When Roska faded from view, Loki found a nearby dry spot and permitted himself to sink down onto the cold stone without his usual grace. The jump between beast and plane had drained him more than he let on. It was the longest distance he had ever made. He had heard once that Midgardians had developed rings that allowed them to open rifts with more ease, but scoffed at the idea that a race with such an inferior understanding of science could invent anything of the sort. However, between the unusual sparks that appeared when the man calling himself the Eir had created a rift and the massive scale of Roska's rift, he supposed it was worth looking into at a later time.

At the thought of Roska, Loki glanced over to her. Or rather, the corner in which she lay. He hoped this was not an annoying habit of hers, falling unconscious when he had numerous questions to ask. He supposed she had been looking ill before performing very powerful casting followed by smashing into a plane, but regardless, he did not have much patience for it. If she was going to keel over after every casting, she was no longer an asset.

But, Loki had to admit, she'd had her uses so far. Spiriting him away from the Avengers. Working the casting to grant him true invisibility. Telling him how to kill that beast and getting them to safety – though saving the entire plane seemed unnecessary. So he would not abandon her just yet. Besides, he had agreed to embark on this quest for the Fang of Fenrir. He might as well make more than just the first step of the journey. Assuming the fainting would cease after this, he thought their travels might even be amusing and should they land him on Asgard's throne, so much the better. He could wait for her to wake.

Loki lifted a pack onto his lap, bringing closer the ball of light he had created from its perch hovering at the top of the cave. In the meanwhile, it would be best to see what Roska had given him.

Firstly, he unstoppered one of the two skins that had been tied to the pack and poured enough of the contents to fill the palm of his hand. Water. It should not be wasted in such a fetid realm, where any water sources were likely to kill someone faster than they could drink. Loki brought the handful to his lips, hesitated, and ultimately drank.

He sniffed the other skin. It smelled of mead. He took a long swallow. Though he was partial to ale over mead, he relished the sweet flavor. He had not tasted anything of home in what felt like eons, and would gladly drain the whole skin. Barrels of mead would be served at the feast following his ascension to the throne, made from the finest honey on Asgard. Closing his eyes, he could picture the field of hives nearest the palace, the air humming with the vibrations of a million tiny wings. He had snuck there once with Thor to steal honeycombs and eat themselves sick.

The flavor on his tongue soured. Loki closed the skin, frowning in distaste. Perhaps ale would be preferable after all.

Thirst quenched for the time being, Loki opened the pack. Food had been stored on top, wrapped tightly in animal hides. He opened just one hide, finding strips of dried meat. He considered tasting some, but he had eaten on the plane and so set the food aside.

Then, he pulled out a disk of plain metal, folded like the shell of some water-dwelling creature. Loki carefully opened the disk and discovered it was a small brush. He inspected the thick white bristles and metallic handle. It looked like a kind of bathing brush. As if there would be a suitable bathhouse in Niflheim or some travel inn where the servants could draw him a bath. He snorted and set the brush aside.

Next, he discovered a fireglobe.

Loki surveyed the damp cave, deciding where would be best to sleep. He chose the flattest patch of rock he could find and stood beside it. He turned the horizontal hemispheres of the fireglobe in opposite directions, counting the metallic clicks until he reached the desired temperature. Loki rotated the vertical hemispheres once, twice, three times, and set the fireglobe on the ground. It opened like a sliced fruit, sections falling apart evenly and pushing at the ground so the center rose. From the middle of the fireglobe, Loki took a sphere a quarter of the size. Tendrils of flame began to ignite and would soon form into a fire warm enough, he hoped, to dry out the damp stone.

Loki returned to the pack, setting the small sphere aside for when he wished to close the fireglobe. He reached inside and took out a golden comb etched with an intricate depiction of a serpent, which he stared at in disbelief. This comb was from his bedchambers. Frigga had gifted it to him on a long ago nameday.

He tore through the rest of the pack, which contained only clothes, mostly his. He clenched his travel cloak between his hands, furious that Roska had been able to stroll right into his bedchambers. Had she done so before when he was still there? The idea of her rooting around in his bedchambers made rage uncoil in his chest. How dare she take his things?

But this meant she could get into Hlidskialf unnoticed. Loki slowly uncurled his fists. And as far as he knew, she had taken no more than he needed for a journey. He had not caught her robbing from him. When Roska woke, he would question her. For now, he could use a change of clothes. Donning new garments was as close to being clean as he was going to get, unless the Fang of Fenrir lay in a hidden clear-water hotspring – Niflheim's second best kept secret.

Loki lifted his eyes to the place where Roska lay out of sight. He walked over and prodded her with the toe of his boot.

"Roska?"

No sound of her stirring. As a matter of fact, if he listened closely, Loki could hear her snoring. Satisfied she was most definitely not waking in the near future, he pulled off his clothes.

The light of the fire flickered across his skin, creating shadows over the hundreds of scars scattered across his body. They circled around his wrists and ankles, lined his back, curved across his chest in a hideous approximation of the wretched skin he had been born with. Loki dressed swiftly to avoid looking at the scars for long.

He tried not to think about how he had obtained the scars either, but fury, shame, and despair lifted arms to engulf him, and Loki withdrew into himself, down, down, to avoid feeling their touch. His expression, which had trembled with emotion, flattened into a mask.

Loki did not know how long he stood there, but with a shake of his head, he was himself again. He would be king of Asgard, and then the scars would not matter.

Returning to his corner of the cave, Loki crouched and repacked while, with a mental flick of magic, whisking his soiled clothing into the same pocket dimension as his armor. Once he finished with the pack, it followed his clothing.

The fireglobe burned bright, the stone immediately surrounding it already dry. It would not take long before he would be able to spread out his bedroll to sleep. In the meanwhile, Loki resolved to get a better look at the Filrar. He had gotten a mere glimpse of the forest before Roska had turned them back.

The cave expanded from either side of a corridor of stone, and Loki followed the corridor towards the gap's opening. The smell in the air worsened as he grew closer. It smelled like dirt somehow, but not plain soil or mud. This was foul muck. Like the scent of the stables after a rainstorm, only much stronger. And beneath it all pervaded the sickly sweet odor of something rotting.

Loki wrinkled his nose as he pressed forward until he finally reached the opening and there he stopped.

A forest stretched out before him, a twisted mirror of the one they had left behind. The Aokigahara had been packed with thin trees wrapped in light brown bark with spindly limbs high overhead covered in bursts of bright green leaves that reached up for light while the long roots of the trees stretched across a ground of pale dirt and lush mosses. The Filrar had thin, densely populated trees as well, but their bark was almost black and split in the same flaking pattern as dry skin. Leaves grew sparely and were tinged a faint yellow turning towards light that Loki knew filtered through a constant haze of clouds, though he could barely see them through the branches. The dirt on the ground had a blackish color similar to the tree bark, and he could spot no moss or plants of any kind breaking through it apart from the trees.

There was an inherent wrongness to looking out at a forest and seeing nothing but trees, and Loki spent some time searching for any sign of a different sort of leaves or a stray vine. He left the gap, circling around the entrance which rose from the ground as if an animal had dug it out. The forest looked nearly identical in all directions. He realized that it was utterly silent too, as so few places were. No cry of a bird or the stirring of wind.

A creeping sensation rolled over Loki's skin. He had spent too much time in silence as of late.

Loki returned back to the cave where the fireglobe was still drying the floor. He found his corner and sank down, rubbing his bruised ribs which had continued to irritate him since New York. Roska should have packed some healing stones. Quite an oversight on her part. Unless she had one in a separate pack or on her person, but that did him no good. He grimaced and closed his eyes. The bruising would fade. He had endured worse.

Slowly, Loki relaxed, the constant guard he had learned to keep up at all times loosening. Although the heat of the flames exacerbated the smell in the air, the warmth soothed him. He adapted quickly to rises and falls in temperature, only intense heat making him truly uncomfortable. A trait he had never thought much upon until he found out what he was. But rather than think on that now – or ever – Loki enjoyed the spread of warmth up from his feet, which were closest to the fireglobe, to his chest. The bruising there seemed less painful when touched by the heat.

He might have fallen asleep there, propped up against the wall, if not for the skittering of small stones bouncing against the ground.

At once, Loki was alert. Had Roska stirred in her sleep or was there something else in the cave? Few knew about gaps, but few were enough to cause a disturbance. Or an animal could have crawled in through the entrance. Perhaps another of those beasts. Roska had mentioned it had been drawn to him. He strained his ears, keeping his eyes closed lest he warn an intruder of his wakefulness.

Then, Loki remembered that he was invisible, and he opened his eyes. He glanced around the cave, but saw nothing out of place. He waited for another sound, the grating of rock or a breath. Why had he not set a shield around the cave immediately? Clearly he was wearier than he had thought to have made the grievous oversight.

No further sound came. Instead, Loki saw the fire shift like a breeze had past it by. Something was in the cave. He wondered if it was Roska. Had this all been an elaborate ruse? She could also have left the cave without him knowing, sending in another person. In his hands, he readied a burst of combat magic.

His bedroll shifted minutely, the center bowing as though pressed by an unseen hand before springing back. Loki imagined an unseen figure feeling around the bedroll, looking for him. The figure took on Roska's features. Although, this seemed an odd trick if it was her. Pretending to be the Dragur was not the most trust-inspiring tactic. Putting on a display of saving him from a beast, however, was a better move. So the figure might be Roska. Or an ally of hers.

?

The probing, questioning feeling appeared in Loki's head, a thought that seemed to unfurl of its own accord from his mind. His body, already tense, tightened further at the invasion.

?

This time he got the sense of a direct question forming like a bubble that abruptly burst, flooding his mind with understanding.

Who else is here?

Not Roska, Loki thought. And not someone who knew that he specifically was in the cave. He considered. Remain silent and the figure might go away, but he decided it more likely that they would lie in wait for the owner of the fireglobe. Furthermore, he could only remain still for so long. Attack? But he could not see the target. If he threw bolts of combat magic across the entirety of the cave, Roska might perish, which would be inconvenient. If he waited, the figure could do the very same while he tarried.

Left with not much choice, Loki created the projection of a man standing in the center of the cave. He moved his mouth, and the man spoke.

"I have shown myself. Now, who is here with me?"

The cave was still. Loki glanced at the fireglobe, but the flames did not flicker as they had before. If the figure moved, it left no sign. For all he knew, it could be circling his false self at this moment. He raised his hands, the combat magic stretching into a dagger of light.

Why have you come to this place?

Loki debated how best to answer. He could say he stumbled upon the gap quite by accident, but the excuse sounded poor to his ears. But any excuse was a poor reason to visit Niflheim. No one came to this place. The poison of this realm seeped into the ground, the water, the very air itself. Himself excepted of course, only fools came to this realm of their own volition. Fools or madmen. And what sounded madder than the truth? A piece of it, at least.

"The Draugr sent me."

Most curiously, disbelief or a demand for a more "truthful" answer did not at once follow. Was it possible this figure believed in the Children of Norn? He had met two such believers in less than a week, so Loki surmised the odds were not completely insurmountable. Especially if this figure was either from or heading towards Niflheim themselves, so either they were a fool, mad, or what? Seeking the Fang of Fenrir as well? Those odds seemed much longer.

Hold on. Loki narrowed his eyes in thought. An unseen figure potentially from Niflheim. When he had first sensed the figure, his mind had leapt to them already knowing somehow that he was here. With his invisibility, no one should have seen him or Roska. It had taken the figure some time to arrive, so it was unlikely it heard them either. How had it known?

'Who else is here?' the figure had asked. Else. It knew Roska was here. It could see her. And Roska had been muttering to herself about a ward as they headed to the gap. A ward put up by the Eir that she could sense. And if the Eir had supposedly put a ward on the Midgardian side of the gap, then on the other side of the gap would be another ward created by the Child on Niflheim.

Loki struggled to remember the name, but it came to him. "Am I in the presence of the Haga?"

A pause. Then, a feeling of affirmation.

Suddenly, the figure called the Haga revealed itself. About the size of his forearm, it hovered high above the ground, translucent beetle-like wings batting the air more slowly than seemed necessary to keep the being aloft. The body had an equally insectile quality. Its skin looked hard and shiny, glinting dark brown with pale yellow spots dappling its abdomen. Five legs poked out of its body, two on each side and one at the back, thick and covered in sharp-looking bristles. Its head protruded oddly from a too-long neck, gathering to a sharp point. It had no discernible mouth nor nose nor ears, but it did have a single eye which was unsettling as it looked exactly like his own, white with a ring of pale blue around a circle of black.

Be still.

The figure lifted momentarily, its wings grazing the stone ceiling and sending rocks skittering to the ground. It flew down and darted around the illusion. Its eye took on a filmy sheen, trickling a viscous liquid from the corners and making Loki curl his lip in disgust.

What he did notice besides the repulsive display was that as the figure whirled upwards, it revealed a blue glow in its abdomen and the faint outline of the Fate rune he had seen on the man who believed himself to be the Eir's amulet. While Loki recalled Roska having several amulets around her neck, he did not remember spotting the same one. He might ask her about it when she woke.

After several minutes of this flight, the figure stopped face to face with his illusion, the sheen fading as that single eye blinked.

I have looked into That Which Is To Be and seen that you are telling the truth, Jotun Prince. Loki clenched his jaw at the mention of his heritage, having the urge to swat the figure like a gnat. I therefore can do nothing, as this is –

"The Draugr's Choosing," Loki snapped. "I have been informed already." He took a breath to steady his anger. He should use this opportunity. "But great Haga, you see, the Draugr is indisposed at the moment, and I am concerned she will not pull through. It seems like the best course for me is to follow her wishes and locate the Fang of Fenrir. Would you at least tell me where to find it? Since the Draugr already knows, you would not be interfering."

Loki made his false self give the figure a charming smile. He would much rather have this vital piece of information than leave it to Roska, if the Fang of Fenrir was not a myth and was reachable. Should she die or he become tired of waiting for her to wake, he could retrieve the Fang himself and take the throne.

The figure's eye took on a look of suspicion.

Why does the Draugr seek the Fang of Fenrir? Loki opened his mouth, this time to lie, but the figure spoke into his mind first. No, do not tell me. I will give you nothing but this. To claim the Fang, one must face who they truly are. It cuts through all shields and magicks. No trickery can hide you. It flew closer until it was almost touching his false self's nose. No illusions. It drifted backwards, its eye darting around as Loki realized it knew he was elsewhere. I leave you to the course of Fate. Norns watch you.

The figure disappeared. Loki waited for a long moment before allowing the illusion to fade and letting out a huff of annoyance. As if he would agree to search for the Fang of Fenrir without knowing what it could do. It was the only weapon he could conceive of guaranteed to kill the All-Father. The blade would break through all his shields, any force Odin turned against it. Not even the Odin-Sleep would be able to save him.

Of course, the figure had added some cryptic layer to the warning, which sounded like utter nonsense. Face who he truly was? Loki shook his head in a single jerk. He knew who he was. He was not afraid to face himself. The scars on his chest seemed to tingle, and he scratched at the center of them irritably.

The Draugr, the Eir, and the Haga. They must all know each other. Mayhap they had met in one of the gaps and decided they were the Children of Norn. Perhaps the Norn's Fateful went on pilgrimages to spread word of the Children to other realms, and all of them had heard the call.

Truth be told, Loki had no idea what the Norn's Fateful did. He had never so much as set foot in their temple. The idea of the Aesir worshipping any beings was ludicrous to him, and if the Children ever existed, they were no longer. Although, it did amuse him to imagine telling the flock that he had met three of the Children in a week. They would probably bow before him in awe and then beat their breasts in jealousy behind closed doors. He might have to visit the temple once he was king.

Mostly certain that the figure had gone, Loki created a shield to block off the corridor for long enough to rest. The floor had dried so that he could stretch out his bedroll. He took out the small sphere and tossed it towards the fireglobe. As though pulled by magnetism, the sphere shot towards the center of the fire. The flames died instantly, and the sphere dropped back into place. The fireglobe folded back into itself. Loki tucked it away and lay down to sleep.

He slept deeply, too tired to be plagued by dreams or nightmares, and woke days later to several cramps and a full bladder. His body seized in dreaded anticipation of what was to come, but his mind caught up, and Loki stretched. He left the cave to relieve himself – the shields had gone down; he had not anticipated sleeping so long. Swishing around a mouthful of mead to rid himself of the unpleasant taste of a long slumber, Loki bent down beside Roska. She did not seem to have moved, and when he touched her face, her breath felt hot against his hand. Good enough. Loki packed his bedroll and tucked it in a pocket dimension. He walked around the cave to stretch his legs, then paced the corridor, then stood outside the gap.

Time passed in much the same way. Loki slept a great deal more than he ever had. When he woke, he took a stroll. Gradually, Loki wandered farther from the gap into the Filrar. He failed to see what all the fuss was about. He had been taught that the Filrar was a sea of trees with monsters and other dangers lurking behind every branch, but the only danger he foresaw was dying of boredom.

Eventually, Loki ate some of the dried meat from his pack while contemplating how much longer he intended to wait on Roska. He supposed she would need water soon and food, but he did not like the idea of being anyone's nursemaid. The smell in the cave had grown worse of late, and Hel if he would attempt to deal with that particular mess.

Loki tore off another strip of meat and chewed. Conceivably, he could create enough rifts in succession to reach from here to the gap leading onto Asgard, but he had no concept of how far the distance was and therefore how draining it would be. And he might tire so much that he needed sleep, but with no suitable shelter around. Did he remember the way back to Midgard? Loki eyed the corridor. Roska had been weaving about quite a lot, and he hadn't been entirely convinced at the time that she knew what she was doing. If only she had given him that book of maps she had spoke of.

As there was not much for him to do, he tried going back to Midgard. Loki navigated around the stalagmites in the pattern he remembered, but they all looked similar. Finally, he hit a wall and retreated to make another attempt. Roska had touched the walls sometimes. She had appeared to need the stone for support, but perhaps there was more to it. He tried again and again, but gave up in frustration.

More wandering, sleeping, staring into the fire, a few more attempts to reach Midgard.

Loki lounged against the gap entrance, arms folded, glaring out at the Filrar. Enough. He would wait no more. Anything was better than being tethered to the cave. He was through being trapped in a prison.

With a sharp turn, Loki stalked back down the corridor. He took the bedroll from beneath Roska's head and put it in a pocket dimension. He lifted her up, holding her at arm's length to avoid the smell as much as possible. She was lighter than he had expected. True, she was small, but her armor had looked heavy. He would carry her for a distance. If she died, her body could feed the ravens, or whatever scavengers lived in this realm. If she became a hindrance in any way, she would remain where he dropped her.

Loki walked them to the gap entrance and beyond to as far as he had strayed. There he opened the first rift, which took them to a point that had been within his sight. He opened another and stepped through. And another. Step. And another. Step.

And something knocked his feet out from under him.


Roska woke as she hit the ground, letting out a pained ooff of air. She rolled to her side in a daze, trying to remember where she was. The plane. They had been walking to the gap. Niflheim. Yes, they had made it to Niflheim.

A force gripped around her navel, and Roska gasped. Looking down, she saw the dark root of a tree wrapped around her body. Roots writhed all around her. She tapped into her shield amulet to activate it, but most of the energy had been used to absorb a portion of her impact against the plane.

But having regained most of her strength, Roska was able to pull energies together, weaving them into a casting that would slice the roots apart.

A blast of combat magic raked the ground, some of the roots withdrawing. Loki.

Roska reached out blindly towards the source of the magic and found an arm. She gripped and felt Loki instinctively tug away.

"Hold on to me!"

His arm knocked into her wrist. Roska moved her hand to grab it as he fumbled for hers, but she was barely concentrating. Instead, she focused on forming a ball of magic. The roots swarmed over her, twining together. They tore at her garments and squeezed her legs. A thin root slid over her earlobe, pressing in. Another had found her mouth.

Roska made the ball solid, forming a sphere around them that sliced into the roots, which went limp. She remembered what she could of the gap and opened a rift below them. They fell only a hand's width and landed on the hard stone, the dead roots clattering around them. She shut the rift and blinked up at the ceiling, which reflected a dim light from the gap's entrance.

No longer focused on an impending threat, her first thought came out in an incredulous huff. "Did you take us into the Filrar without a map?"

Roska could hardly believe it. A terrible decision. The second one she had seen him make. This was worrying.

"You did not leave me any choice," Loki responded, stone crunching as he moved. "If you had given me the book of maps and told me our exact destination, perhaps I would have had us halfway there by now."

"Would you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you have taken me as far as you could go? Or would you have gotten yourself halfway there and left me behind?"

Roska had kept the book of maps and a few other items in her pack for a similar reason. She had known Loki preferred to work alone and that he might not believe her and make off with the book. Now, she was concerned that Loki might have left her. Making decisions out of sympathy or personal attachment to a person were weaknesses. As a Child, Roska had been told this since her Birthing. But if she had the maps and knowledge to find the Fang of Fenrir and Loki knew this, he should have waited for her to awaken and not rashly taken them into the Filrar.

"I took you when I left," Loki pointed out, sounding irritated.

"We had barely gone any distance," countered Roska. Opening the rift to take them back had been immensely easy. "Once you tired, would it have been a different matter?" His pause troubled her further. "So you would have left."

"You have no idea what I would have done."

Roska rolled over and pushed herself up to a sitting position, making herself visible. "I have what you need for the betterment of Asgard, and you were going to abandon me."

Loki appeared opposite her, his expression as cold as the stone around them. "What did you expect from me? That I would sit here waiting years on you? You looked half-dead when you collapsed." He rubbed a shoulder where his travel cloak had been torn. "Besides, I thought you said that the whole purpose of this journey was to put me on the throne. What does it matter if you are there or not?"

"It is my Choosing."

"And by giving me the tools to gain the throne, you are still making a choice." He gave her a look that suggested she may have some ulterior motivations, which made Roska angry.

"Must you look at me that way?"

Loki's expression flattened. "What way?"

"What I am attempting is to guide the fate of the Nine Realms. I must be there to ensure the right path is followed as best I can. And your irresponsible decisions are not inspiring any confidence."

Loki smiled, but it did not quite meet his eyes. "Beginning to think Thor would make a better king after all?"

Roska did not know what to think, and it terrified her. She had been slightly uncertain in her Choosing already, but created the beginnings of a plan that reassured her. However, they had just begun the journey and she was already developing doubts. She wanted to reach out to the Norns so badly.

And she did on instinct. Roska slipped into That Which Is To Be, holding onto the thread that kept her grounded, but it was clouds, all clouds. Nothing around her. No path to tell her where to go. She should not be here. She followed the thread back, cursing her weakness.

Loki had gotten to his feet. He leaned against one of the walls, looking down at her in annoyance. When she met his gaze, he pushed a breath out through his nose.

"I thought you were about to collapse again. That's not a habit, is it?"

Roska stared up at Loki. He was supposed to be the one. If Thanos attacked, if anyone attacked, she had thought he would be the right choice for the king of Asgard. She had never doubted before her Choosing. She did not like it, this uncertainty. What if she had chosen wrong? What if she failed the Norns?

Loki had to be the right choice. She would not waver, Roska resolved. She would give him another chance. One final chance to prove himself. His first error could be due to Thanos' influence, and he had seen the wrongness of it. This error was his own, but no being was perfect. In fact, perhaps he would not have left her at all. There was no definitive proof.

"No," Roska stated. "No, I was attempting to use the Sight."

"Attempting?"

"It will not work during the time of my Choosing."

Loki eyed her. "I was not aware there were so many limitations on the Sight."

"There are not usually." Roska stood up and noticed Loki's nose wrinkle. She glanced down at herself and spotted the reason. She had been feeling uncomfortable, now that she thought about it. "I will clean myself up, and then we can consult my book together. If that is amenable to you?"

With a shrug, Loki said, "Very well." He turned and took a few steps up the corridor.

Nerves clamped down on Roska's belly as she watched him go and her voice rose past her lips. "Loki." He stopped and looked back. "I still think you will make a greater king than Thor. Or your father."

Loki cocked his head like he was listening for a sound a long way off as he looked at her intently. But just for a moment before he turned away again and walked off.

Roska nodded to herself. "A great king," she muttered. She had no doubts.

After shedding her armor and clothing, Roska brought forth her pack from its pocket dimension with a twist of her hands. She crammed two strips of dried meat into her mouth and dug through the contents of the pack to find the bathing brush.

On the handful of trips Roska had taken away from Asgard, she had never needed to pack more than the barest of essentials. A bathing brush was not what she would have considered essential, but she was aware that people tended to shy from her if she did not wash frequently enough. Usually she would not care, but Loki was a prince and those of a higher class got much fussier about natural body odors.

Roska had strolled through the predominant marketplace on Alfheim to find the necessities for this trip, as the Light Elves were frequent travelers. She came across a vendor selling these cylindrical bathing brushes. She watched the vendor show a couple how it worked. Simply place a drop of water and rub the bristles across the skin, and the brush would clear all manner of dirt away and leave a fresh scent in its wake. Add another drop when finished and close the brush; it would be clean when opened again. She had taken two and placed one in each pack.

Once the brush was unfolded, Roska poured a drop of water on the bristles from her waterskin and took a drink herself. She scrubbed her skin until it appeared clean, put another drop of water on the brush, and tucked it away.

Her tunic and breeches would be of no use until she could wash them. As a matter of fact, they were most likely ruined, but Roska never threw anything away unless it was definitely unsalvageable. She tucked them into a pocket dimension separate from the rest of her things. Inspecting one of her greaves, she decided her armor needed to be polished, but that could wait. She pulled on fresh clothing – which was almost identical to her previous garments, a supple fabric dyed black – strapped her minimal armor plates over it, and went in search of Loki.

She did not have to go far. Loki had taken up guard of the entrance, making himself visible when he heard her coming. He inspected her with a frown and a twitch of his nostrils.

"Did you manage to bring a full basin with soaps?" he asked. "Or just scented water?"

"I used the bathing brush." Roska's eyebrows pinched. She had been certain she put one in his pack. "Did you not see yours? I thought –"

Loki flicked his wrist dismissively, as though she were boring him. "We can discuss it later. You have the book?"

"Uh, yes. Indeed I do."

Roska turned her hands, and a massive tome appeared. It was covered in worn leather, once dyed an emerald green, but now faded. An intricate depiction of Yggdrasill had been inked onto the front. Roska had placed several markers between the pages, and she flipped through to the correct page as Loki circled behind her to get a better look.

"So this is the Filrar," said Roska, indicating a page that mapped the forest. Certain places had been marked with names such as the Grove of Deepest Night, while symbols were used to indicate perils such as a cross for living trees, which Loki had already stumbled into. "Now this map is at least fifteen-thousand years old, and does not indicate every danger, but it should be enough to get us through. This seems to be the safest path." She drew a line through the forest with her finger.

"And the Fang of Fenrir is close to that point?" Loki asked.

Roska shook her head and flipped back to a full map of Niflheim. "We will have to cross over the Elivagar."

"Of course we will," muttered Loki as she pointed to the mountain range.

"Fortunately our destination is just on the other side." Roska tapped a point labeled Rijd's Valley.

"But you cannot get us any closer?"

"No. There are almost no descriptions or sketches of this realm apart from the gaps, and this is the closest one. I do not have the ability to scry, and as you are aware, the Sight is closed to me. The runes…" Roska hesitated. Could she ask for a description of Rijd's Valley? She supposed as long as she intended to journey there no matter what, the length of the journey may not matter. "I shall try. Hold this."

Loki took the tome from her, and Roska knelt on the ground. She poured the rune stones into her hands. She formed the question, asking for a specific description of Rijd's Valley. The words crackled in her mouth. The rune stones cooled. She cast them downwards, hopeful that she would at least have one small answer today.

The rune stones all landed face down, looking like thirty-nine plain stones. Roska sighed, a weight pressing against her chest. She was very truly alone.

"I take it they're of no use either then," Loki gathered, not sounding surprised.

"No," Roska agreed morosely. She put the stones away and stood, while Loki flicked through the pages.

"So we walk to Rijd's Valley."

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Using our system of time or that of Niflheim?"

"Ours."

"Well, presuming we use rifts to shorten our journey, by my estimation it will be about four months." Loki lifted his eyes from the page, and Roska raised her hands helplessly. "It is a large realm and we are on foot."

"Fine." Loki flipped another page. "Four months to reach the Fang. That is not so long."

"Well, four months to reach Rijd's Valley where we will find the Preemond, who will hopefully still have the Fang of Fenrir."

Amongst her possessions, Roska held a number of items from those who had been Draugr before her. One of those items was a journal so old that its parchment had turned yellow and the ink was almost impossible to read. Several of the entries related to the Fang of Fenrir, and one detailed how it had been deemed too powerful to be put in the hands of any ruler and had been given to a being named Rttiulz to keep safe. Curious one week, Roska had searched into the name and found it was of Preemond origin.

Loki paused mid-flip. "The Preemond have the Fang?" he queried with a chuckle.

"In all likelihood. If not, they should know where it is."

"Why of all the beings in all the realms would the Preemond have it?"

Roska folded her arms, not taken aback by his skepticism. The Preemond were not considered a people of any import. Most Aesir would put them well below Midgardians.

"It seems our predecessors decided that no one would think to look with them."

"Of course not," Loki scoffed. "A roving pack of superstitious zealots. Speaking of which, how do you know they will be in Rijd's Valley? If I recall correctly, the Preemond are nomadic."

"They are, but according to my findings, Rijd's Valley is one of their sacred places which they return to around the time we should be arriving."

That was, if her information was not too far out of date. Once Loki was on the throne, she meant to suggest that a group of scholars be organized to take better stock of Niflheim. Asgard should have superior knowledge of all realms under its protection.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "And if they are not there?"

"I am hoping they will be."

"And if they are not?"

Roska did not want to think about what would happen if the Preemond were not at Rijd's Valley. "You said four months is not so long. Will you give me four months if it means you sit on the throne in the fifth?"

After some thought, Loki nodded. "Very well. Which way?"

Relieved, Roska pointed to her left. The description of the gap had included where the entrance to Niflheim led. Loki walked in that direction, still perusing the book of maps. Roska debated if she should take it back, but he had agreed to go with her. She knew more about the Fang, and he was going to need her to take the throne. Probably. She had not come up with that part of the plan yet, but she had four months to think on it. She would come up with a viable plan. Everything would work out. No doubts. None.