfied. He then turned his gaze toward the mountains and spoke:
"We leave now. We have little time before the storm comes and the fate of the Nine Realms is sealed."
The group began to move, slowly at first, in heavy silence. The familiar sight of the village shrank behind them, then faded beyond the valley, giving way to rocky paths, dense forests, and the wild stretches of Midgard.
The world seemed bigger, vaster, and more threatening as they ventured into forgotten lands, where legends still whispered of ancient creatures and primal powers.
Eirik walked at the front, senses alert, listening to the rustle of the forest and the crackling of his footsteps.
The stranger's words echoed in his mind: the giants were real, and their anger was awakening. The tales he had heard in his childhood now seemed to take on a tangible, terrifying dimension.
As they progressed, the wind rose, bringing with it unfamiliar scents and strange whispers.
Like a warning from the ancient spirits, the wind blew across their faces, but none of them slowed their pace.
Their destinies awaited them, and in the silence between each step, Eirik felt a fire growing within him, a rising determination ready to ignite the world.
As they made their way through the dense forest and the village disappeared behind them, a strange tension hung over the group.
Each seemed lost in their thoughts, battling their fears and doubts.
Only the sound of their footsteps on the snowy ground and the cracking of branches accompanied their advance.
The trees rose around them, their twisted branches intertwining to form a canopy.
Eirik, at the front, tried to shake off the images of the village and Freydis that kept returning to his mind. He knew there would be no turning back.
In leaving, he had committed to a quest that went beyond simply protecting his family.
It was as if something was calling him, an ancient and primal force, far beyond what he could understand.
Suddenly, the stranger raised his staff, signaling the group to stop. He knelt and carefully examined the ground, his fingers tracing a series of barely visible marks.
Eirik bent down to look too, but he could only make out a slight indentation and a few scattered traces. Yet, the stranger seemed concerned.
"These are the tracks of the Draugar," he murmured, grave and focused. "The undead that roam abandoned places… tortured souls who refuse to join Hel."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, a palpable tension rising around them.
The Draugar were not mere creatures of legend; they were mortal beings, and the tales about them were far from reassuring.
It was said that they were invulnerable to ordinary weapons, driven by an insatiable hatred for the living.
"Move on, silently," the stranger ordered. "Do not wake them."
They resumed their march, this time slower, doubling their vigilance.
Every crack of a branch or rustle of a leaf seemed louder.
Eirik felt his heart beat faster, and his instincts screamed for him to turn back. But he forced himself to continue, gathering his courage.
After a few minutes of tense silence, a nauseating odor reached them, sour and decaying, the smell of death that seemed to hang in the air.
Eirik squinted and glimpsed, between the trees, a dark figure moving slowly.
It was a humanoid shape, but its movements were awkward, almost stiff, as if it struggled to stay upright.
Its eyes glowed with a sickly green light, and its skin was the color of abandoned corpses.
The Draugr suddenly turned toward them, its empty, cold eyes locking onto the group.
Eirik felt his muscles tense, every fiber of his body screaming to flee, but he forced himself to remain steady.
The stranger calmly raised his staff and muttered an incantation in an ancient language, one even the gods seemed to have forgotten.
A bluish light burst from the staff, illuminating the Draugr's face, which let out a moan before retreating, as though burned by the light.
"Stay close to me," the stranger whispered, his voice calm and steady. "They fear sacred light. As long as we stay united, they will not dare approach."
The group continued its journey in silence, while the Draugar faded slowly into the dark forest, but the smell of death lingered long after their passing.
Each of them knew that now, they were facing a much more real and terrifying danger than they had ever imagined.
The lands of Midgard, once familiar and comforting, had become a place of shadows and unknown terrors.
For Eirik, this brief encounter only strengthened his resolve.
The further he went, the more he felt that his place was here, among these shadows, facing the dark forces, for a purpose he did not yet understand.