On the north coast, where the waves of the North Sea crashed against jagged rocks with a roar, lay the village of Skjoldheim. The longest night of the year was approaching - a time when even the bravest Vikings felt slightly anxious. Rurik, freshly returned from an expedition to foreign lands, was traversing the snowy paths of his native village. He carried hardships and shadows - not only on his shoulders, but also in his heart. There were rumours among the locals that sad songs carried through the night, and that ravens - Odin's messengers - circled above the roof of his native cottage. As he approached his house, he noticed something disturbing under the moonlight. On the oak door was a runic mark he was unfamiliar with - a spiralling twisted symbol, surrounded by claw marks. He had never heard anyone in Skjoldheim write such runes. For a moment, it seemed to him that a shadow moved on the roof beams - the shape of a bird with eyes shining with the blue of ice. Rurik felt his heart beating harder. Then, out of the darkness, there came a quiet whisper and the sudden rustling of wings. Something was shining in the snow right at his feet....