It was a cool evening, and the sky over the fjord was sparkling with purple-grey clouds. Einar, the jarl's son, stood on the rocky beach, gazing alertly at the sea waves crashing against the shore. Next to him crouched his sister Runa, holding an intricately carved whale bone knife in her hand. Between them lay a heavy bag of crab bait. Their settlement, Skjoldheim, lay at the foot of a rocky hill, where the wind roared like a herd of wild horses. Armed boats hid all around, and the smell of roasting meat wafted from the smoky chimneys of the huts. Today, however, the siblings did not come here to fish. During the night, when everyone was asleep, Einar heard a low, dragging sound from the bottom of the bay, as if someone was dragging a heavy chain across the stone. When he woke Runa, they both felt the tension building up. Such noises did not occur without reason. - Do you hear that? - whispered Runa, clutching the knife. - 'Those aren't waves. Einar nodded, and their gazes turned to the water. They were snapped out of their reverie by a sudden flash of light. An unfamiliar fire blazed on the horizon, and the silhouette of a boat, unlike any of the known Viking drakkars, was lurking in the waves. A wave tossed a strange black trunk, gleaming with metal fittings, onto the shore. They moved over cautiously. Einar touched the trunk and felt an icy shiver run from under his fingers. Blue light flashed from under the lid and the air thickened with the whispers of an unfamiliar language. Runa moved away from the trunk and Einar, despite his fear, lifted the lid. In the same instant, the sky was torn apart by a terrifying thunder, and the boat glided faster and faster towards them from the horizon. The air hung in stillness, and the siblings could not take their eyes off what was happening in front of them....