The wind whistled through the fjords as Bjorn the Bold stood on the edge of the mountain, gazing at the winding river below. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the snow-capped peaks that framed the valley. His braided blonde beard caught the wind, and his weathered hands gripped the hilt of the sword that had served him for decades. He was alone now, a warrior at the twilight of his years.
Bjorn had fought in countless battles. From the shores of distant lands to the thick forests of his homeland, he had swung his axe and spilled blood in the name of his people. But now, the battles were over. His brothers had fallen one by one, leaving him the last of the legendary warband known as the Red Wolves. Today, Bjorn walked not to conquer but to reflect on the life he had led and to honor the spirits of his fallen kin.