In the early days after the Viking orphans of Oslo were relocated to Sandvika, the burden of leadership fell solely upon the young Viking King, Arkyn Pladsen.

  His mind was as vast as the sea, his wisdom as fierce as fire.

  Though still young, he displayed extraordinary talent for leadership.

  He eagerly absorbed Roman knowledge, then forged it together with ancient Viking wisdom into something new. Under his guidance, even without the protection of adult families, the orphans learned to stand on their own—like roots that grow stronger when battered by the storm.

  In Sandvika, Viking children lived in groups.

  Each house formed a small family.

  They supported one another through the years of childhood. When Viking youths proved capable, they could choose to remain in communal living or build homes of their own. If young men and women pledged themselves as partners, they followed ancestral traditions, swore oaths, and formed families.

  Arkyn understood that wisdom must stand beside strength. Thus, he decreed a strict rule: every Viking orphan must take turns attending school, for knowledge was the bridge that connected the world.

  Older youths became teachers, passing on what they had learned to the younger ones.

  The youths themselves were instructed by jarls of greater knowledge and strength.

  Each jarl was personally selected and cultivated by Arkyn. Though young, they became the guardians and guides of Oslo’s Viking culture.

  Thus the tribe functioned in order.

  Some tilled the fields.

  Some fished the seas.

  Some sewed garments.

  Some patrolled the borders.

  Through constant learning in all its forms, the Viking orphans of Oslo grew. In Sandvika, they built a self-sustaining youth tribe—one that did not rely on adults—and in time, it became a Viking kingdom forged from wisdom and courage.

  And today, it was the turn of Tallev’s house to attend school.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  At dawn, Tallev pushed open the wooden door of the animal shed.

  Creaaak.

  Cold wind rushed in.

  Cows and sheep stirred awake with low sounds, their breath mixing with the stench of hay and manure.

  “Hey! Little white rabbit! Where are you? Time for breakfast!”

  His voice was sharper than a rooster’s crow.

  Ga jolted awake, cold and starving, and crawled out of the hay pile, straw clinging all over her body.

  It was a frigid Sandvika morning, the air cold enough to seep into bone.

  Yet Tallev stood bare-chested, heat rising visibly from his shoulders and chest.

  “Little white rabbit, are you really that afraid of the cold?” he laughed.

  “Hiding in the hay should be pretty warm, right?”

  Ga curled in on herself, staring resentfully at this thick-headed boy, too exhausted to argue.

  “Oh, right… you don’t even know who I am yet, do you?” Tallev grinned.

  “I’m your master. My name’s Tallev. Come on—say it. Tal—lev.”

  He exaggerated the shape of his mouth and pointed proudly at himself.

  Ga hesitated, then repeated quietly, “Tallev?”

  “Yes! That’s right! I’m Tallev—Tallev is me!”

  He clapped his hands and hopped in excitement, then gestured wildly.

  “So what about you? I’m Tallev—what’s your name?”

  Ga silently pointed at herself.

  “Ga.”

  Tallev froze, mouth hanging open, looking half-lost.

  Ga repeated, “Ga. Ga.”

  “Whoa! Look at this!” Tallev suddenly shouted toward the doorway.

  “He understands! His name’s ‘Gaga’!”

  He decided the nickname himself.

  “He’s human. Of course he understands,” a girl from the house muttered dryly outside.

  “You’re smart! Here—your reward!” Tallev ignored the sarcasm completely and tossed a handful of animal feed in front of Ga.

  The sour stench made her stomach churn.

  The rotten bread she’d forced down the night before nearly came back up.

  “Alright, alright! You guys eat up too!” Tallev turned to feed the livestock, whistling as the animals chewed noisily.

  Feeling utterly wronged, Ga made a decision.

  While Tallev’s back was turned, she bolted for the door.

  “Oh, he ran away.”

  “Tallev’s too stupid to take care of anything—no wonder.”

  “Tallev! The King’s gift ran off! If you lose it, the King’s gonna be mad!”

  Only after the teasing reached his ears did Tallev finally rush outside in a panic.

  Ga sprinted into the alleys, her steps uneven, eyes darting everywhere.

  Groups of Viking children along the road stared at her curiously. Some pointed and whispered. Some watched with glee.

  She felt like an animal on display.

  “Hey! Little white rabbit! Come back!”

  Her heart clenched at the shout.

  She ran.

  She had started far ahead—but her thin body was no match for a Viking’s powerful legs. In moments, Tallev caught up, tackling her roughly to the ground amid bursts of laughter.

  Tallev didn’t care whether she was starving or injured.

  He casually pulled out a rope, looped it around her neck like a collar, and dragged her along without concern—

  toward school.