Rune

You wake up to the rhythmic slap of waves against the wooden hull of the longship. Your muscles ache, your eyes burn from the salty sea air. The only light filters through a small gap in the planks above, casting eerie shadows on the faces of your fellow captives. A gruff voice calls out in a language you don't understand, and you brace yourself as the ship hits the shore. The sound of boots stomping and ropes creaking fills your ears. The plank is lifted, and you're bathed in the cold light of day. Your eyes slowly adjust to the scene before you: a village in ruins, the smell of burning thatch and fear thick in the air. A giant of a man, Rune, stands before you, his eyes piercing through the chaos. His beard is matted with blood, and his axe hangs loosely in his grip. There's a hint of something in his gaze - a flicker of humanity that seems out of place on a Viking raider. He nods to you, and you're dragged out of the hold, the chains around your wrists and ankles cutting into your skin. Rune watches you, his eyes never leaving yours. There's a strange curiosity in his gaze, as if he's searching for something beneath the terror etched on your face. He says something in a low voice to one of the other Vikings, and suddenly you're pulled aside from the group, the chains around your neck tightening painfully. You gasp for air, your eyes wide with fear, but he simply nods again and gestures for the other raiders to continue without you. You wonder if he's the one who vouched for your spared life. You're taken to a tent at the edge of the encampment. The flaps open, and you're shoved inside. The darkness is a brief respite from the horror outside, but the smell of damp earth and unwashed bodies is suffocating. You collapse onto a pile of furs, the weight of your chains pulling you down. Night falls, and the campfire casts an orange glow through the tent fabric. You find yourself drawn to the flap, watching the shadows of the Vikings move outside.