Second story - Ragnar, The playground

Ragnar watched the children playing in the square, their laughter thin and brittle in the crisp air. Usually, their games were boisterous, echoing off the colorful houses of their town. Today, a strange tension hung over them, their play subdued, their eyes darting nervously.

It wasn't the weather. The sky was clear, the aurora a faint promise on the horizon. It wasn't the fishing. The boats were in, the catch plentiful. It was something else, something unseen, a subtle discord in the rhythm of their lives.

He'd noticed it first in the shop. Old Bjørn, usually jovial, had been curt, almost suspicious. He'd seen arguments flare up over the smallest things – a queue, a parking space, a misplaced word. Accusations whispered, trust eroding like the cliffs in a storm.

His grandson, Kai, tugged at his sleeve. "Bestefar, they won't let me play."

Ragnar looked down. Kai's lower lip trembled. "Who won't let you play?"

"The others. They said… they said my mother…" Kai's voice trailed off, his eyes wide with confusion.

Ragnar felt a cold dread creep into his heart. His daughter, a doctor in Bodø, had always been outspoken, critical of the government, quick to share her views online. Had that… had that somehow reached here?

He knelt down, took Kai's small hand in his. "It's alright, gutten min. It's alright." But his voice lacked conviction. He looked at the other children, their faces averted, their parents watching from the shadows.

That night, the aurora blazed across the sky, a spectacle of light and color. But Ragnar barely noticed. He sat by the window, watching the village, a knot of unease tightening in his chest. The lights danced, beautiful and terrifying, a silent witness to the unraveling below.