The trolls had already completed the path between Myrkheim and Asgard in anticipation of what came next. Thus, the three travellers only stopped briefly at Sindri’s forge to resupply, rest for a short while, and say farewell to their friends among the children of the living rock. It was impossible to guess whether they would meet again, and Halfdan wanted Mossbeard and the other of his people to know his gratitude for all their help. Though he received only terse replies, spoken by stony expressions, Halfdan convinced himself that the warm feelings of friendship were mutual. As for Sif, she cried a few tears when parting from Rumble, but otherwise put on a brave face once they left. Thanks to Halfdan’s stone carved with a rune, they had plenty of light in the dark tunnel as they set out for Asgard.

  *

  On the previous journeys through the dark path between the realms, they had not spoken much; usually only practical matters are about the task ahead. This time, silence reigned. Both because they were so close to the end, but also because they all knew that the most dangerous part of their sojourn would soon begin.

  Asgard was the home of the Aesir, Odin’s domain, where he ruled undisputedly as king. When Freydis and Sif had last travelled thence, they had immediately been discovered. Only the gods’ arrogance towards mortals, and a little help from some one on the inside, had seen them escape with their lives, and that had been a journey for just a few hours.

  They would have to expect that, assuming the new Heimdall had taken up his position – and given how soon Ragnar?k approached, that seemed certain – he would be on the alert for any intrusion. Odin had his own methods for vigilance; seated on his throne, his gaze could cross his entire realm with ease. Lastly, the birds and possibly other animals acted as his spies.

  Immediate discovery was not necessarily a given; Halfdan had his own powers he could array against those of the Aesir, but he could not evade all of their surveillance. At least not for long. A few unknown factors were still in play, such as whether Odin knew how far Halfdan had come and that they were in this moment travelling towards Fenrir’s cave; If Halfdan believed any god would listen, he would have prayed for this to not be the case.

  Another thing worried the berserker. He had collected his new skills, [Seier] and [Master of Runes], both at ninth rank. But his foundational skill, [Unbridled Fury], remained at the eighth rank, and he had no Seeds of Power available. Infiltrating Asgard, freeing Fenrir and what else lay ahead, would hopefully provide him with the final Seed, but until that happened, he would not be able to unleash Ragnar?k. His threat would not be feasible.

  Given the many abilities at Odin’s disposal, Halfdan feared that the one-eyed scoundrel knew how to read a man’s gift with such precision, he would realise this. Another reason they needed to buy time until Halfdan was ready – but as he could not be certain how to obtain the final Seed, he did not know either how long they needed to wait, or for what they should wait specifically.

  All of these questions troubled him, and judging by the silence of his companions, he imagined they were likewise burdened. And since none of them had answers or any other means of offering comfort, they continued to walk without words.

  *

  The journey through the passageway from Myrkheim was the longest yet. They slept twice in the tunnels, eating their way through their meagre provisions. Halfdan did not rightly understand how travel between the worlds was possible, or how the trolls knew to create the way; he was simply grateful that they did. And despite the road being longer, it ended all too soon. When Halfdan saw a glimmer of light in the distance, he knew that they had arrived.

  While the Aesir had many spies in their service, including a god who could see the wool grow on a sheep, Halfdan had a few measures of his own, courtesy of his new powers. He had carved stone for each of his companions and himself, drawing on his abilities as Loki as well as [Master of Runes], meant to avert eyes and make them less noticeable. They would only travel by night; during the day, they would shelter under their cloaks, guarded by his [Seier], which likewise should make them seem of no interest to any observer, mortal or divine. Assuming Halfdan’s powers were stronger than those of serving. He had no way of knowing in advance whether his abilities had failed them; he would only find out if an army of angry Aesir descended upon them.

  They did not enter Asgard straight away, waiting an hour for nightfall. Still, none spoke, the weight of the moment upon them. Nothing was left that needed saying, Halfdan reckoned. Common words could not change the path before them, reassure their concerns, or improve their chances at success. When the sun had sunk beyond the horizon, they moved forward quietly.

  *

  The trees were barren, having lost all foliage. A thin layer of frost lay upon the ground, though Halfdan’s runes prevented any noise from their footsteps, crunching the dead leaves edged by rime. Somehow, the sight saddened Halfdan more than he would have thought. Although their previous sojourns from Myrkheim had also been dangerous, seeing the forest in green had soothed his spirit. Now, they walked surrounded by nature gripped in death. And if Halfdan went too far, there would be no spring.

  Moving through a landscape so devoid of life felt eerie; even in winter, back home in Midgard, Halfdan would occasionally spot a deer or hear the rustle through the undergrowth of some critter. He knew to be grateful, though; no animals meant no servants of their enemy spying on their progress.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The others did not ask Halfdan how he knew the way, nor did he have a thorough explanation. He could simply feel the pull of fate, growing ever stronger. It had been a tickle in the back of his mind during their journey through Alfheim; now, it was a rope around his neck, as unyielding as the chains that had bound him in Loki’s cave.

  A stream provided them with water, once Halfdan broke the ice. That was the only supplement to their provisions possible. With the forest barren and no signs of animals, they could not find food elsewhere even if time had permitted it. After walking through the night, they huddled under cloaks once the sun rose, ate a few morsels allowed by their strict rationing, and slept.

  *

  Three nights, they continued, and three days, they rested. Each time they woke, they had to shake their cloaks free of snow, and the cold clung closer to the bone after each march.

  Their food had run out, and they sustained themselves only on water. Halfdan found that it did not seem to affect him. He had eaten less and less on the previous journeys; for the last few days, he ceased eating altogether, stretching their supplies a little longer for the other two. His strength did not seem diminished at all.

  His companions, although hardy, remained mortal, and he knew the deprivation took its toll on them. He was tempted to bid them return to Myrkheim and continue on his own, but he feared that they might get discovered if away from his sorcery; not that he imagined either would obey him and leave when he travelled towards peril in such a fateful hour.

  And on the fourth night, they reached a cave.

  *

  They saw it in the distance thanks to the twilight heralding the rising sun; rather than camp for the day, they decided to press on. Halfdan’s boot sank through the snow with each step, reaching to his ankle. As they had chosen speed rather than stealth, he picked up Sif to sit on his shoulders, sparing her the trudging. Moving closer and closer to the cave, Halfdan felt his heart stirring. He did not imagine he could have deviated from the path even if he wanted to.

  None of them spoke. They simply lined up, Halfdan in the front and Freydis bringing up the rear. Weapons in hand, they entered. Sif took out the rune token that shone with light, illuminating the dark cave. While their surroundings seemed as expected, nothing but rock, Halfdan noticed a sickly and rotting smell that unnerved him.

  They had not gone far before something caught their attention. A reflection of the light. Walking closer, Halfdan saw that it was metal – a helmet. As he picked it up, he was startled by a human head falling out and landing on the ground.

  It was decomposed to such a degree, Halfdan only knew its nature because it had been inside the helmet. The break around the neck looked jagged, as if a giant had torn it off like a child might do to their doll. Halfdan’s previous absolute certainty began to fray at the edges; had his instincts led them somewhere else? No doubt Asgard was home to many strange and terrifying creatures, and perhaps his magical abilities had drawn him to the wrong place due to his ignorance of such matters.

  The only way to find out was to continue. If Halfdan’s companions doubted him, they said nothing. They had all become so accustomed to silence over the last days that even the appearance of a rotting head had not caused any conversation or outbursts; they had flinched, but otherwise kept their composure. It was a testament to everything that Sif had been through that despite her young age, such a sight did not horrify her or elicit any strong response.

  Hammer held ready, Halfdan walked onwards. Soon, the passageway expanded into a proper cave; the frail light from the stone reached out to illuminate the expense. However, as Halfdan looked around, he did not see any way forward. The cave ended here, and it looked empty. Though as before, a reflection of the light caught his eye; a sword this time. Holding onto the hilt, the rotting remains of what had to be a hand and most of an arm.

  As for the rest of the body, Halfdan could not say, nor did it matter. Something was in here that had killed a warrior in a gruesome way, tearing them limb from limb. Yet still as he glanced around, he could not see any signs of an enemy, a creature, or anything else. Was this done by some manner of malevolent spirit? Something not visible to the naked eye? Halfdan did have his sorcerer’s ability to see in the dark, which might also reveal such an entity. That would require the rune stone to be packed away, though, as its light interfered with his ability.

  Before Halfdan could ask Sif to put it away, he heard a sound. Quiet and deep, like the bellows of a forge. [Keen of Sense] was sharp enough that he could locate the origin. Straight ahead of him, where nothing met his sight other than the grey wall of the cave.

  Only then, as he stared intently, did Halfdan realise his error. Before him was not rock or stone, but fur. As the realisation hit him, what had appeared like the entire wall of the cave moved. A creature, greater in size than anything Halfdan had ever seen, rose before him. Yellow eyes larger than a millstone opened to stare at him. Fangs were barred, each the length of his arm.

  As a berserker, Halfdan did not possess fear of death. If anything could have overcome that ability, it would have been the sight of the monstrous wolf that snarled at him. The only thing that seemed to keep it from leaping forward and eating him was a thin chain around its neck, glistening in the light.

  Halfdan knew why he had come. To release the beast. But could it be trusted? Even if fate and prophecy would keep it from eating him, what about his companions? Nothing protected them. And given how long the wolf had been bound in this cave, it had to be ravenous…

  “I’m not sure what to do,” Halfdan muttered, and the sound of his voice surprised him. Yet not nearly to the same degree as the sudden stabbing agony that exploded through his body. Looking down, he saw the tip of a javelin protruding from his chest, having struck him between the shoulder blades to pierce his Dwarven mail and his entire torso. Overcome with shock, Halfdan fell to the ground.

  “You won’t do a gods-damned thing,” Odin said in a cold voice.