The first thing Sigurd noticed was the biting chill. It wasn't just the cold of a winter morning—it was primal, the kind that gnawed at the bones and made him keenly aware of his fragile, newborn form. His tiny limbs trembled beneath the furs swaddling him, and the woman holding him pulled him closer to her chest, her warmth a fragile shield against the frost.
"He is strong," the woman whispered, her voice filled with both exhaustion and pride. Her golden hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, and her piercing blue eyes shone with determination. "He'll be a warrior, just like his father."
"A warrior, or a conqueror?" another voice rumbled, deeper and rougher. A shadow loomed over them, and Sigurd could make out the silhouette of a large man with broad shoulders and an axe strapped to his back. His dark beard was flecked with frost, his eyes sharp and assessing as they fell on Sigurd.
"Ragnar," the woman said, her tone soft but firm. "He is our son."
Ragnar? The name stirred something deep within Sigurd. It wasn't a memory, not exactly, but a sense of familiarity that didn't belong. His thoughts, sluggish and disoriented, clawed at fragments he couldn't quite piece together. He had died. He remembered that much. And now, he was... here? In this tiny, helpless body?
"A loud cry means strong lungs," Ragnar said, crouching beside them. His presence was commanding, even to an infant's muddled senses. "The gods smile on him already."
The gods. Sigurd's hazy mind clung to the word. There had been a voice—a presence—before he woke here. Something ancient and overwhelming. Odin. The name came unbidden, and with it, a fleeting image of a glowing eye staring into his very soul. His thoughts spiraled, trying to make sense of it all, but the effort was exhausting. He let out a feeble cry, frustration mingling with confusion.
Aslaug's expression softened, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Hush, my little snake," she murmured. "The world is harsh enough. Rest while you can."
Her warmth and words soothed him, and for a moment, Sigurd allowed himself to drift. But even in this fragile peace, his mind refused to settle. Flickers of his past life intruded—memories of isolation, of endless boredom, of a life lived without purpose. And then, the temple. The statue. The promise.
The faintest hum buzzed at the edge of his awareness, like a distant whisper carried on the wind. It grew louder, more insistent, until it became a sharp ding that echoed through his thoughts. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he was slipping back into unconsciousness. But instead, something new appeared.
A glowing panel floated before his eyes, translucent and faint, yet unmistakably real. Words scrawled across its surface in a language he didn't recognize, yet somehow understood.
_____ ____ ____ ____ ____
System Initiated.
Welcome, Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye.
Primary Objective: Prevent Ragnarok.
Reward upon Completion: One Wish.
The panel flickered, and new text appeared below.
Stats:
Strength: 1
Dexterity: 1
Vitality: 1
Intelligence: 2
Vys (Energy): Locked
Quests:
First Cry: Assert your presence in this world. Cry with the strength of a future warrior.
Reward: +1 Strength, +1 Vitality.
Sigurd blinked, the effort monumental for his infant body. The panel—the system—was here, a tangible thread linking his past life to this strange new existence. The realization hit him like a hammer: this was no ordinary rebirth. The task Odin had given him, the weight of preventing Ragnarok, was real.
He stared at the quest, the words burning into his mind. Cry with the strength of a warrior? It seemed ridiculous, but the system's presence was undeniable. He felt it, an invisible force urging him forward, pushing him to act.
Taking a deep breath—or as deep as his tiny lungs could manage—he let out a wail. Not a feeble cry of an infant, but a raw, piercing sound that carried through the longhouse like a war horn. His throat burned, his chest heaved, but he didn't stop until his strength gave out.
Aslaug's eyes widened, and she clutched him closer. "He's strong," she whispered, awe in her voice.
Ragnar's laugh boomed, filling the room. "A voice like that will make the gods take notice! He'll grow to be a mighty warrior, mark my words."
In Sigurd's vision, the panel flickered again.
Quest Complete: First Cry.
Rewards:
Strength +1 Vitality +1
A warm sensation spread through his body, easing the ache in his throat and filling him with a faint sense of vitality. It wasn't much, but it was enough to reassure him. The system wasn't just a remnant of his past life—it was here to guide him, to help him grow. And he would need it. The world he'd been reborn into was harsh and unforgiving, and the path ahead would demand far more than the strength of a newborn.
As the storm howled outside, Sigurd lay nestled in his mother's arms, his tiny body warm against hers. For now, he was safe. But deep within, a fire had been lit. He didn't understand the full scope of his purpose yet, but he would. This was only the beginning.