In the heart of a storm-tossed night, where thunder roared like ancient gods and lightning split the sky, a lone figure stood upon the edge of a windswept cliff. This was the land of the Norsemen, where the wild seas and the whisper of old magic entwined in the mist. The figure, cloaked in dark furs and the weight of many secrets, was the Seer, an old man whose eyes held the wisdom of ages.
Far below, nestled in the rugged embrace of jagged cliffs and sheltered by the tall, weather-beaten pines, lay Kattegat Harbor. The harbor was a bustling haven amid the tempest—a labyrinth of wooden docks and anchored longships, their masts swaying rhythmically with the pounding surf. Flickering torches cast a warm, wavering light over the cobbled streets, reflecting off the black waters that lapped against the sturdy stone walls.
The sound of the storm above was muffled by the creaking of ships and the murmur of voices, blending with the distant clamor of blacksmiths and the occasional, triumphant shout of revelers. Despite the chaos of the storm, Kattegat remained a vital stronghold, a nexus where the Norsemen’s fierce resolve met the ocean’s capricious will.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
The Seer stood atop the cliff, overlooking this hive of activity. In the distance, the clash of lightning illuminated a pair of ravens—one black as midnight, the other white as snow. They soared in a dance of destiny, their wings beating against the turbulent sky as if to herald an impending change. The Seer watched intently, his gnarled hands gripping the staff that had seen countless visions.
With a voice that seemed to echo through time itself, the Seer began to speak, his words carrying the weight of prophecy.
“Two ravens in the storm, one black and one white,” he intoned. “They are the bearers of fate, their flight a harbinger of a tale entwined with chaos and love.”
He paused, his gaze following the ravens as they wove through the heavens.
“The black raven carries the shadow of war, and the white raven brings the light of hope. Their paths shall cross in a land of conflict, where a princess of England and a warrior of the North are fated to meet.”
The Seer’s voice grew softer, his words a whisper to the winds.
“In their union lies the power to reshape the world—either to forge a new order from the ruins of the old or to plunge it deeper into chaos.”
The ravens vanished into the storm, leaving behind only the echo of their call. The Seer’s prophecy hung heavy in the air, a portent of the tumultuous journey that was about to unfold.