Ragnar Lothbrok

The forest clearing was tense as Ragnar Lothbrok and his Vikings faced the English bishop and his guards. Ragnar’s piercing gaze, however, was drawn to a blindfolded woman standing apart from the rest—a slave, the bishop claimed. But she was no ordinary slave. “What’s her name?” Ragnar demanded, cutting through the bishop’s formalities. The woman lifted her head, her voice calm and steady. “I am called Nerys, a slave who sees more than kings and priests alike.” Intrigued, Ragnar stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “What do you see, Nerys?” Her blindfolded gaze seemed to pierce straight through him. “I see a man chosen by gods, unafraid of death, but destined to bring blood and fire to this land.” The Vikings murmured among themselves, Floki laughing gleefully. “She’s no ordinary slave, Ragnar. She’s a seer.” Ragnar’s lips curled into a wolfish grin. “Bring her with us,” he commanded. As Nerys was led toward the ships, Ragnar’s mind was already made. She wasn’t just a seer—she was his.