The storm had passed by morning, leaving a thin layer of frost glistening over the village. The longhouse's wooden walls creaked as the wind eased, giving way to the distant sounds of the fjord—the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the calls of gulls circling above. Within the warmth of the longhouse, Sigurd lay in a woven cradle, his small body swaddled tightly in furs.
The world had begun to take shape for him. His mind, once muddled and sluggish, was sharpening with each passing moment. Though his infant body was weak, his thoughts grew clearer. He watched the movements around him with quiet intensity, trying to piece together the fragments of his new life.
Aslaug sat nearby, weaving a length of cloth, her hands deft and practiced. Ragnar stood by the open door, speaking in low tones with another man whose face was lined with years of battle. Sigurd strained to listen, his curiosity piqued.
"The seer has summoned us," Ragnar said, his voice heavy with thought. "She claims there is a storm yet to come, one that will test not only us but all the clans."
The other man grunted. "The seer's words are always riddles. What does she see this time?"
Ragnar's gaze drifted toward Sigurd. "She speaks of a child… a child born under Odin's watch. One who will stand at the heart of the chaos."
Aslaug's hands stilled, her eyes darting to her son. A silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Sigurd shifted in his cradle, his tiny fists curling instinctively. Though they couldn't know it, the weight of their words pressed heavily on him.
By midday, Ragnar and Aslaug carried Sigurd through the village. The settlement was alive with activity: men mending nets, women tending fires, children chasing each other through the snow. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and salted fish, and Sigurd's senses drank it all in.
They approached a smaller structure near the edge of the village, its entrance draped with thick animal hides. The air around it seemed different, charged with an invisible energy that made Sigurd's skin prickle. Ragnar held the flap open for Aslaug, who stepped inside with their son.
The interior was dimly lit, the only light coming from a small fire in the center of the room. Shadows danced across the walls, where strange symbols had been carved into the wood. At the far end of the room sat the seer, an ancient figure cloaked in dark robes. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles, her eyes clouded but piercing as they turned toward the family.
"You've come," she rasped, her voice like the rustle of dried leaves. "The child… bring him closer."
Aslaug hesitated, clutching Sigurd tightly. Ragnar stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "What do you see, seer? Speak plainly."
The old woman chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. "Plain words cannot capture what lies ahead. But I will say this: the boy's fate is intertwined with the gods. Odin watches him, as do others. His path will be one of fire and blood."
Sigurd's heart pounded in his tiny chest. He didn't understand everything the seer said, but he felt the weight of her words. They weren't mere theatrics—there was truth in them, a truth that resonated with the system's presence in his mind.
The seer leaned closer, her milky eyes narrowing. "There is something… unusual about this one. His spirit burns brighter than most. Tell me, child…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you hear them?"
For a moment, Sigurd thought she was speaking directly to him. He blinked, his body still, and then—
System Alert:
New Quest Unlocked: Whispers of Fate
Objective: Survive the seer's scrutiny and embrace your destiny.
Reward: +2 Intelligence, Vys unlocked.
Sigurd's vision blurred as the words faded, leaving him disoriented. The system's sudden appearance startled him, but it also affirmed what he already suspected: his presence here was no accident. The gods had plans for him, and the system was a tool to help him navigate this treacherous path.
The seer's expression shifted, her head tilting as though she could sense the unseen. "Yes," she murmured, a thin smile spreading across her lips. "You will be a force to reckon with, little one. But beware… the brighter the flame, the darker the shadows it casts."
Ragnar frowned. "What does that mean? Will he bring strength to our clan, or ruin?"
"Both," the seer said simply. "The threads of fate are never simple, Ragnar Lothbrok. But know this: his path is tied to the gods. Whether he walks it as their champion or their enemy remains to be seen."
Aslaug's grip on Sigurd tightened, her face pale but resolute. "We will protect him. Whatever comes, he is our son."
The seer leaned back, her expression weary. "The gods rarely care for mortal promises, Aslaug. But perhaps your love will be his shield. Now go. The storm is not far, and the child must be ready."
Ragnar and Aslaug exchanged a glance before stepping back, their movements cautious. As they left the seer's hut, Sigurd's mind raced. The system's words echoed in his thoughts, and he could feel a shift within him—a faint hum of energy, like the first spark of a fire waiting to grow.
Back at the longhouse, Ragnar placed Sigurd in his cradle, his expression uncharacteristically somber. Aslaug sat beside him, her fingers brushing against the child's cheek.
"What do we do now?" she asked softly.
Ragnar's jaw tightened. "We prepare. If the seer's words are true, then our son's fate will shape more than just our clan. We must make him strong."
Sigurd stared up at them, his tiny body still but his mind alight with determination. He didn't yet know how he would fulfill the destiny laid before him, but one thing was certain: he wouldn't face it as a helpless infant forever.
The hum of energy within him grew stronger, a promise of the power yet to come. And as the wind howled outside, Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye closed his eyes, ready to face the path ahead.