At the very end of the top-floor corridor of Oslo Hospital, there was a room.

  Oslo’s hygiene and public safety were excellent these days. Patients and injured were few, leaving many hospital rooms empty. When Director Robert and his wife decided to adopt Ga, they renovated one of those unused rooms especially for her. By now, it no longer felt like a hospital room at all.

  A moment later, Jana entered, a towel draped over her elbow and a basin of water in her hands.

  “I knew you’d run back to your room just by following your footprints,” she said. “Look at your feet—so filthy!”

  She placed the basin beside the bed. “Come on, feet over here. Wash them before you get back on the bed.”

  Ga sat up obediently and lowered her feet into the water. Her eyes were empty, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

  Jana crouched down and began washing Ga’s feet. “Are you still angry? I already scolded that lunatic for you. He’s seriously not right in the head—treating such a pretty, lovely child so roughly… Oh! Look at this, you’re filthy! You really need to wear shoes. Stop running around barefoot all the time, it’s disgusting!”

  The water quickly turned murky as the dirt washed off Ga’s feet. Jana clicked her tongue, picked up the basin, and went into the bathroom to change the water.

  Robert entered the room and looked around.

  Normally, a child’s room would be filled with pictures on the walls, stickers, doodles, stuffed animals by the bed, toys or stationery scattered on the floor. But Ga’s room had none of that. It was spotless and empty, carrying an indescribable sense of hollowness.

  The only new thing was a wooden stick resting in the corner of the room.

  “What’s that?” Robert asked, pointing at it.

  Ga looked at Robert, then at the stick. After a moment, she got off the bed, walked over, picked it up, and sat down. She swung it casually a few times.

  “Every time I see them,” she said softly, “I feel like… maybe it’s time for me to leave.”

  “Leave?” Jana asked, re-entering the room and setting the basin on the desk. She pulled out a chair and sat down. “And where would you go, Miss Ga?”

  Both Robert and Jana listened carefully. Perhaps this was the moment they had been waiting for—the key to finally bringing her home.

  Ga raised the stick and pointed it out the window, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

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  “I want to go live with the Vikings.”

  The couple stared at each other in shock.

  “Live with Vikings?” Jana scoffed. “You might as well go live with bears.”

  “Do you mean the Viking orphans in Oslo?” Robert asked, frowning at Ga’s longing expression. His voice turned serious. “Ga, those Viking children are extremely violent. Living with them could get you killed.”

  “And you’d be filthy all the time,” Jana added half-jokingly.

  Ga’s smile faded.

  Robert felt a pang of guilt and quickly explained, “Ga, we do have a contract with the authorities. According to it, if you say you want to leave, you’re free to do so. It’s sworn before the gods—we wouldn’t dare stop you. But please listen to me. I’ve told you this before. I personally went there once to treat their injuries, and I was beaten nearly to death. If Roman soldiers hadn’t arrived in time, I wouldn’t be standing here now. Those Viking children are wild and hostile to outsiders. Even if you go with good intentions, they won’t show mercy. I’m not dismissing your feelings—I just… I don’t want you to die there. You’re so small. You could face something worse than death.”

  Ga stood up, clutching the stick, inhaling deeply as if ready to explode. She noticed Robert and Jana both raising their hands in panic, silently begging her not to scream or cry.

  So she spoke instead—her voice raised, sharp with emotion.

  “They have sticks, just like me.

  They don’t wear shoes, just like me.

  They’re not afraid of the cold, just like me.

  They’re children, just like me.

  They don’t have parents…”

  She paused. The couple looked at her, hearts aching.

  Then she continued, her grip tightening. “But they’re brave, just like me. And they’re angry, just like me.”

  She swung the stick hard, the sharp whistle of air making Robert and Jana flinch.

  “They’re the same as me. I belong there!”

  Her argument sounded childish, yet it carried its own logic. Still, in reality, sending Ga to live among the Viking orphans was undeniably dangerous.

  Robert snapped, emotion breaking through. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! How are you the same as them? If you die so easily, do you think your parents would be happy?”

  The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he had said something unforgivable. He bit his lip, guilt flooding his face.

  But it was too late.

  Ga’s face twitched with fury. Her hands clenched around the stick. Jana stiffened, alarmed.

  “Get out,” Ga said, forcing the words through her teeth.

  “Ga, I’m sorry, I just—” Robert tried to recover.

  “I’ve decided,” Ga said, turning her head away. “Tomorrow, I’m leaving to live with the Vikings. Now please leave. I want to be alone.”

  The couple left the room, faces heavy with sorrow. Before closing the door, they looked back at her one last time.

  Out in the corridor, their footsteps echoed faintly.

  “You shouldn’t have mentioned her parents,” Jana whispered. “That was too much.”

  “I know,” Robert sighed, rubbing his balding head. “I just wanted her to understand reality.”

  “Let her calm down first,” Jana said quietly. “We’ll talk again later.”

  Their voices faded. The room fell silent.

  Then Ga exploded.

  She tried to snap the stick in half, but her strength failed her. In rage, she smashed the basin on the desk, sending water splashing across the floor. She struck the desk corner again and again until the stick finally broke.

  Grabbing the broken pieces, she rushed to the bed and beat the pillow and mattress violently, feathers bursting into the air. When she had no strength left, she threw the stick aside, jumped onto the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and screamed until exhaustion took her.

  When the room grew quiet again, the storm inside her slowly subsided.

  And in that haze, memories began to surface.