Scandinavia, c. 750 AD 

Long before the Norsemen carved their names into distant shores, the northern world was a land of scattered clans, harsh winters, and ancient gods who whispered through the pines. Life in Scandinavia was unforgiving. Villages clung to the edges of fjords and forests, each one isolated by mountains, storms, and rival clans. The people knew little beyond their own valleys. Their tools were simple, their knowledge limited, and their survival depended on the strength of their kin. Every winter tested them. Every summer was a race to gather enough food to endure the cold that always returned too soon. But in recent years, the winters had grown longer. The soil grew thin. Harvests shrank. Children were born into a cold that never seemed to end. Around hearth-fires and longhouse tables, a new longing began to take root, a yearning for lands where the earth was softer, the winds gentler, and the sun lingered longer in the sky. The Norsemen were no longer content with raiding the east for fleeting spoils. They hungered for something more permanent: warmer places to farm, to raise families, to build a future not constantly threatened by frost and famine. And beneath the frost, something was stirring.