Fog as thick as milk loomed over the surface of the sea, hiding from view anything further than an arm's length away. On the seventeenth day of the expedition, Freyja stood at the bow of the drakkar "Wolf's Claw". The chill of the Arctic winds pinched her cheeks and dishevelled her fair hair, but the girl did not even flinch. She was the first woman in her family to be able to lead an expedition north, beyond the border of the known fjords. Behind Freya's back, on the deck, the murmur of conversation quieted. All the crew members, young warriors, craftsmen and even her older brother Leif, stared silently at the barely visible coastline looming in the distance. They knew that beyond the mist lay islands about which various things were said. They whispered of hidden grottoes filled with runes, of the sound of drums heard among the ice cliffs, of the light that sometimes comes on high above the horizon when the rest of the world is plunged into night. Freyja pulled an old, yellowed scroll from the pocket of her fur cloak. Her father's runes, carved with a trembling hand long ago. "When the light dances on the water, follow it. There you will find the answers." In all these years, no one had managed to return from there with anything. No one knew if there was really something waiting in the northern islands, or if it was just the courage and imagination of the Vikings. "Get ready to row!" - she called out, and the echo of her voice reverberated through the sails drying on the masts. Leif looked at his sister with concern. "Do you really believe we'll find anything out there?" he asked quietly. Freyja nodded. "I have to find out. Even if it's the last thing I do." The sun was peeking high in the sky, illuminating the mist with a bluish glow. At one point, like a flash of a blade, a sheaf of green light appeared among the waves. The crew froze. "Row faster!", Freyja shouted. The drakkar pressed forward, cutting through the cold waters. No story from the elders had prepared them for what they saw as the fog began to part. A dark silhouette, clearly human though unnaturally tall and slender, stood above the snow-white cliff. Her cloak blew in the icy wind, and a gleaming sword trembled in her hand. Freyja felt her heart beat faster. She was heading straight for what had never been described in any sagas. At that moment, no one on board dared to speak. The drakkar sailed away in silence, and the mist behind the stern closed like a gate to another world.