"We will start by training your body. Right now, you're as soft as a lamb," my father said as I spat blood. I had hit my mouth on a rock when I fell.
He was right. I was acting like a stubborn child throwing a tantrum. It was the same in my past life. I was weak, so all I could do was lash out at the people who I didn't like. My father hit me with a smile on his face; he betrayed my mother with a smile on his face.
I had watched him for the past two years, and he treated life like a game, as if everything amused him. It was the way of the northerners. To laugh in the face of hardship as opposed to crying. It infuriated me, but it also made me a little jealous as I saw Ragnar acting like them. Why couldn't I be like that?
"I will hit you back one day," I said, wiping the dirt off my clothes and standing up.
"I look forward to it," he replied, still grinning. "Now, what you need most is stamina and some muscles to act as foundation. You'll run, jump, and swim for two hours each morning. Then you'll work on your strength by carrying rocks for 1 hour."
I did not object, and so that was what I did every morning before I went to see the seer. The path through the mountain was treacherous, causing me to sprain my ankle on my first run. My father offered no pity as he watched me limp through the course.
Ragnar did the same training I did. The training was supposed to last three hours, but he finished it in half the time and then went on to train by himself with his sword while I struggled to complete the course.
It was humiliating to be outclassed by someone who was supposed to be my younger brother. But it made sense that he was more athletic than I was; he spent the whole day training while my time was split between learning and meditating.
Still, what little pride I had wouldn't let me be outclassed by him, so I started waking up much earlier, before the sun even rose, while it was still dark out.
For me, it didn't matter whether it was light or dark; I could see just as clearly regardless. I strived in darkness and cold.
I started waking up two hours earlier to extend my morning training to five hours. I gradually got used to the path. I would run while jumping over logs and sharp rocks along the way. Then I would swim across a cold, freezing lake for 30 minutes.
For the rest of the training regimen, I would stack huge rocks on top of one another until they reached a certain height.
I followed this training for months, and I could feel my body gradually changing. For one, I stopped getting sick as my assimilation improved. The tattoo on my hand had now stretched past my wrist, and I was able to create more than just frost.
I could now produce ice crystals and freeze small amounts of water.
As I was finishing up my morning run, I spotted Ragnar crouching behind a tree. He put his finger to his lips, gesturing for me to keep quiet as I approached him. Crouching down beside him, I saw what he was looking at. It was a wild boar.
"Best to avoid it," I suggested. "Let's take another path."
Just then, he slid a dagger out from his waist. It was long and pointed, the blade clean, as if it had just been freshly forged.
"I'm going to kill it," he whispered, slowly creeping out of the bushes.
"Don't be stupid! That thing is twice your size! It will split you from balls to brains when it sees you!"
He ignored me, of course, and continued sneaking up on the wild boar from behind. The boar was too busy sniffing the ground, blowing up dust while making strange noises.
Ragnar slowly crept up to the beast, keeping the blade behind him so it wouldn't glint in the sunlight.
Ragnar's feet remained silent on the forest floor, and when the time was right, he attacked. He was fast; too fast for a child his age. The yellow, lightning shaped tattoo on his right hand, glowed softly as he drove the blade towards the boar's hide. The blade barely penetrated the boar's thick, hairy skin before it spun around wildly, knocking him to the ground.
Ragnar hit the ground with a loud thud, the blade clattering beside him.
The beast was fuming, its eyes red and froth coming out of its mouth. Its tusks were the size of a longsword and just as pointed. Ragnar squirmed on the ground, trying to find his lost dagger.
The beast charged, and I instinctively ran out of the bushes. With just a single thought, I created an ice shard in the shape of a dagger, in the palm of my hand. Due to my constant meditation, I had perfect control over my Máttur. I could mold whatever I wanted from ice with just a single thought.
The seer said most people only exhibited surface-level control, but I was able to control every single detail. If I didn't possess such control, I would only be able to create ice crystals without being able to alter their shape.
I plunged the ice shard into the beast's eyes while being careful of its large tusks. It released a scream that assaulted my eardrums and sent the distant birds flying. I used the chance to pick Ragnar off the ground and ran as far as I could.
When I was sure I had lost the boar, I collapsed to the ground with Ragnar falling beside me. I was breathing heavily, my chest heaving in and out from the fright. I looked to Ragnar, and he was smiling, which caused me to smile too.
Next thing I knew, the two of us were cackling hysterically.
"Did you see that?" he asked between laughs.
"I saw your legs in the air as you fell on your ass," I responded, still laughing.
"It was all part of the plan."
"If falling on your ass was the plan, I could've helped."
"Pff! As if." he grinned, kicked to his feet, then offered me a hand. I stared at him for a moment then took his hand and he pulled me to my feet.
"Wanna have a race back?" he asked.
I nodded and the two of us raced back to where Dag was waiting for us.
That night, we had a feast, all seven of us, including Runa. I hadn't seen her in a while, and her belly had grown significantly since the last time I had. She was eight months pregnant and expected to have her child within the next couple of weeks.
She had married a blacksmith, a man I had spoken to only a few times. I had mixed feelings seeing her with child. It felt as if the immature girl I used to play with was no more. The one I'd fought with day and night. The one I had come to love very much and thought of as a sister rather than an aunt.
We weren't a perfect family by any stretch of the word, but we were still a family.