PART 2: The White Wolf Chose the Boy No One Wanted
The settlement fell silent.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
The giant white wolf stood motionless inside the wooden enclosure—
massive paws pressing into frozen earth.
Its thick fur moved softly beneath the cold breeze.
Golden eyes never leaving the boy.
Watching.
Waiting.
The young boy froze.
Fear tightened in his chest.
The villagers whispered again—
quieter now.
Uneasy.
One warrior crossed his arms.
“He’ll never survive this.”
Another scoffed.
“Look at him. Barely strong enough to stand.”
The boy lowered his head.
Mud soaked his feet.
Cold burned through his legs.
But still—
he stepped forward.
One slow step.
Then another.
The rune near his collarbone pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
Almost unnoticed.
The elderly Viking leader leaned forward on his throne.
Eyes narrowing.
He had seen that mark before.
Long ago.
Far before the boy was born.
A symbol buried inside forbidden stories.
Stories people stopped speaking aloud.
Because those stories ended in blood.
The wolf lowered its head slightly.
Its breath rolled through the freezing air.
Closer now.
The enclosure creaked softly.
Several warriors reached for their weapons.
A woman in the crowd whispered nervously,
“Don’t let him near it.”
But the old leader raised one hand.
“No one moves.”
The boy stood only feet away now.
Heart pounding.
The wolf towered above him.
Its jaws could crush bone.
Its claws looked like sharpened iron.
The boy trembled.
Yet something inside him refused to run.
Then—
without understanding why—
he slowly lifted his hand.
Gasps spread instantly through the crowd.
“He’s insane,” someone muttered.
The wolf stepped closer.
Once.
Twice.
Close enough now that warm breath touched the boy’s face.
Then suddenly—
the enormous beast let out a low growl.
Warriors moved forward instantly.
Axes lifted.
Tension snapped through the air.
But before anyone could react—
the wolf lowered itself.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Its massive body bowed before the boy.
Silence crashed across the settlement.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
One warrior dropped his axe into the mud.
“No…”
The elderly leader rose from his throne.
Hands trembling.
Eyes wide with disbelief.
Because only one bloodline—
one forgotten family—
had ever made the White Guardian kneel.
A bloodline everyone believed had been wiped out generations ago.
The old man stared at the rune mark near the boy’s collarbone.
Then quietly—
almost afraid—
he whispered,
“The heir…”
The boy blinked.
Confused.
“What?”
The old leader slowly stepped forward.
Snow drifted between them.
His voice turned heavy.
“The wolf has chosen.”
Suddenly—
from the edge of the village—
a horn blasted through the freezing air.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
Urgent.
Danger.
A warrior rushed through the crowd.
Face pale.
Breathing hard.
“Raiders!” he shouted.
The settlement erupted into chaos.
Women grabbed children.
Warriors reached for shields.
But the terrified soldier shouted something else—
something that made every face turn cold.
“They’re carrying the black raven banner.”
The old leader froze.
Fear touched even his expression now.
Because that banner belonged to only one man.
A warlord thought dead.
A monster from the old stories.
And according to legend—
he had come once before.
For the boy’s bloodline.
The white wolf suddenly bared its teeth.
Growling toward the distant forest.
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