Chapter 1: Riverborn Prize
Kenji gasped awake, coughing up bitter river water that tasted of mud and decay. Rough hands hauled him onto the slick, heaving deck, the wood groaning beneath him. He blinked up at hulking shapes silhouetted against a stormy sky, their faces etched by flickering torchlight. "What is this?" he slurred, his modern Japanese accent feeling alien in his own mouth.
A giant with braided blond hair crouched, his calloused fingers gripping Kenji's soaked shirt. "Eyes like fresh blood," the Viking muttered, his own blue ones narrowing with calculating interest. Another warrior leaned in, his breath smelling of salt and mead. "Never seen that shade. They'll fetch a fortune in Kaupang."
Kenji's mind raced—this had to be a VR simulation glitch or some immersive historical reenactment gone too far. Bjorn, the captain, studied him without warmth. "You spilled from the river, boy. Where is your ship?" "Ship? I was on a bridge in Tokyo," Kenji stammered, the howling wind stealing his words.
Bjorn’s hand turned Kenji’s face toward the guttering torch, examining In chapter 1: he resurfaces from the river, he is rescued by a group of huge Viking men that help him aboard their ship. The men look at the young man and realizes his red eyes are very rare and lucrative. The young man is confused by the situation thinking this isn’t real. The captain of the ship informs the young man that the year is actually 1300. The young man realizes he’s time traveled to the past, causing him to faint in disbelief. crimson irises. "A curse or a gift, but rare." Kenji pushed weakly against the iron grip. "Let go! This isn't real!" Bjorn laughed, a sharp bark over the thunder. "Real enough. The year is 1300. You're in the North Sea now."
The words landed like a axe blow. 1300. Centuries before his birth, before anything he knew. The world tilted, the Vikings' faces blurring into streaks of beard and armor. Time travel. The impossible, stupid plot from cheap comics. A cold numbness swallowed his thoughts, and his vision tunneled to black before he slumped forward, unconscious.
He woke to the sharp smell of tar and wet wool, his cheek pressed against the cold, vibrating deck. A boot prodded his ribs, not gently.
“The sleeper awakes.” It was Bjorn’s voice, a rumble over the crash of waves.
Kenji pushed himself up on trembling arms. The Vikings stood around him in a loose half-circle, their expressions ranging from curiosity to contempt. One, a younger man with a chipped tooth, spat into the scuppers. “Worth more dead, Bjorn? Eyes like that, you could just cut them out. Less trouble.”
Bjorn didn’t look away from Kenji. He slowly drew a seax from his belt, the dull iron blade catching the grey light. “A man’s eyes, harvested fresh, are a curiosity for a rich jarl’s cabinet.” He squatted, bringing the blade’s edge close to Kenji’s face. Kenji froze, the cold steel scent filling his nose. “But a living man with fire in his gaze? That’s a tale. That’s a spectacle. Eyes worth gold, maybe, but only if they’re still in his head to stare down a buyer.”
The chipped-tooth warrior grunted, seeing the logic. Bjorn sheathed the knife, his decision made. “He lives. For now. Get him below before he freezes.”