Darkthrone - A Blaze in the Northern Sky (1992)

 

Στη συνέχεια της ιστορίας του The Warriors Prayer, με το παιδάκι και τον παππού. Το παιδάκι με τη βλαμμένη φωνή συνεχίζει τις ερωτήσεις στον παππού που θέλει να πάει στο καφενείο να παίξει τάβλι.

"Grandfather, tell me a story."

"Oh, very well then. But not from the books—tonight, I’ll tell you a true tale from the age of darkness."

"A true tale? About what?"

"About the night when the northern sky first burned with fire..."

It was the dead of winter, the year of my fifteenth winter’s passing.

Snow lay thick on the ground, and the trees of the black forest whispered like old spirits in the wind. I wandered further than ever before, drawn by a sound—low at first, but rising—like distant thunder, like the call of drums in the abyss.

Through the pines I walked, until the forest opened to a great plain of ice.

There, beneath the pale light of the moon, I beheld them.

Three figures cloaked in shadows, their faces pale as bone, their eyes burning with a fire not of this world. They stood like guardians at the edge of eternity, as if they themselves had been born of the night.

Suddenly the silence broke. A scream pierced the air, not of fear, but of war, of defiance against gods and men alike.

The sound tore through the clouds, and as if in answer, the heavens split. Above them the northern sky ignited—black flames, white fire, a blaze that devoured the stars themselves.

The three raised their hands, and with them rose the might of the old North. Wolves howled, shadows writhed, and the frozen ground cracked beneath their feet. It was no mere gathering of mortals—this was a summoning.

From the blaze descended the spirits of the past: the frostbitten dead, warriors with hollow eyes, kings long buried in ice. They formed ranks in silence, awaiting only the command.

The leader stepped forward. His voice was like iron and storm, carrying far beyond the edge of the world:

"By fire and frost, by shadow and steel, we carve our path in the blaze of the northern sky. We are the keepers of the true darkness, the heralds of eternal winter. Let no false light remain."

And with that, the earth shook. The army of shadows surged forth, carrying the fire of the northern sky into every corner of the world. Villages turned to ash, kingdoms fell silent, and all who opposed them were buried in snow and flame.

When dawn came, the sun did not rise. Only the pale glow of the northern blaze remained, eternal and unyielding.

And there, atop the frozen plain, the three figures stood, cloaked in frost and fire. The world would remember them not as men, but as something more—keepers of the black flame.

They were called Darkthrone.

"Well, my child, did you enjoy the story?"

"Yes… but it was frightening too."

"As it should be. For the blaze in the northern sky still burns, and always will."