FANTASY

The Son Of Ragnar

The Son Of Ragnar by Kelvin_A is a fantasy novel, One must see through the deceit of one’s very own truth. Do you believe in the Old Gods? This story follows the life of a young African boy, who was ripped from the life he had known and thrown into an unforgiving one where a single mistake could cost him everything. Being branded a “thrall”, he was to be sold but an unforeseen event swept him ashore in the heart of the Norsemen, the Vikings. What fate has the Gods chosen for this child? is it one of salvation or one of destruction? Read The Son Of Ragnar Blurb Below.

The Son Of Ragnar Blurb

The icy spray stung Azuka’s face, a harsh awakening from the oblivion of the storm. He coughed, seawater thick in his throat, and the world lurched into a blurry panorama of churning gray waves and an impossibly vast, angry sky. A wave, larger than any he’d ever known, reared up, a monstrous wall of water that threatened to engulf the splintered remains of the ship he’d called home. Panic, cold and primal, clawed at his throat.

Just moments ago, the air had been thick with the tang of salt and the rhythmic groaning of timbers, the familiar sounds of his life aboard the merchant vessel. Now, chaos reigned. Men, his people, screamed prayers to gods who seemed deaf to their pleas as the storm savaged their vessel. Azuka, young and strong, had fought alongside them, hauling ropes and patching sails, but the fury of the northerner gods was too much.

A monstrous crack echoed across the deck. The world tilted violently, and Azuka found himself flung into the churning sea. He thrashed, the relentless water stealing the air from his lungs. He tasted salt and panic, the terror of a future swallowed by the endless gray. Just as his vision began to dim at the edges, a colossal wave, a harbinger of oblivion, rose above him.

Then, blessed darkness.

He awoke to the rhythmic crash of waves against a rocky shore, the raw scent of salt and seaweed filling his nostrils. Pain, a dull throb behind his eyes, pulsed with every beat of his heart. Azuka pushed himself up, wincing as his body protested, and surveyed the wreckage. The once-proud ship lay in splinters on the jagged rocks, a testament to the storm’s fury. He was the only one.

Desolation clawed at him. He was a child of the sun, his skin the rich hue of ebony, his world one of endless savannah and vibrant life. This, this harsh, unforgiving landscape of windswept cliffs and steely gray skies, was a nightmare alien to his soul. Yet, a flicker of defiance sparked in his chest. He had survived. The gods, whichever ones had claimed his shipmates, had spared him. Why?

A guttural cry pierced the air, startling him from his thoughts. He spun around, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. A hulking figure, clad in furs and bearing an axe that gleamed coldly in the pale light, emerged from the low-hanging fog. A beard the color of straw framed a face etched with the harshness of this unforgiving land. A Viking.

Fear, primal and cold, flooded Azuka. He was a thrall now, a captured slave, his future a tapestry woven with hardship and the ever-present threat of death. Yet, as the Viking approached, a strange glint in his steely blue eyes gave Azuka pause. Was it curiosity? Perhaps even a flicker of something akin to pity?

This was the beginning of Azuka’s odyssey. Torn from his homeland, branded with the mark of servitude, he found himself thrust into a world of violence and stoicism, a world where the gods demanded offerings of blood and valor. He would learn the ways of the Norsemen, the sting of the harsh wind on his skin, the feel of an axe heavy in his hand. He would grapple with the ghosts of his past, the memory of his sun-drenched homeland a constant ache in his heart. But most of all, he would wrestle with the question that echoed in the icy silence of the north: would the gods he didn’t believe in offer him salvation, or would they lead him down a path of destruction?