THE SUMMONING
The barn was quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of horses chewing hay. Varnok carried two heavy sacks of feed over his shoulder. Each step creaked faintly across the wooden floor.
Nearby, Akio was feeding one of the horses, patting its side and laughing softly. The boy moved with ease around the animals, completely at peace.
Varnok paused to watch him. For a brief moment, his face softened.
Then—far in the distance—a faint, chilling scream echoed through the air, he could still hear the cries of the people from each battle.
His face hardened.
He exhaled slowly. His breath turned to mist in the cold air. Then, without a word, he turned back toward the barn doors.
He sensed something.
Varnok stepped forward and opened the door just a crack. Outside, a line of armored figures marched through the snow, heading straight toward them. Their pace was slow but deliberate—knights.
Akio noticed them too. He stopped petting the horse looking a bit angry.
The lead knight stepped forward.
"The King has summoned you, Viking."
Varnok didn't flinch. He looked down at Akio.
"Go to the house," he said. "I'll be back soon."
He placed a gentle hand on Akio's head, then turned and followed the knights.
Akio stood there for a moment, quiet. Then he sighed and kicked at the snow.
"Tsk…"
He looked toward the city.
He picked up a long stick from the ground and held it like a sword. His eyes narrowed.
"I can't just stay here and do nothing," he muttered. "He needs me. I know he does."
Without another word, Akio ran after them—toward the city.
The cold stone hall was dimly lit with flickering torches. Shadows stretched long across the floor. At the far end of the room, the King sat high on his throne, surrounded by High Lords, Generals, and Counselors.
Silence hung thick in the air as the Ice Viking entered.
He stood in the center, arms at his side, eyes forward.
"Viking," the King called from his seat.
Varnok didn't move.
"Yes," he replied flatly.
One of the High Lords stood up in anger. "In the presence of your King—you kneel!"
The knights draws their Swords.
Varnok stayed still.
"You're not my king," he said calmly.
The King raised a hand. The knights lowered their swords.
"Let him be," the King said, leaning forward. "Ice Viking… step forward."
Varnok walked slowly across the cold stone floor.
"There is war between the Vikings and this kingdom," the King said.
Varnok kept walking. "It's your kingdom," he answered. "That has nothing to do with me."
The lords murmured in outrage.
"You think they'll stop there?" the King asked, raising a hand for silence. "You know what those animals are like. Vikings… they don't stop until they've burned everything to ash."
"And yet I've protected the village just fine," Varnok said. "Without your help. Like it's always been."
"Without my help, there'd be no village to protect," the King snapped.
"There is a village," Varnok said, meeting his eyes. "And not once have you offered it your help."
"King... please. What an excuse."
The king nodded toward the general standing beside him.
Without hesitation, the general stepped forward and struck Varnok across the face. Then a second punch to the stomach. Finally, a heavy kick to the leg.
Varnok dropped to one knee.
"Good," the King said, tipping his goblet and pouring wine over Varnok's head. "Like the animal you are."
Murmurs filled the hall.
> "What an animal."
"Fits clearly—a dog."
"All Vikings should just die."
"Disgusting things."
The King laughed with joy as he was Pleased by the words of the people.
He leaned forward again, with his voice low.
"Maybe we should start with your wife… and child."
The room fell into a deadly stillness.
Varnok's eyes snapped open—glowing bright, ice-blue.
A shiver cut through the entire hall.
The ground began to vibrate.
Goblets trembled.
Torches flickered lower.
Then came his voice—cold, deep, inhuman. Like the cracking of ancient glaciers.
"If a single breath so much as brushes their skin…"
"I will bring down such ruin upon this kingdom that even the crows will starve for lack of flesh.
I will freeze your rivers.
Silence your bells.
And watch your palace rot from the inside—As your screams echo in halls no one dares enter.
Pray your tongue forgets their names… before I remember yours."
No one moved everywhere was silent.
Even the air seemed too afraid to stir.
Varnok stood still in the center of the throne room. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply, then straightened his back. When he opened his eyes, they were clear—unyielding.
"I will fight," he said calmly, voice carrying through the heavy silence. "For the village. Not for your kingdom."
He turned slowly to face the court.
"I'll lead your soldiers. We leave in three days."
Without waiting for permission, Varnok turned and walked toward the exit. Each step echoed against the stone—measured, steady, and full of silent power.
Behind him, the King's face twisted in rage.
"Kill him!" the King screamed, pointing with trembling fury. "KILL HIM!"
The court went still. All eyes turned to General Jorvak.
Tall. Fearless. Hardened by war.
He stepped forward instinctively, hand already on his sword—then froze.
His fingers tightened around the hilt. His lips parted slightly. Something was wrong, his whole body began to shake.
His blade slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor.
His breathing turned sharp and uneven. His eyes, wide as coins, stared straight ahead—locked onto Varnok's back as though staring into the mouth of death itself.
And then—Silence.
A dull thunk.
Jorvak's head slid clean off his shoulders and hit the ground with a soft, wet roll. His face remained locked in a frozen expression of confusion. His eyes still open as he sees Varnok exiting the palace.
His body stood for a breath longer… then crumpled to the floor.
Everyone stared, frozen in disbelief. No one had seen it. Not even a blur.
Varnok hadn't looked back. Hadn't broken stride.
He just… kept walking.
The only sign of what happened was the faint drip of blood from his right fingertips—rhythmic, quiet, like a ticking clock counting down something terrible.
On the floor, Jorvak's body bled into the cracks between the stones.
The King's voice still rang out, echoing uselessly into the hall:
"I said kill him!"
Hearing the King's voice snapped Jorvak back to reality—But his body was still gripped by fear.
He couldn't believe what he had just seen.
The king's voice still echoes in the chamber ordering his knights or anyone at least to kill the Varnok, but he sees his general shaking in fear with his hands trembled at the base of his neck… He stood frozen.
The King stepped back, with fear,
The court said nothing. No one moved.
You could see and smell the fear on every one of them, like it was a visible substance hanging in the air.
Silence devours the hall, fears thickens but Varnok doesn't look back.
Varnok kept walking.
He walks—slow, calm, deadly—leaving behind only terror, and a kingdom too afraid to breathe. the king still shouting but no one dares move. Silence follows the Ice Viking like a curse.