Chapter 6: More Sinned Against than Sinning


The air was thick with uncertainty. There was no one in sight and no tree stirred with enough force to attract attention. Yet all torches down the hall expanded, as if they had been fed. The whoosh of an intruder could barely be heard above the crackling flames. When the torches had withered to their original girth, the noise was long gone.

A slight breeze floated through the castle of Asgard, unhindered until it came across a gust blowing in the opposite direction. Compact yet invisible, the gust forced the breeze to break under its persistence. An even louder whoosh broke the silence of night as the gust rounded a corner.

Nothing guided it except a grudge it was more than willing to haul throughout the halls, tugging it around corners and checking every crevice. On and on it searched. Relentless only after the palace guards had disappeared from sight. Then, it burst forward once more, gliding past a door left recently ajar. A voice echoed through it, and it said a word that sent it reeling: king

"Yes, my king."

Turning slowly, the gust pressed itself against the door, listening by simply existing.

"Come to think of it, tell Xarus I'll be bringing a small party of my own."

"Yes, my king."

A man of no interest walking out of the room, pausing to look around. The gust, hovering over the door like an extra layer of paint, waited for the man to shake off his paranoia and make a move to shut the door.

Leaping to action, the gust slithered through the opening just as it was sealed. The room was well lit and decorated with the best resources in the kingdom: ancient tomes, maps of distant lands, and instruments of knowledge. Most important of all, an old man stood in the center of the room, touching his whitened beard and pouring over something on the desk in front of him.

The gust, a blurry shade against the backdrop of the silver study, circled in on itself, relishing in how exhausted the old man looked.

Impatience consuming any semblance of common sense, the gust lunged forward, aiming for the exposed neck of the man. Pages turned and loose papers scattered at the sudden movement, alerting the man before the gust could get close.

King Odin, snapped out of his reverie by something he could never have seen coming, raised his hand to halt his attacker. The spell he breathed out was effective enough to send the gust careening into the desk. Successfully splitting the piece of furniture into two splintered parts, Odin searched with one good eye for his assailant.

Before it fully recovered, the gust shot up, aiming for any exposed flesh that the King had. This time, he got a bit closer. But this time, Odin was prepared.

Staff in hand, Odin redirected the gust to a bookshelf and made it collapse on impact. Books fell to the floor in heaps, and without hesitation, Odin set them aflame with another well directed spell. The King set his staff down with a grand thud, watching the bonfire grow, ready to contain it when necessary.

The gust could feel itself being yanked apart as the greedy flames tried to suck the oxygen out of his form. Panic overcame his anger, and instead of aiming for Odin's form, the gust shot straight out of the pile of flaming books and screamed towards the doorway. A few sparks still clung to him, allowing Odin to finally see the shape of the attacker; a formless cloud.

Despite having no shape, Odin could feel emotions radiating off of the gust as if it was radioactive with hatred and embarrassment. Overcome with such an odd sensation of feeling something else's emotions, Odin hesitated. His resolve wavered for only a moment as the back of his mind tried to force recognition into his train of thought.

The gust spun through the hall, secrecy the last thing on its mind as Odin alerted the guards of an intruder. As idiotic as charging through the palace of Asgard seemed in retrospect, the gust put its life on the bet that it was strong enough to charge through whatever stood in its path. Yet when it came across any set of guards, it ducked into the nearest hiding place.

Cowardice. The label almost deteriorated the gust into sheer rage. As painful as it was, the heat of failure goaded the gust to accomplish something. If the king was unavailable, the next best thing was his queen.

Yet with the footsteps coming from every angle, the gust doubted it would get that far. Going down the very short list of what would make this failed quest worth his time, inspiration struck when he heard a guard shout an order:

"Secure the weapons vault!"

Whipping itself around to hover a few feet behind those that received that command, it used the security of darkness to its advantage. The gust had to physically control its urge to barrel through the few guards leading him to the vault. It reasoned that it had no idea where the vault was. It needed them, as nauseating as that reality was.

Luckily, the gust saw its opportunity when the guards spun and positioned themselves to defend. The door at their backs must be the weapons vault, so it was able to rocket through them without remorse.

The gust, as the Norns knew, was not a gust at all. More of a whisper of something that used to be whole. Something that used to be able to charge through people and crush them, instead of blowing them backwards as he did then.

He kept spinning his almost nonexistence life form until the doors to the weapons vault were destroyed and in his wake. Stilling to survey vault, his attention was drawn to a large weapon at the end of the room with a grand display of its own.

Never having the privilege to acquaint the Tesseract aside from that unseemly meeting, the sight of it struck a chord of distress in the gust. He inched forward, floating a few feet above the floor yet still activating a defense system he hadn't been aware of.

The wall behind the Tesseract began to fold in on itself. Behind it was a bright light, with enough strength to send the gust reeling. A large metal form materialized out of the light and stood in the room, prepared to do its duty and defend.

The metal beast's sheer size and intimidating presence sent the gust into a frenzy; there was a time where the sight of this creature would have made him laugh. But as the beast opened its face and released a beam of powerful magic directed at the gust, he knew such a scenario was no laughing matter.

Doing the only thing he seemed able to do, the gust dodged the blast of magic and charged towards the metal beast. When the beast tried to swipe him away, the gust was slowed but not stopped.

After the cloudy existence of the gust disappeared inside of the Destroyer, the room stiffened, waiting for what came next: a hiccup of silence. Then, the Destroyer slumped over, its nearly impenetrable skin bubbling. As if possessed, the metal beast whipped itself back, trembling and unable to expel the demon that held it captive.

While the unimaginable transpired within the Destroyer, Odin was being directed in the direction of the weapons vault. Loud clashes could be heard far away enough to rouse the king's attention. Flanking him were sets of guards, swords out and steady. Though how much damage they could actually inflict was in question as the image of a translucent beast imprinted itself in Odin's mind.

The king, once close enough to the room that he could see what was inside, slowed to a halt. Like a rock in the middle of the sea, the guards simply maneuvered around their king and kept on rushing forwards. Yet they hesitated when they digested the sight that had caused Odin to stop short.

The Destroyer stood over the Tesseract, bent at an unholy angle and unmoving. The scent of heated metal drew disgusted faces but no one dared speak.

Odin took a few more steps, until he reached the doorway. He refused to enter the room any further, afraid of what else he would find. Yet his men looked up at him, wondering what to do about the mess before them.

It took Odin a few more moments to snap out of his trance. When he was fully present in front of his men, he raised his chin and spoke with a voice that refused to falter. "Search for any missing objects. Weapons or not."

After barking out his orders and watching the guards leap into action, Odin turned and began to make his way back down the hall in which he came. A guard stood rigid near the entrance, just as he did. He beckoned the guard closer and spoke with a voice much less powerful. "Go and have someone wake Queen Frigga."

He gave the guard a head start, watching the younger man disappear into darkness. Shaking his head, Odin decided he was too pensive for such a dire situation. Yet no rational thought could silence that insistent nagging at the back of his mind.

The gust of a man had long since left the metal beast and the weapons vault in its past. Currently, it was making its way towards the westernmost part of the palace, looking for an exit that would not alert the watchmen now positioned in their towers. The lights used to pierce the darkness of night would find him in a heartbeat if he decided to escape through a window.

Taking the abundance of stairs moving him downwards as a definite good sign, the gust whirled closer and closer to ground level. Hoping for a side entrance or a decent opening wasn't an unfair wish.

After descending down a final staircase, the gust found himself in a large room with an exceptional amount of doors. A large set of double doors on the opposite side of the room attracted his attention. Perhaps he had found an exit at last?

Despite not having a solid form, what he recognized as a headache hit him like a hammer. All he had done was float closer to the exit, but the room had other plans for him. Flinching back, the gust examined what had caused him such agony, but found no one in sight. Trying again, he found himself blasted backwards, away from a wall decorated with ancient writings he didn't understand.

His one sided battle with the ruins of healing lasted an uncomfortably long time, until he was able to swallow the head splitting pain and inch his way to the double doors.

A door behind him opened, followed by footsteps that stopped when they caught sight of the gust attempting to escape. He turned, trembling from the pain the ruins inflicted, that made him look even more unnerving. The woman in the doorway was no magic user; her helplessness and terror were practically edible.

Eir, walking out of the hospital ward to investigate a rattling noise, had to pinch herself to ensure she wasn't dreaming. A formless cloud had just turned and looked at her. It was floating halfway across the room, heading towards the garden exit. Her slanted eyes widened, confused as to how she should react. Her mouth fell open but no words existed for this situation.

Her ears twitched, picking up the sound of footsteps. Guards? Eir's hand shuddered as the gust turned back around, deciding escape was more important.

The Healer spun on her heel, but instead of sprinting back inside to pseudo safety, she grabbed the door handles and snapped the Healing Ward shut. She had no idea what the gust wanted or if doors would hold it back, but what else could she do except try?

Coiling, the gust felt itself begin to disperse under the pressure of the ruins. In one final attempt at escape, the gust sent out a blast of air, successfully opening the entrance but being blown backwards in the process. Instead of opting for death via being found, the gust slipped under the frame of another door, as far away from the ruins as he could manage.

Spinning back around and spreading her arms out as if she were enough to shield the patients inside, Eir was greeted with the sight of the exit blown wide open. No sentient cloud was in sight.

Chest rising and falling even when the guards finally arrived, Eir stared at the exit. She was waiting for it to return and kill her.

When the guards reached her, brandishing weapons and providing protection, Eir's eyes remained glassy. They refused to shift from the unyielding night sky. Who knew what else would rear its omnipotent head?


A bloody sunrise greeted Asgard that morning.

"My King." A standard greeting from the gatekeeper offered a sense of normalcy to the conversation that would no doubt become heavy. Heimdall's lack of movement was not a dismissal of Odin's presence, but a matter of routine. His gaze rarely left the vastness of space.

"I assume you know why I am here?" Odin asked. He was tired, and it was told in his monotonous voice.

"Last night there was an intruder in Asgard," Heimdall stated. He turned away from whatever scene he had been observing and stepped down from his post. "That made an attempt on your life."

"I did not come here to hear of things I already know." Odin's coarseness didn't rile even a flinch from the gatekeeper.

"Then it is no use telling you that whatever attacked you had no form for me to see."

"You must have seen something," Odin stated, his voice quick with impatience. "I saw it for an instant. You must have as well."

"For half of a heartbeat," Heimdall nodded. "I saw the shape of it while it was on fire, same as you."

"Then its escape from the Healing Ward?" Odin said, disappointed those words didn't come from the mouth of Heimdall. "The doors were blown open and it vanished into the night."

"So I've heard," Heimdall said, causing Odin's teeth to grind in frustration.

"You tell me that you saw nothing?" Odin demanded, gripping his staff tighter as frustration built under his skin. Threatening the gatekeeper would not open his eyes to the past.

"I saw the doors open and a scared woman close a door," Heimdall said. "The room between them was dark and if there was something there, I could not see it clearly."

Yell was what Odin wanted to do at that moment, but settling his gaze to the golden floor was how he spent the next few seconds. Heimdall watched him, knowing his anger and apprehension as an exaggerated version of his own. Accepting that he had failed, that he had allow an intruder come so close to harming the king, was a burden in itself.

"The weapons vault," Odin tried.

"No," Heimdall responded. Not in the halls, not when it escaped, nowhere. This truth took a few more moments to digest. Heimdall never looked away from the image of his pensive King.

When Odin straightened his posture and hit his staff against the ground, ending the tense silence, Heimdall also adjusted his grip on his sword.

"Who did you allow into Asgard before last night?" Odin asked. The shift in conversation didn't help lighten the atmosphere.

"Many," the gatekeeper said, perhaps testing the king's patience. "But if you imagine someone smuggled your attacker in… I have been having similar thoughts."

"Who?"

"The daughter of Jania, who passed through yesterday before sundown."

Odin, despite the implications, finally had a solid lead. This rejuvenated him, straightening his spine and flaring his nostrils. "Are you sure?"

"She disappeared from my sight not a week ago," Heimdall reassured. "If there was any time for her to coordinate an attack…"

"Where is she?" Odin's voice was curt.

"In the village," Heimdall said, climbing back to his position without worrying about turning his back on the king. "Preparing to settle in for a longer stay than she is permitted."

Odin knew there was nothing else to be said. He left the gatekeeper in heavy silence.


Loki was not alone when his attention was compromised for the hundredth time that morning. A red haired woman sat across from him, rolling her eyes at his impertinent staring. It was a patrol of guards. Those weren't exactly few and far between in a place like Asgard.

She opened her mouth to ask why he had set his book down with such finality, but he shushed her prematurely. He rose slowly, straining his ears and pressing his fingertips against the table as if to silence it as well.

The woman gave him a considerate glance before returning to her task of sewing patterns into small pieces of fabric.

Loki's head jerked to the side as he heard one of the men outside utter the phrase that had made him jump out of his seat all morning:

"... Attacked the king-"

"Sh! Not here, you idiot."

"No one's here."

Loki pushed away from the table and all but ran towards the door, throwing it open and revealing that there was, in fact, someone else there. The guards lost all colour in their cheeks.

The prince looked them up and down carefully. Their thinly veiled terror confirmed his suspicions; Odin didn't want him knowing why security had doubled throughout the day. Fortunately, Odin wasn't there at that moment.

"What attack?" Loki demanded. They wouldn't dare to not respond to a Prince, would they?

"Our apologies, My Liege, but we are under direct orders to reveal nothing." Loki clicked his tongue and looked back to the doorway, frustration pumping through his veins.

In said doorway stood the red-haired woman, her curiosity better hidden than Loki's but just as strong. He looked at her, piecing together his next words carefully. When he turned back to the guards, his eyes were alight.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"We cannot say-"

"Anything about the attack," Loki cut them off, waving off their regurgitated words. "That's not what I asked."

"We're … patrolling the castle," one guard asked, looking at the other while adjusting his grip on his staff. His partner looked straight ahead, sweating under the pressure. Trapped between the nightmare prince dressed in green that was bound to get them in trouble and his evident loophole, the guard cringed when Loki gestured for him to keep talking. Deciding he wanted to leave before the prince's mood turned sour, the guard continued. "Looking for the Daughter of Jania."

Instead of leaving them alone, Loki grew even more persistent. "What? Why?" He uncrossed his arms and looked between the faces of each guard impatiently.

"Odin looks for her," the same guard replied, looking to his glassy partner for help once more. Help that never came.

"Why?" Loki practically shouted, dread entering his mind and strangling any positive answer he may receive. Did she do something? After he let her into Asgard?

"Loki." His name came not from the stricken guard, but from the woman who had sidled up beside him after hearing his dismay. She placed a hand on his shoulder that he shrugged off quickly, but spun to face her.

"She's done something," Loki muttered, eyes wide. He could see his father's reprimanding glare in his mind's eyes. Loki's hands clenched together before relaxing.

"Who?" the woman asked, looking from an unresponsive Loki to the guard who also offered her silence. "Who's this Jania Daughter?"

He barely heard the woman speak. All at once, the previous night returned to him. His chest expanded, equally furious and insulted in his vivid overreaction. "I'll kill her myself."

"Who?" the woman exclaimed, waving her hands to try and bring him back to solid ground. "Who is she?"

Instead of answering, Loki turned and began to stalk down the hall, more scenarios plaguing him, the next always worst than the last. The poor red-haired woman trailed in his wake, begging for an explanation.


"Dallea?"

Queen Frigga was advised to check near the overgrown area of the lake, as some gardeners caught sight of a woman travelling there many hours before. When she felt she was close enough, she observed the sight of Dallea, wearing a plain grey dress akin to that of a servant's. Her entire arm was submerged in the lake, and she seemed to be humming something while carefully attempting to … touch the fish? Frigga couldn't tell.

However, after Frigga spoke the elf's name (barely above a whisper), pandemonium erupted. Startled at the closeness of another person, Dallea tried wrench her hand from the water and stand up, but her legs extended first. Instead of gracefully rising to greet the intruder, she slipped on the moss-covered rocks and dove head first into the lake.

"Oh my-" Frigga cried, covering her mouth for a second before surging forward to see if she could offer a hand.

Dallea knew how to swim fairly well, but the coldness of the water was not welcome and so she ended up rearing back and sputtering to the surface like some wild beast. Hair splayed across her face, Dallea blearily looked at the image of Queen Frigga bent by the lake, soaking her dress and offering her a hand.

Dallea sat back on her heels. The water went up to her torso, but she would gladly drown herself if she didn't feel obligated to take the Queen's hand.

There wasn't much to say after that. Frigga held Dallea's shoulders and tried to capture her eyes. Shivering and humiliated, Dallea coughed. She lost a shoe in the water.

Frigga rubbed her arm, then moved her hand to better steer Dallea out of the lakeside muck. "Let's go and-"

"I'm sorry."

Frigga shook her head, refusing to listen to the crack in Dallea's voice. She held one of the elf's hands in both of hers, squeezing occasionally as they escaped onto level ground.

"I'm sorry," Dallea tried again, her voice stronger this time. "Your dress … For Yggdrasil's sake …" After realizing what she just said, Dallea clamped a hand over her mouth.

"I shouldn't have startled you," Frigga stated, brushing off Dallea's stammering with a flick of her wrist.

"I don't mind," Dallea said. Her quivering body bared to differ.

Queen Frigga took a long look at Dallea. She adjusted her grip on Dallea's hand. The elf sloppily wiped her hair from her face and plucked a sea plant from her dress.

"You haven't changed one bit," Frigga said. Her tone was not praising nor condescending. "Not a single bit."

"Thank you," she said. Dallea didn't know if that was necessarily a compliment, though.

"How have you been?" Frigga asked, face breaking into a beautiful smile. Divulging into small talk put her more at ease, Dallea could see.

"Fine. Very fine. How have you been?" Dallea said.

"Good."

Dallea nodded, opening her mouth. A ghost of a smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. Only a polite grimace remained. There was a distance between them, even though Frigga still hadn't let go of her hand. Dallea didn't know how to reach across it.

Frigga continued with a contemplative tone, shifting uncomfortably in her damp clothing. "Dear Skandi told me about a Rekkr in her midst. I had no idea."

Dallea brought her lips up into a quasi smile. That was the point.

"I never thought Jania would allow you," Frigga admitted. Her tone was jesting, but the temperature dropped a few degrees. Dallea looked down. "Oh dear…"

Dallea should have stayed in the water, if she was going to open and close her mouth like a fish. There was no excuse or half hearted joke that she could make to falter the pity and disappointment in Frigga's stare. No, she hadn't changed.

However, in reality disappointment was the farthest thing from Frigga's mind. Anger, maybe, but definitely not directed at the woman in front of her.

"How was it?" Frigga asked. Dallea looked up hesitantly. "Fighting with Vanaheim?"

Dallea smiled. There was a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes. "Good. Great, even."

Frigga looked between Dallea's eyes, as if one spoke a different message than the other. Instead of ducking away again, Dallea pawed her hair away from her face so the Queen could see her smile more clearly.

"I hope you didn't give them too much trouble," Frigga teased. Well, almost teased.

Dallea searched for something easy to reply. After too long of an awkward pause, she said: "Nothing they couldn't handle."

It was Frigga's turn to hesitate. She was so inclined to believe that the only thing amiss about Dallea was how socially cut off she was. Such a thing would be expected if Skandi wasn't lying and Dallea had spent most of her time as Rekkr alone. However, Dallea also could be wilting under the guilt of sneaking an enemy into Asgard, as Odin suspected.

To Frigga, Dallea still looked like a little girl, looking at the Queen with quiet awe. Perhaps Frigga shouldn't have offered to speak with the elf before Odin did; it was more difficult than she anticipated.

Besides, she had Dallea's hand in a death grip and could not sense any inkling of dark magic that could bypass Heimdall's sight.

Dallea stood patiently as Frigga overturned her concerns once, then once more. Then, as if second guessing herself already, Frigga slowly released Dallea's hand. "Well, I hope you treat us just as kindly."

Blinking, Dallea couldn't articulate her confusion fast enough. "What?"

"Well, I assumed since that is something you enjoy, you would be inclined to help us defend Asgard," Frigga said. "Unless I'm mistaken and you've come for another reason …"

The Queen was teasing again, but Dallea turned a brilliant shade of red anyway. While ducking her head to avoid eye contact she could feel a weight be lifted off of her chest. In coming here she didn't know, not until the moment that it was spoken, that if by leaving Vanaheim she was also leaving behind being a soldier. "I would be honoured to."

Frigga smiled. "That's good to hear. If you aren't too busy settling in, then there is a small excursion happening tomorrow morning."

"Why? Where?" Dallea blurted. She slapped a hand over her mouth as her eyes widened. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine, child," Frigga nodded. "It's a matter I would rather leave up to Odin to explain. If you're interested, go to his study after sunset. He'll explain everything."

"Thank you," Dallea said slowly. There was a question in her tone and lingering on her face.

"Your friends are a unit that have been together for years now," Frigga said taking a shot at why Dallea looked quizzical. "If you ever hope to work with them you have to start right away."

Dallea nodded once. She would be lying if that comment didn't make her feel a little disheartened. Frigga placed one final hand on Dallea's shoulder before brushing past her, probably to go and get changed.

Dallea stayed there and stared at the water for a long time.


As Frigga stated, the warriors of Asgard gathered around the study just after nightfall. Six waited patiently for Odin to unlock the doors and allow them entry. The seventh, who peered from a safe distance away like a stalker, made no move to join them. Dallea churned her hands together looking at the fun they were having. Knowing she was most likely exaggerating their friendly banter for life-changing humorous exchanges, the elf still didn't move.

What a terrible idea this was. She felt ashamed for even looking. Frustrated by her own insecurities and wishing she could cease to exist, Dallea was about to turn away when Odin finally opened the doors with a heartstopping crash.

Holding her heart, Dallea pressed herself against a wall parallel to the doors of the study. Safely out of sight now but still alert for the sounds of footsteps, she instead caught the tail end of a quip by none other than Prince Loki.

A terrible grimace took hold upon hearing his voice. Dallea's hand rose to her throat and squeezed. The pain she caused was still not on par with the memories of the previous day in the library. For Yggdrasil's sake, that man would be the death of her.

With one arm occupied by rubbing her neck, she used her free hand to run a thumb over her bracelet. She felt only the bone of her wrist.

Jerking her arm away in order to inspect it properly, she received the sight of a bare arm. Hiking up the sleeves of her dress to see if it had slipped, she checked her other arm, hands patting anywhere it might be.

"No, no," Dallea chanted, her heart composing a drumroll. "Please, no."

Dallea's mind became rampant with incoherent questions: Where could she have put it? Where was it last? Had she seen it at dinner? Did someone steal it? Was asking around any use? Had she dropped it in the-

Snapping to attention, Dallea recalled the image of herself slipping off her bracelet while edging closer to the water. Dallea was already halfway down the hall when she completed the thought, going the opposite direction of the meeting and cursing herself all the while.

The meeting went on without her. A restless start hushed when Odin positioned him at the front of the six warriors. There was a pause where he stared into the space between two people. When he was finally present, his voice was calm.

"I trust you," Odin began. The six warriors, not wanting to miss a syllable, practically held their breath waiting. "I trust your abilities. I trust that if any of you had seen any hint about where the Mares were coming from, you would tell me.

"The only other option, if none of you have seen anything so far, is that the Mares are coming from somewhere else. You haven't been to two places since this terrorism began; Svartalfheim and Muspelheim."

A few murmurs and grunts of recognition sounded through the room. Odin raised a hand and it immediately fell silent.

Just as the room fell silent, Dallea threw open a very old and creaky door in her trek for the lakeside. The night was thick with humidity and hazy in its darkness, like a thin sheet was draped over her as soon as she stepped outside. Bugs and small animals cooed and clicked as she raced down the path, leading near the lake.

Her footfalls became rhythmic, until suddenly they weren't. Another beat of heels on gravel joined her own. Hairs on her arm standing straight up, Dallea swiveled around and dug her heels into the earth. And listened.

No one else was on the path with her in any direction. In fact, she couldn't see any signs of life whatsoever. Hesitantly, she began walking again. Every noise from then on was drawn out and mocking.

Odin continued. "In a way, we are already at war. War with those beastly NightMares, but only in a figurative sense. War is something entirely different." Odin ran his handthrough his beard. His eye patch seemed to glitter as memories threated to overthrow his calm demeanor. "I will do everything I can to ensure nothing about this situation escalates to that, and all of you must keep that in mind when we travel to Muspelheim tomorrow morning."

Thor's voice was the loudest but his words weren't clear as a million other questions bubbled up at the exact same moment. Odin held his staff in both hands and slammed it to the ground three times.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Almost immediately the room was silent once more.

"War is not a suggestion. It is not even a thought at this point. The only reason for travelling and going through the trouble of speaking with the Fire Giants is to see if they are unaware that Mares are invading, and to see if a nest of them has hidden in a crevice no one has bothered to check."

Odin paused, wondering if he should continue or not. Looking at eagerness in the warriors eyes instead of wariness convinced him to. After all, the slight disarray of the study was a terrying reminder that something had nearly killed him not a day ago.

"Because ever since this invasion began, every crevice is dangerous. Every dark place is a haven of hell and horror."

Dallea reached the spot where she had been earlier that day, slightly out of breath after deciding she would jog to make sure her time outside in the stifling heat and darkness was as limited as possible.

The bog right next to the lake looked intimidating at night. Every frond was a long, sickly finger protruding from the earth drag her under. Every rustle of the breeze made goosebump rise all over her arms.

Fortunately the moon was bright that night, and even though the shadows were large in numbers, they were fairly shallow. She shuffled forwards, trying to remember which rock she had placed it on…

The one farthest from the water. It glinted in the moonlight, purple beads shimmering like they were worth more than they were. Relief welled in chest, the thought of turning around and going back into the castle a welcomed thought.

Her fingertips touched the smooth beads and immediately she yanked them away. The bracelet was unnaturally hot, more hot than fire itself. Cradling her burnt hand carefully, she felt the sting sharply even after a few minutes of blankly staring at the deceiving piece of jewelry.

"You've been lucky so far," Odin said. The warriors listened but couldn't quite understand why Odin's eyes glazed over the way they did. Thor was especially confused as to why his father's blank stare rested on him as he continued. "Don't let it get to your head. Be thankful that those creatures haven't crawled into your beds and drove you insane."

Dallea didn't want to touch it again, but she did anyway. Curiosity overcame her rationality and this time she touch it lightly with her index finger. Her hand shook until she made contact.

"They could never," Loki interrupted, the confidence in his voice comical to his father. "Asgard is too well protected."

The bracelet was a normal temperature. Dallea brought her hand away then touched it again. If anything, it was kind of cool. She touched her burnt fingerpads and then stared at them, dumbfounded. They weren't burnt at all.

Odin looked at his son with an unreadable expression. After a few moments he could muster only one reply: "You must be cautious. Swear to me. All of you."

A chorus of "I swear" and "Aye"'s rang through the room for the next few seconds.

Dallea took the bracelet in one shaky hand, doubting not only her mind but the stifling night around her. Standing quickly, she looked around again. The feeling of being watched nagged at the back of her mind.

Odin dismissed the warriors and stood alone in his study for quite some time afterwards. Whatever had happened the night before wasn't something he could shake, no matter how he hid it. Perhaps it was a good thing Frigga had convinced him to let the elf come with them the next day. He didn't trust her in the slightest and needed to keep her in eyesight until he had the proof to persecute her for it.

The thought of leaving the bracelet behind or even throwing it into the lake made Dallea's lower lip quiver. Nanny would understand, but she would never forgive herself. As stupid as it was, Dallea kept the bracelet in her hand and escaped the lakeside as quickly as she could, never looking back.

Odin rubbed the exhaustion from his one good eye, thinking of the day and what was to come. His mind drifted to his sons, strong in mind and body, but not quite ready for what Odin feared this invasion would become.

"Be safe," Odin whispered hoarsely to nothing but his own terrified self. "For Yggdrasil's sake, be safe."