𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟. 𝐈𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧.
Humans reveled in the idea of immortality, but those who possessed it wer...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
982 - Vinland (present-day America)
One of Elijah's earliest memories was being in a field with his father and older brother. This was only his fifth winter, however, Mikael had decided it was beyond time that Elijah began training. So in the early morning, he pulled both of his sons from their beds and out into the frigid air. Mikael thrust a small staff into Elijah's hands, who merely looked at his father with wide eyes.
The staff was heavy in his small hands. Typically, viking boys were not required to train until they were a couple of years older, but Mikael refused to let his sons grow up weak.
"Finn, come here." He gestured for Finn to stand opposite Elijah. Finn's staff was larger than Elijah's, which wasn't surprising since he was nearly twice his age. "Elijah, you've seen your brother train. Hold up your staff."
Elijah did as he was instructed, his hands trembling slightly. Finn, for his part, looked nervous to spar with his little brother.
"Begin." Mikael instructed. Elijah spent most of his days watching the warriors of their village train, however it was very different to hold up a staff, readying for an attack.
His brother hesitated for a moment but with one glance over to their father, Finn lunged forward, bringing his staff down sharply. Elijah reacted on instinct and brought his up to defend himself, however his brother was much bigger and stronger so the force was enough to throw Elijah back. Elijah landed on his back with a gasp as the air rushed from his lungs. He clutched onto the staff, remembering his father's lessons. Under no circumstance do you drop your weapon.
"Stand up." His father demanded and Elijah scrambled to his feet. His hands still vibrating from the force of his brother's strike. "Again."
Before Elijah could raise his staff, he felt the force of his brother's staff slam into his chest. He doubled over, struggling to breathe as his weapon fell from his hands.
"First rule, always be on your guard." Mikael growled, giving his son a disapproving look. "Pick up your weapon."
Their morning continued until the sun was high in the sky. Elijah had sweat dripping down his face as he struggled to hide his injuries from his father and brother. His chest ached and he had blisters covering his fingers and palms.
"That's enough." His father said after a particularly brutal round that left Elijah lying on the ground, gasping for air.
At his father's command, Finn lowered his staff and stepped away from his brother.
"Finn, go back to the house and help your mother with her chores." Mikael instructed, not looking away from his son on the ground. "Get up, boy."
Elijah knew that tone and he knew it would only serve to anger his father if he didn't comply. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up with all of the strength he had left.
