Chapter 9: Shadows of Things to Come

Norway, 970 AD

Magnus stood at his father's side, his small hand resting on Mikael's knee as they waited outside the birthing room. Though only two years old, he carried himself with unusual poise, his violet eyes fixed on the door behind which his mother labored to bring his first sibling into the world.

The women of the village whispered about the strange child who moved with unnatural grace and spoke with clarity beyond his years. But Mikael saw only pride in his firstborn's peculiarities. In two short years, Magnus had already shown an extraordinary aptitude for everything his father taught him - from the basics of weapon handling to the ancient sagas of their people.

"Father," Magnus said softly, his clear voice cutting through the silence, "will I be a good brother?"

Mikael looked down at his son, struck again by the depth of understanding in those unique eyes. He placed a strong hand on Magnus's shoulder. "You already show the makings of one, my son. I see how you watch over our people, how you help those younger than yourself."

Inside the birthing room, Esther's cries reached their peak. Magnus tensed, his enhanced senses picking up more than just sounds - he could feel the pulse of magic in the air, the surge of power that accompanied new life. Then, cutting through it all, came the first cry of his new sibling.

The midwife emerged, her face glowing with joy. "A daughter, Lord Mikael! Strong and healthy!"

Magnus followed his father into the room, his keen eyes taking in every detail. Esther lay exhausted but smiling, holding a small bundle. As they approached, she turned the baby slightly, allowing them to see the newest member of their family.

"Freya," Esther whispered, the name carrying a weight that only Magnus, with his future knowledge, could fully understand. "Her name is Freya."

Magnus stepped closer, studying his baby sister's face. She was beautiful, perfect - and destined for a fate he knew he must prevent. The adult mind within him already began formulating plans, weighing options, considering consequences.

"Would you like to hold her, Magnus?" Esther asked, watching her firstborn with curious eyes.

With careful movements, Magnus accepted his sister into his arms. The moment he held her, something shifted in his expression - a fierceness entering his gaze that made even Mikael take notice.

"I will protect her," Magnus declared, his young voice carrying the weight of an oath. "Always."

Mikael beamed with pride, while Esther's smile faltered slightly. Something in her son's tone, in the intensity of his gaze, reminded her too much of the price she knew would eventually come due.

Later that night, as the celebration feast wound down, Magnus sat beside his father near the great hearth. Mikael had spent the evening accepting congratulations and sharing mead with the village warriors, but now his attention returned to his firstborn.

"You've been quiet, Magnus," Mikael observed, studying his son's thoughtful expression.

"I was thinking about the sagas you've taught me," Magnus replied carefully. "About how the greatest warriors were not just strong in battle, but strong in their duty to family."

Mikael nodded, pleased as always by his son's wisdom. "And what conclusion have you drawn?"

"That strength without purpose is meaningless," Magnus said, his violet eyes reflecting the firelight. "But strength used to protect those we love - that is what makes a true warrior."

Mikael reached out then, grasping his son's small forearm in a warrior's grip. Magnus returned the gesture instantly, his tiny hand somehow managing to convey both strength and respect. It was the first time they shared what would become their special gesture, though neither knew it yet.

From her bed, Esther watched this interaction with mixed emotions. Her firstborn son was everything she could have hoped for - strong, intelligent, caring. But there was something else there, something that went beyond mere precociousness. Something that, in her darker moments, made her wonder if she had somehow called forth more than just a child when she had begged the spirits to grant her a firstborn of unprecedented power.

As the night deepened, Magnus sat vigilant near his sister's cradle, his violet eyes alert despite the late hour. He had three years until Dahlia would come to collect her prize. Three years to grow strong enough, clever enough, to change what he knew was coming.

The adult mind within him knew the dangers of altering the timeline, but as he watched his baby sister sleep, Magnus knew some things were worth any risk.