The journey ahead wouldn't be about reclaiming a city. It would be about crossing the known world to find the power to take it all back. The web of fate was spinning a new thread, one that would lead them from the frozen fjords of Norway to the golden spires of Constantinople.
"We aren't staying," Leif replied, looking toward the horizon where the sun struggled to break the clouds. "We are going to rebuild. Not here. Not in the ruins of the past."
"We cannot stay in the shadows forever," Harald said, his voice rasping from the cold.
The hunt had begun, but the prey was about to become the predator.
The forest outside Kattegat was silent, save for the rhythmic crunch of snow under heavy boots. Leif Erikson didn’t look back. Behind him lay the ashes of a dream—the burning remains of the city Forkbeard had seized, and the blood of those who hadn't been fast enough to escape.