Regin wakes up next to a sleeping Idunn, in a tent on the outskirts of the Don City. While their wedding was cancelled, he has made many promises to her of his return. She was not disappointed, having witnessed the same horrors he did, though she has not had the comforts of repeat attempts. Idunn is quite fearful of the ensuing fight, and she spent much of the night before writing her love sweet letters of faith and fortune, tucked into the lining of his boots for luck. He knows enough to be certain that today is the day.
He kisses her sleeping cheek, and rises to get dressed, not wanting to leave her alone in the city. She has already been so brave to stay, choosing not to flee to outlying lands in the West and South with the rest of the families. Idunn promised to stay at the front until this morning.
"Dearest, it is time to rise," Regin says, shaking her shoulder slightly. Idunn yawns widely. Regin runs his hand down her long, blonde hair, which bends with waves from being braided back. She looks at him with a smile, and he leans down to kiss her. "Please, you must be off to safety. I know not how long we will be in battle, but I assure you, I will call for you when we are victorious."
Idunn knows better than to be so certain of their success, but she does not want to dampen the spirits of Regin. So she nods, and waves him away, to be reunited in a future whence they might drink of it and only see one another with a smile.
Loki and Freyr are ready in the early morning at the court hall, which has become the base of operations while they wait. The anxiety that pulses through the walls makes them all stand around without a purpose. Loki tries to encourage more practice of his incantations, often approaching the more idle men, quizzing their skills. He is a great teacher, and knows how to speak in a way that makes others understand, but Loki does not enjoy teaching adults and this is no exception. The way they flare their fingers when they cast, or add odd choreography in their shoulders only makes their illusions appear shiny and fake. He has to carefully reposition many of them.
"These are no soldiers," he tells Freyr. "They are barely sorcerers. Many of them think their best magic is their ability to light a candle and pour wine." Loki sneers at the thought of them, wanting to stay optimistic, but his trepidation is getting the better of him. "What I wouldn't give for Asgardian armor, and a real weapon!"
"More than that which you hold yourself?" Freyr asks, incredulous to Loki's statement. "My boy, we both know you are capable of more than just casting armor upon yourself. You hold magic these realms cannot copy, by means of your heritage." The bearded man implies much with his statement, though Loki is only interested in brute force against the beast. "I wonder how Gorr will even see you."
"Of all the power I hold, it is nothing if they cannot do as I have asked," Loki says, crossing his arms.
"What did Sigyn tell you?"
"Sigyn?" Loki looks at Freyr, and the mention of her name makes his heart jump, but only briefly. "I suppose she is worried and trying to keep Vali under control, while Narvi follows close behind. She gave me only one task: to come home." He looks around the room and sees Regin, recognizing the boy's expression as one of longing to be with the woman he left behind. "You see his face? I remember that. That feeling of not really being present, of being halfway between the battle and the bedroom. He won't see the faces of the other men, or yours, or mine. He will only see her face, and it may lead to his end."
"It is to be expected."
"It is a distraction!" he snaps back at his uncle. "Why would he be chosen as a general, with this heavy weight on his mind? If there are mistakes here, that one there," Loki says while pointing with one finger at Regin, "that is what might give the enemy the edge we don't see coming."
"Are these your words? Or the words of a father, filled with worry?" Freyr tries to give Loki a soft expression, but is met with greater ferocity.
"They aren't my words at all, dear Freyr. These are the words of a false father, who tried to teach his sons to be kings, which means all enemies must be snuffed out before love is on the table. Of all his lessons, these are words I do believe, for I have lived them." Loki throws his head upward as he speaks, coming back into his own skin more and more. "And mark my words, Freyr, if he were my son, I would not say any different. I can see myself now, telling Vali, 'you are not to waste your time on childish things, on promises and kisses, when the enemy is at the gates.' And I see telling Narvi, 'do not trouble your heart with words, or shirk duties in favor of dances.' While all fortune forbid they should ever see war, if they do, I will teach them that nothing is quite as lethal as love."
Freyr isn't sure if he is proud of his nephew, or upset that this charge has regressed him somewhat. Like all the men, he has no choice but to wait.
Gorr has traveled many lengths of stars to reach the moons above Vanaheim. He looks down upon the green planet with a sneer, ready to take his revenge on all of those who once denied him solace.
"I am coming for you all, you abandoning fools. You will soon know how it feels to be mortal, to be driven from your homes. You will starve in seconds, and beg for relief, which I will deny you. You will soon know what it means to be insignificant, unwanted, and hopeless. You all will now know what it is like to be butchered!"
He wears a black hood, which covers his back. His face is nearly disfigured compared to any man's; he has no identifiable nose, only a wide mouth under grey skin. His eyes are black, with rage and heritage, and like a frog in the night, they shine in the dark. He holds up his right arm and with only a twist, the sword, All-Black, spins. It pulses in black shine much like his blood does, as the weapon is part of him, an extension of his malice. The powers it gives him allow him to cast great wings behind him, and even large tendrils of spikes that can shoot forward at mind-boggling speed. His whole body is an arsenal, designed and cultivated for a single purpose: to slaughter all the Gods, the beings in the higher worlds, wherever they reside.
Gorr no longer wants to wait. He rises above the moon's terrain and spreads his wings like a mighty bird, flapping them strongly. In doing so, the clouds begin to form in Vanaheim's sky, blocking out much of the light. He glides to the realm below, in no hurry, certain that they could not know he is coming to destroy them. His advantages are simple: himself as the weapon, and the surprise.
One of the men from outside the fortress walls comes running to the court hall, claiming that the sky is becoming increasingly deep by the moment. All of them know that this is the cue they have been waiting for. Loki opens the doors, and leads the way out to the citadel entrance, watching the men feed out to their stations. When the last Vanir man and strong woman has exited, he pulls on the great wooden doors until they shut with an unmistakable clang.
Hriedmar and Regin stand at the front of the line, surrounded by other family and close friends. The next line behind them are lesser known sorcerers, but experienced ones nonetheless. The lines vary in skill level as the men spread farther back; this was Loki's intent, so that the strongest of the group would spread out in their defense; not the first, and not the last. His strategy may pay off well, if they are to succeed.
Loki stands close to the men at the front, but he has a different part to play here. He feels from what he saw with the tree that he should make an appearance behind Gorr, and not in front, though thus far the reality before him has been somewhat unlike his visions. The men are already on the field, and they do not wait for Freyr. There has been no great crack in the sky to alert them. The men brace themselves by spreading their legs and standing sideways, swords or bows at the ready for a fight. Many of them whisper in each other's minds to calm their hearts while they see his form appear high above.
Gorr slowly descends from the clouds above, not expecting an audience, though this matters little to him. He uses his wings to blast back at the battalion of men. He does not land with the force of a quake, and instead gingerly places his feet into the grassy hill, one at a time. His smile makes everyone uneasy except Loki, whose is equally distressing when he wants it to be, and he raises his sword by the right hand. He looks from side to side at the men, and nods slowly.
Hriedmar yells out to Gorr, "We know why you have come, Gorr with no father, who seeks to end our bloodlines and our peaceful way of life. We, the Vanir, will have no word of it!" His son Regin pulls back a silver arrow on his longbow, and proudly stands beside the senator as he speaks. "Your misguided mission to destroy us only proves further our value!"
"You think you have value?" Gorr's laugh echoes off the clouds above, seeming to surround all of the men. "You are nothing but false idols, demanding of worship and adoration, to give nothing in return. I recall a time when I would scream out to the skies for help and solace, placing all my faith in you, and yet, none came. I want to see you suffer as I have suffered, and writhe in pain beneath my hand!" His body seems to erupt in black tendrils, making him appear ever larger and more menacing by the moment. Gorr holds up his right arm, the black sword, and charges forward.
"Now!" Loki yells, and the Vanir move forward as well. Regin's arrow flies, and while he hit's Gorr's shoulder, the monster is unfazed. As they get closer, Loki knows that this is the moment. He spreads his hands out to his side in a signal, and all of the men hit the ground, just missing the swipe from Gorr's blade. They are not as fortunate during his return swing, as it catches many of them, removing arms like a hot knife in cold butter. The injured Vanir men are screaming in terror and pain, but Loki and the first battalion get up to keep fighting, gritting their teeth to silence their fear.