Hjørdis was sitting in the condo’s reception, waiting in the armchair across from the desk. She scrolled through their phone, hunting for deals on various online shopping sites, while idly twirling her hair into a makeshift ponytail to pass the time.

At one point, she heard a taxi pull up outside the lobby. That’s when she saw the young man with white hair step out of the vehicle. He looked irritable—maybe it was the journey, maybe the oppressive summer heat—she couldn’t tell.

The young man made his way to the reception, glancing around before his gaze locked onto Hjørdis. He walked straight up to them and dropped the suitcases he was carrying onto the floor.

“Hi, Sigurd,” Hjørdis greeted with a smile.

“Hi,” he murmured.

“How was your trip?”

“Terrible. Airlines just keep getting worse.”

“You didn’t like first class?” Hjørdis asked, rising from the chair.

“The flight itself was fine. It’s the airport—the lines, the delays, the security checks. I almost left one of the guards jawless,” Sigurd said, rubbing his temple in frustration.

They grabbed the luggage together and made their way toward one of the buildings behind the main pool. Once there, they called their advisor and waited.

“I guess you were right,” Hjørdis said.

“About what?” Sigurd asked.

“About your father. I mean, it happened when you were nineteen, but you weren’t far off.”

“I expected it. At least it gave me time to prepare,” Sigurd replied casually. “But that doesn’t matter anymore.”

The elevator arrived on the first floor, and both stepped inside, pressing the button for the sixth floor and waiting as it ascended.

“By the way…” Sigurd began, hesitating. “I think I should thank you.”

“No need,” Hjørdis replied. “Consider it payment for all the times I teased your hair. Honestly, you might not feel so grateful in a few minutes.”

“Why’s that?”

Hjørdis said nothing. They stepped out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened on the sixth floor, darting to one of the doors and fumbling for the key in their shorts pocket.

Sigurd hauled his luggage out of the elevator and hurried to Hjørdis, who opened the door and motioned him inside the dim apartment.

Once inside, Sigurd fumbled for the light switch in the gloom of drawn curtains and unlit bulbs. Seconds later, he clicked it on—and immediately heard faint pops, saw confetti scatter through the air, and streamers descend over his head.

His companions stood before him, holding party supplies and shouting, “Surprise!”

“Sorry,” Hjørdis said quickly, “this was their idea. I wanted us all to meet you in the lobby.”

“Right… sure,” Sigurd muttered, shaking streamers from his hair.

The others helped him settle his luggage as Hjørdis gave a tour of the apartment. It was spacious, with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a shower with a built-in jacuzzi, and a kitchen equipped with two stoves.

At the end of the tour, Hjørdis showed Sigurd the room he would stay in: a medium-sized bedroom with a bed big enough for two, a window overlooking the interior of the condo, and a flat-screen TV.

Looking around, Sigurd asked, “Your father’s a druglord or something?”

“You wish. He’s one of those suited guys who do deals with energy companies or whatever,” Hjørdis replied. “Just get comfortable. We have something important to tell you at dinner, so shower, change, and put your stuff away—you smell worse than usual.” She draped a towel over his shoulder.

Sigurd closed the door, unpacked some clothes into the drawers, hung others in the closet near the window, and finally collapsed on the bed, staring at the cream-colored ceiling until sleep claimed him.

***

Hours later, as Hjørdis had suggested, Sigurd took a long, cold shower, carefully lathering up and washing his hair with one of the shampoos his companions had left in the bathroom.

When he finished, he dressed in the outfit laid out for him: a casual dark green button-up shirt, khaki shorts, and brown sandals.

He left his room around six in the evening and found his friends in the kitchen, each busy preparing dinner. Hjørdis chopped vegetables, Karl marinated meat, Rune stirred sauces, Holger peeled potatoes, and Arvid cooked whatever was ready to go into the pots.

Sigurd offered to help, but they told him they were almost done and that he could watch TV in the meantime. They asked him to pick a good movie from the on-demand service.

He agreed, sinking into the sofa in front of the television, scrolling with the remote through a digital platform with its name highlighted in red letters.

A few minutes later, Arvid called him to the table for dinner. Sigurd left the movie playing, still unseen, and moved to the wooden dining table to take a seat.

The others set plates and settled in. Deep red meat was served alongside vegetables and sautéed potatoes, while frothy beer filled tall cylindrical glasses, ice floating to the brim amid the foam.

Once everyone was settled, they joined hands, interlacing their fingers, and said, “Thanks for the meal,” before starting to eat.

“What is this?” Sigurd asked, spearing a piece of meat with his fork.

“Goulash,” Karl replied. “It’s European—I saw the recipe online a couple of days ago. You like it?”

Sigurd popped the meat into his mouth and began chewing. After swallowing, he said, “Not bad… though I think it could use some rosemary.”

“Rosemary!” Karl snapped his fingers. “That’s what the sauce was missing. Rosemary… rosemary…”

“This is worth trying.” Sigurd grabbed his glass and took a long pull. “A cold beer—just right.”

“Hadn’t you already had one?” Rune asked, biting into a potato.

“Here and there, after I turned sixteen. But stealing a can isn’t the same as drinking from a glass with ice, on a dry station, with good friends.”

“You’re making me blush,” Hjørdis said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

“As if I could.” Sigurd lowered his glass. “I want to ask you something. What was the first thing you did when you turned eighteen?”

“I bought a shotgun,” Karl said. “I wanted a pistol, but apparently, I have to wait another two years.”

“I got a credit card,” Holger added. “Haven’t used it much, but it comes in handy.”

“I got an implant,” Hjørdis said.

“Where?” Sigurd asked, eyeing her from head to toe. “Everything looks natural.”

“Under my arm, you idiot.” She lifted her left arm and pointed with her index finger. “It’s so I don’t have kids.”

“Wow… I didn’t know that was possible. Technology has really come a long way,” he said, thoughtful.

“You can say that again,” Rune said. “One of the things I felt most relieved about was not having to lie about my age to get into adult places.” A small laugh escaped, echoed by the others.

“Damn, I couldn’t believe how easy it was to find all that online,” Karl said. “My parents almost caught me a couple of times in my room—I think I developed a sixth sense for hearing their footsteps.”

“Mine was worse,” Arvid said. “My parents thought I was a lesbian or something when they found magazines with naked women in my room. If only they knew the truth…” She drained her glass.

“You’re pigs,” Hjørdis said. “That’s all you’ve got in your heads.”

“Don’t act all innocent,” Karl said. “I’m sure you had to look up something online to… entertain yourself from time to time.”

“Not… as much as you,” she said, taking another sip of her beer. “But let’s just say I’ve read one or two stories with… men together… more than once.” Her cheeks tinged pink.

Her companions gasped in surprise, while she remained silent, a faint smile playing on her lips.

The group continued eating, and after a few minutes, they were done.

The plates were almost clean, and the beer was gone. That’s when the conversation shifted.

“Here’s my question,” Karl said. “Which of you has a partner?”

Silence fell. Everyone stared at Karl, puzzled. After a few awkward seconds, Rune asked, “Why ask that now?”

“I don’t know… maybe it’s the beer. I just felt like knowing about your romantic conquests. It’s easier these days than it used to be.”

“True enough,” Hjørdis said. “Have you seen that Tinder app? It’s amazing—so many handsome guys to choose from.”

“Maybe for you,” Rune said. “It’s harder for the boys, I guess that’s normal.”

“Now that you mention it, I had something like a relationship last year,” Arvid said. “But it didn’t go further than a kiss on the cheek.”

“With a man?!” Hjørdis asked, eyes wide with excitement.

“No. A girl… which is why it didn’t work. She said I was a ‘tomboy.’” Arvid’s tone fell.

“I see… what about you, big guy?”

“I… don’t want to talk about it,” Holger said.

“Of course not,” Karl chuckled.

“Captain, are you hiding something?” Hjørdis pressed.

“The big guy is just modest.”

“Captain, please,” Holger pleaded.

“He asked me for advice on how to respond when a girl confessed to him, then how to act on the date, then which condoms to buy, what motels to pick, and finally what to do if she cried because he didn’t return her feelings. And he did this at least six times, always in that order.”

Those at the table watched, baffled, as Holger buried his face in his hands, Karl merely smiling, and the others were stunned by the revelation. Sigurd even whistled sharply, imagining his friend’s… capabilities.

“Wait a minute.” Arvid hesitated. “Was that back in high school? You know… with teenagers?”

“Of course not.” Holger shook his head. “That was in the last few months. I’m not attracted to anyone too young, and I don’t think it’d be right anyway. I mean, I’m way older than them if you really think about it.”

“Tell me about it.” Sigurd leaned back, smirking. “Besides, girls are boring.”

“How about you, Sigurd?” Karl asked.

“Like I said, girls are the worst—especially teenagers.” He looked away. “They claim to like your ‘rebellious, tough attitude,’ but then they want to change you, train you like a choirboy. Most of the ones I’ve met were like that… or painfully shy. I don’t like shy girls—I want a warrior who won’t break easily.”

“A Valkyrie, perhaps?” Arvid teased.

“Don’t exaggerate. But if a woman could hold her own against me in a fight, I’d be impressed… maybe even turned on.”

“Oh…so you like a little masochism,” Hjørdis laughed, the sound ringing out.

“And you?” Sigurd turned to her. “I suppose with your dad loaded with cash, the boys must’ve fought over you.”

“At first, yeah. But then they’d tell me they wanted me as a girlfriend, that they’d marry me when I grew up, and blah, blah, blah. I don’t want that. I’ve been married once already, and I’m not ready for anything serious right now.”

“How many?” Rune asked.

“I stopped counting after ten—my fingers weren’t enough anyway. One thing I had to learn the hard way? How to use contraceptives. That, I’ll never forget.”

The boys exchanged impressed looks, similar to what they had given Holger, but quieter this time, as if it barely surprised them.

“Captain has been asked plenty,” Arvid said, “but you haven’t said a word. How about sharing a bit about your love life?”

The others nodded in agreement, urging Karl to respond. He relented under their insistence.

“Alright. Truth is, I haven’t done much in that department.”

“What?!” Sigurd exclaimed. “I don’t buy it.”

“It’s true,” Hjørdis chimed in. “You’re not bad-looking, you’ve got charisma… just a little short on money and responsibility. But I’ve seen worse—guys with a girl on each arm.”

“Yeah,” Rune added, “don’t you know how to flirt these days?”

“It’s not that. I just haven’t met anyone I like.” Karl’s voice was shy. “You know me—I’m hopelessly romantic. These days, girls just want sex and fun. Nothing against that, but I want a girl I can take on a proper date, fall in love with… someone interesting in thought and action, who shakes my world. Kind of like what you want, Sigurd… only let passion, not battle, defeat me.”

“Well, Captain, I didn’t know you were that passionate,” Sigurd said, smiling.

“What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic.”

The conversation drifted on as twilight deepened into night. By then, everyone had cleared the table and helped wash the dishes and glasses.

Later, the group settled onto the couch and resumed the movie Sigurd had queued up, paused automatically when no one had interacted with the device.

“I can’t believe you picked this one,” Hjørdis groaned. “I watched it with my sisters when I was, like, seven.”

“I just grabbed the first thing I saw before dinner,” Sigurd explained defensively. “The girl on the cover looked fine.”

"The Princess Diaries", Rune mocked. “Didn’t think you liked these kinds of movies, buddy.”

“Shut up. If you don’t like it, we’ll change it.”

“No, wait,” Holger interjected. “Curiosity got the better of me. Let’s see how it ends.”

“Yeah, just watch what Paolo did to that girl,” Karl said. “That guy’s got style.”

As the movie rolled, they drank beer and nibbled from a bowl of assorted snacks. Near the end, Sigurd leaned toward Karl.

“By the way, what was so important you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh…almost forgot,” Karl said, staring him down. “We’re thinking about going back to the game.”

“‘Going back to the game’? What do you mean?”

“The battlefield. Fighting strong enemies for hefty rewards, tasting the glory of victory.”

“I thought we agreed that whenever we do that, we end up dead. What happened to ‘enjoy the peace while we can’? You guys forgot that night in the dance studio six years ago?”

“How could I forget?” Hjørdis said, grinning. “Especially when the next Saturday, Arvid and I had the best night of our lives.”

“Yours, maybe,” Arvid countered. “I had to pry you off that guitarist because you kept insisting he give you a lock of hair—or a French kiss.”

“Don’t blame me—I was a teenager, hormones all over the place.”

“Whatever.” Sigurd threw up his hands. “Why go back to the battlefield?”

“For me, boredom,” Karl said seriously. “I haven’t traveled the world as I wanted, and dance and martial arts classes haven’t quenched my hunger for new experiences and interesting people. It’s just not the same.”

“The rest of us have our reasons.”

“Really? What about you?” Sigurd asked the others.

“Boredom, same as the captain,” Hjørdis said. “I’m tired of luxury, handsome boys, and parties. I want some action.”

“I want to have fun with you all,” Holger replied. “It’s true that a lot of bad things have happened to us, but the battlefield is where I’m good, where I feel most connected to you. And if I can help those in need along the way, that’s good for everyone—or at least, that’s what I believe.”

“Money.” Rune said flatly. “I wanted to study microbiology, but I couldn’t get a scholarship. They only had spots for minorities, and I don’t have enough cash.”

“Couldn’t you ask Hjørdis?” Sigurd asked.

“My father watches everything I spend,” she answered. “If it’s not for my own enjoyment, he won’t approve. He may be indulgent, but he only spoils his daughters.”

“I see… What about you, Arvid?”

“You’re going to laugh.” She replied.

“Probably. Come on, spit it out.”

Arvid let out a soft sigh, staring at her hand for a moment before speaking.

“I want to feel like a man again.”

“…Okay… that… isn’t so strange,” Sigurd said, monotone.

“Really? I thought you’d say something like, ‘Just get the surgery, man,’ or ‘It’s what’s inside that counts.’”

“I wouldn’t… well, maybe I would have thought that, but I can understand the feeling.”

“Now that you mention it, have you considered surgery?” Karl asked. “Nowadays, you can get just about anything fixed.” He emphasized the last sentence.

“I’ve tried, but something always happens to stop me from seeing a specialist. The clinic burns down, the surgeon ends up hospitalized, the car I take to the appointment gets wrecked, my father fights the other driver, and he gets arrested. Anyway… I guess it’s part of the test.”

“You mention that again. What do you mean by ‘the test’?” Hjørdis asked.

“I think it’s some kind of punishment, and I have to overcome it in a specific way if I want to be like I was before. That’s why I can’t take shortcuts or… cheat. I don’t know exactly how it works yet, but something inside me tells me there’s a way—I just have to find it along the journey.”

“Now that you say it, that makes sense,” Rune said. “Remember the last time we were in that infinite darkness? Your spectral form was the same as it was in Iceland. That’s never happened before.”

“What are you implying?”

“Maybe your soul has a ‘flaw’ because of something you did in past lives. And if it has a flaw, it can be changed, polished, or removed. We just need to figure out how.”

“I hope that’s true.” Arvid said, clutching their pants with their fingers.

“Since everyone insists,” Sigurd said, “I suppose I can’t just sit back and watch them get slaughtered.”

“So you accept?” Karl asked.

“Of course. But I have another question.”

“Just ask it.”

“What are you planning? That look you’ve had the whole conversation… I’m guessing you’ve got something up your sleeve, something very… 'you'.”

Karl simply smiled with quiet confidence and promised to explain everything in more detail in the morning. He admitted he was sleepy and that it was best for everyone to go to bed.

They did. The TV went off, and each retreated to their respective rooms. Karl and Rune shared one, as did Holger and Hjørdis. Arvid slept on the living room sofa bed, Sigurd went to his room, played a bit on his phone, and then drifted off.

***

The next morning, the group gathered around the table for breakfast. Some made eggs and toast, others opted for cereal with orange juice.

After the first meal of the day, Karl spoke about how he had won a Krav Maga competition less than a year after graduating. One of the attendees said they were impressed by his unique fighting style and asked if he’d consider taking a test for a kind of off-the-books military contract. Karl hadn’t paid it much attention at first, but he took the man’s card.

After some research, he realized the recruiter specialized in finding people skilled in firearms and combat, recruiting them as security for wealthy clients who wanted guards that wouldn’t ask questions. The recruiter would take a cut of whatever the contracts earned.

Karl also explained that, depending on their performance in the tests, they could choose what type of protection to provide—bodyguards at a compound, freelance agents for nations in conflict, or assault teams for missions too dangerous even for high-ranking military units. All of this off the official records, of course.

“Basically mercenaries,” Rune said.

Indeed—they would become mercenaries, but the upside was the freedom to choose who they fought for and under what conditions. No stupid orders, no dying for a nation that wouldn’t remember them—everything on their terms.

After some discussion, the group agreed to give this recruiter a chance and see if it suited them.

***

A few days later, Karl contacted the recruiter, stating that he wanted to take the test with some trusted companions. The man hesitated at first but agreed with curiosity when Karl assured him he wouldn’t be disappointed with the results.

The group was then taken in a convoy to the testing site, their eyes blindfolded for hours. They remained that way until the vehicle finally came to a stop.

They were led into a space where the blindfolds were removed, revealing a field of grass and mud that resembled a soccer pitch—only this one had trenches, barbed wire, and every kind of obstacle you’d expect from a training ground for army recruits.

They stood alongside a dozen other men, all bearing scars, tattoos, and expressions that spoke of rough lives, lined up shoulder to shoulder in front of the field. One of the men from their convoy walked to the center of the formation and finally spoke:

"All of you are here because you want to be part of something bigger. You want to serve for more than a flag, to risk your bodies for a better life. I understand that—I was in the military myself—but I never liked putting my flesh in the path of bullets for a mere pension.

"Now you’ll show me if you have what it takes to join this line of work. The rules are simple.

"You’ll take a uniform and a backpack. You carry it the entire time, and you must reach the other side of the field. Lose it, break it, or arrive without it, and you’re out.

"You may use any weapon available here. The rifles only fire paint rounds, so apart from the eyes, you won’t sustain lethal injuries.

"Strike one of the examiners in a vital spot, and they’ll stop—you can continue without fear of attack.

"Beyond that, no weapon is forbidden. Knives, fists—whatever you choose.

"Our examiners will engage you, and if any manage to mark you with paint anywhere above the neck, you’re disqualified.

"You can act alone or in groups—it doesn’t matter—but the more of you there are, the more examiners will be sent after you.

"You have thirty minutes to reach the other side. It’s just over a mile, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Any questions?" He finished, scanning the candidates before him.

"I have one," Karl said, raising his hand.

"Yes, the fair-haired lady."

"Can we choose any weapon from this place?"

"Indeed."

"Oh, here we go again," Rune muttered under his breath.

"And what about that shed by the dorms? Can we take weapons from there?"

"Planning to wield a hammer or a broom?" the convoy man replied sarcastically, then laughed heartily, setting off laughter from everyone except Karl’s group.

"So… that’s a 'no'?"

"Do as you please, rookie. The one losing will be you."

"I’ll try not to disappoint," Karl said.

"Any other questions?" The man looked over the rest, and when no one spoke, he continued. "All right, head to the dorms and find a uniform that fits. I see we have two young ladies with us today. I hope it doesn’t bother you to change in the same room as the men—we don’t discriminate here." He ended by stepping in front of Hjørdis.

"No problem, handsome," she replied. "Right, friend?"

"Not at all," Arvid answered confidently.

The man left, and the others were guided to the dorms, where two piles of military uniforms awaited them—one large for men, one smaller for women. Everyone searched for a fitting size and began changing.

The dozen men stripped and donned their uniforms, while Karl’s four walked to one of the bunk beds, holding up a tarp to block the view of the girls changing. The others watched, intrigued, but merely smiled mockingly.

Once Hjørdis and Arvid had dressed, the rest followed, and they stepped outside to select weapons for the trial.

Arvid’s choice was simple—she grabbed one of the paint rifles the others used. Holger wrapped his hands with bandages he found in a locker. Sigurd grabbed a pair of machetes from the shed. Hjørdis picked two military knives from one of the trunks next to the rifles. Karl took two large woodcutting axes, snapped the handles by leveraging them with his feet until they were the perfect length for throwing. Rune grabbed a toolbox and some paint rounds for the rifles.

With their gear ready, they moved onto the field.

The trial began once everyone was in position, weapons in hand, backpacks weighing roughly sixty-five pounds. The convoy man signaled the start with a whistle.

To his surprise, six of the candidates didn’t run or take cover—they simply walked toward the far side. Hjørdis even asked Holger to help with her backpack, while Karl offered to carry Arvid’s.

The man tried to argue that they were breaking the rules, but Rune pointed out that they hadn’t lost their backpacks, had no damage, and no examiner had taken them—so this was just a strategic alliance, which wasn’t forbidden.

The man had no choice but to grudgingly accept, warning them to watch their backs.

Minutes passed. The group watched as some fell victim to traps in the ground or were ambushed by examiners who knocked them down and marked their faces with paint. A few tried to corner them, but they split quickly and subdued the attackers, taking them down in synchronized pairs.

Halfway through, they noticed that besides them, only two other candidates remained. Those two were disqualified after being hit with paint rounds to the torso.

The group took position behind a barricade, using rifles taken from the examiners they’d defeated to fire at distant opponents.

After a few minutes, Arvid climbed a hill while the others provided cover from the barricade. She aimed carefully at the snipers’ heads, and the shots stopped.

They continued walking and reached the far side with ten minutes to spare. They crossed the finish line mockingly—jumping, dancing—but the fact remained: all six had passed.

The convoy man admitted that it was the first time he’d seen a group complete the trial so efficiently. Curious, he asked what kind of training they’d had. They simply replied that it was natural talent.

Those disqualified were led away, blindfolded again, and returned to the starting point. The rest received military dog tags engraved with a star-like symbol, indicating acceptance.

Minutes passed as they entered their data into a computer unlike any ordinary model, packed with attachments and unusual structure. Once done, they were informed they were now registered as "private contractors" and could receive and accept missions. They were also offered the option to register as a group, which they accepted.

When asked what name they wanted, they exchanged looks and asked Sigurd to speak.

"We are 'the Apple Eaters'," he said with a subtle sigh of resignation.