Fenris stared up at his father, swallowed hard, and tried to fix his face into a neutral expression. He could feel his pulse jumping in his neck, pounding like someone trapped in a burning building, desperate to get out. He was supposed to be pretending to be on Loki's side until after Ragnarok, so he knew they would meet up sooner or later. He had really been hoping for later.

"Father," he said, with a quick nod.

Erik the Blue blinked at the intruder in his cottage, wincing against the bite of the wind from the open door. "But if you're..." he said slowly, his eyes flicking to Fenris momentarily, "That means he—" As the realization hit him, Erik snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, then stumbled backward until he bumped into his wooden desk. He gripped the edges with white knuckles, and looked like he might faint.

Dipper crossed behind the fire pit, and went to stand next to Erik. He elbowed the terrified mortal and murmured "You okay?"

Erik the Blue opened his mouth, but all he could manage was "Nuuuuh." He still had his eyes locked on Loki.

"Yeah, I don't suppose you would be," Dipper muttered. He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the desk.

Loki grinned impishly down at his son. "So you've finally come to your senses and decided to embrace your destiny, eh? Good boy. Gotta admit, I'm not sure about you draggin' ol' goat pants into Ragnarok, but he is a trickster, so I think I'll give him a chance to prove he's on the up and up."

Fenris, still seated on the floor, shivered, and scooted closer to the fire. The door remained wide open, the chill wind billowing Loki's green wool cloak out around him like some perverse version of a superhero's cape.

"Dipper is definitely on the up and up," Fenris said, trying, unsuccessfully to keep his teeth from chattering. "I asked him to come along to watch my back. Hel told me you have a plan in mind that involves me surviving the events of the prophecy. Figured he might be able to help me with the not getting killed bit."

Loki eyed Fenris with scrutiny, ignoring his son's words, and instead, focusing on his shivering. "You know, you'd be much warmer as a wolf. Why are you still in human form?" He casually flicked his wrist, and the door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the brutal barrage of wind and snow.

Fenris was silent for a moment. He doubted his father would have sympathy for him if he knew his real reason—he was still in human form because he liked being able to approach people without them screaming in fear and running from the "monster." Although he was going to have to get used to that—everyone would run in fear from him when he began destroying Midgard.

Fenris's eyes flicked over to the terrified mortal whose house they occupied, and he was struck with the realization that as part of Ragnarok he was going to have to kill Erik the Blue, who had offered them food and shelter, and who seemed like a decent person. An ember of anger flared up in Fenris's chest, which gave him an idea for a plausible answer to his father's question.

"I can't throw fireballs in my canine form," he said with a shrug.

Loki's eyebrows shot up. "Ah, okay. That makes sense. The way you took out those ancient demons was fairly bad-ass. In fact..." he trailed off, a terrifyingly gleeful smile spreading across his face. Loki slowly turned his head toward Erik, and giggled.

"Oh, fuck," Dipper muttered, comprehending what was about to go down.

"I think I'd like another demonstration," Loki continued, still staring at the trembling mortal. "Proof that you really are on Team Daddy—and that you are harboring no illusions of humanity." He paused and turned back to Fenris. "Kill him, son. Kill him with fire."

Fenris had to swallow back the bile that suddenly rose in his throat. Every fiber of his being raged against the idea—but he couldn't let Loki know that. He slowly stood, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Okay," he said, his voice barely audible. He turned to face his prey. "Dipper, you should probably move."

Erik let out a soft groan and clutched Dipper's arm. "Help!" he hissed, looking at the satyr with wild, tear-filled eyes.

Dipper shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't… but," he said, glancing down at the dagger sheathed on Erik's belt, "you need to unsheathe that, and run at him," he finished in a whisper.

Erik's eyebrows drew together and he let out a wet laugh. "You're suggesting I try and fight Fenrir?"

Dipper nodded solemnly. "Yes."

"Will it make any difference if I try to fight back?" Erik whispered. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Dipper sighed. "No. But do it anyway."

He clapped Erik the Blue on the shoulder, and walked away from him, crossing the room to stand next to Fenris.

Fenris blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. He took a deep breath, and looked down at his clenched fists. They were ice cold. He wasn't sure he could actually go through with this, even though he knew he had to. He hadn't mastered the fireballs yet. After all, he'd only just discovered that he had that power.

"O. M. ME!" Loki cried. He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Are you waiting until fimbulwinter is over, or something? Kill him!"

Dipper nudged Fenris with his elbow, and muttered under his breath, "Get angry."

Fenris nodded. He could do angry. He was angry that his father was insisting he kill an innocent man. He was angry that he'd been forced to participate in Ragnarok, and put his best friend in danger, all because his father was chaotic evil. And he was furious that his father had nearly killed Mabel, simply because he was not getting his way.

The ember in his chest flared white hot, and Fenris realized that he no longer felt at all cold. Heat surged through his body, and his hands began to glow. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. The exhalation from his lungs was so super-heated that the air in front of his face shimmered. He looked up at Erik the Blue, and made eye contact.

Just as Fenris brought his fist up and felt the energy surge from his chest to his hand, Erik drew his dagger, and staggered forward at a run, screaming. An impossibly bright flash of light momentarily blinded everyone in the room as a ball of flame erupted from Fenris's hand and enveloped the mortal. This fireball didn't explode like the ones that had taken out the demons at the Gravnemeta, however. It quickly dissipated in a puff of acrid black smoke.

There was no body. It had been vaporized. All that remained was a dagger lying on top of a scorch mark on the ground. Erik the Blue was no more.

/

The only noise in the clearing was the whisper of wind through pine needles, and an occasional flutter of crows' wings. Mabel stared up at The Morrigan, unsure of what to say. The goddess had suggested that Mabel was capable of incredible power—much more than her previous mentor, Arden, had realized. What exactly did she mean by that?

"So, um," Mabel said finally, pausing to clear her throat. "The Morrigan. You're my new mentor. Why meet me here then, instead of at the Gravnemeta?"

"You may call me simply Morrigan. It's a bit easier." The goddess placed an elegant, long-fingered hand on her hip, her scarlet mouth twisted into a smirk. "Let's just say that most of the others from my… pantheon… don't always agree with my methods. I fear they would try and turn you against me before I had the chance to help you fully unleash the power within you."

Mabel frowned. "Turn me against you? But aren't you one of the good guys? Isn't you mentoring me supposed to help me keep the Gravnemeta safe?"

Morrigan sighed and rolled her eyes. Then she waved a hand, and Mabel noticed a table laden with tea and cakes had appeared behind her. "Come sit, my magpie. You look cold—have some tea." Mabel followed her to the table and sat down. Morrigan poured some tea into Mabel's cup before continuing. "'Good guys.' Why does everything have to be bad and good, or black and white? I simply am. I'm neither bad, nor good—I use my intellect and weigh my options. I think. I help those who deserve my help—who have proven themselves worthy. Likewise, I can make life a living hell for those who scorn me, or hurt those I care for."

Mabel took a sip of tea, savoring the spiciness of it, then bit into a sugar-crusted pastry. She used the time her mouth was full to think about Morrigan's words. Pre-Weirdmageddon Mabel may have argued that being good was always best, and if you weren't one-hundred percent good, then you must be bad. But current Mabel had seen some shit. What Morrigan was saying made a lot of sense. "It's like Fenris," Mabel said quietly. The thought of him made her stomach twist into knots. She took another sip of tea, and held it in her mouth, wanting an excuse to not continue talking. She shouldn't have brought him up.

If Morrigan noticed Mabel's discomfort, she paid it no mind. "Ah yes, the Great Wolf of Norse legend, foretold to destroy the world." She took took a dainty sip of tea, and continued. "I have to say, you and your brother have had quite an effect on him. In all the previous Norse cycles, he's been a bloodthirsty monster, full of hatred. But this cycle, he isn't destroying out of hatred. He's destroying because he wants to protect you. It's all very romantic."

Mabel stared down at her hands, her cheeks flushed. She honestly couldn't get a read on Morrigan. She wasn't sure if the goddess was making fun of her, or being sincere. She didn't have to decide how to respond, however, because Morrigan kept talking.

"And that is exactly the gray area I'm talking about. Your boyfriend has to do some terrible things, but he's doing them out of love. For you."

Mabel felt like her breath had been knocked from her lungs. She sat her teacup back on its saucer with shaking hands, the china clinking loudly, and looked up, locking eyes with Morrigan. "So are you saying I'll have to do terrible things?"

Morrigan smiled and shook her head. "Not at all. Well, I mean, you may. I'm just saying that if you have to do something traditionally thought of as 'bad,' but you are doing it out of love and the desire to protect your friends and family—well, it can't be all that bad then, can it?"

Mabel closed her eyes, and imagined Fenris smiling at her, his hair a disheveled mess, his pale cheeks tinged pink. The way it felt when he would gently brush stray hairs off her forehead. His arms around her, the length of his body pressed against hers as they cuddled in bed. The heat of his breath on her skin when he whispered in her ear that he loved her.

Warmth began building in Mabel's core. She took a deep breath and met Morrigan's eyes with a level gaze. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a half-smile. "No, I guess not."

/

Loki slow clapped, the shadows from the flickering fire making his maniacal grin appear especially grotesque. "Hoo boy, you obliterated him, son! Ya did me proud!"

Fenris barely noticed. He couldn't take his eyes off the scorch mark that had once been Erik the Blue. He knelt down and picked up the dagger, then stood and wiped it on his pants to remove the soot. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. His face was void of emotion.

Dipper nudged Fenris's leg with a hoof. "Taking a trophy from your first official kill of Ragnarok, huh?" He tried to keep his tone light-hearted.

Fenris looked up at Dipper, his brows drawn together in confusion. Dipper had to suppress a sigh of exasperation. He met Fenris's eyes, cocked an eyebrow, and gave an almost imperceptible nod toward Loki.

Fenris had to clear his throat before he was able to speak."Oh—yeah." He glanced at his father. "Something to help me remember the occasion." He slid the dagger through one of his belt loops, and looked back down at the floor.

Loki's grin wavered, his eyes flicking from Fenris to Dipper. Dipper held his breath. He hoped that Loki didn't know his own son well enough to be able to read Fenris's body language. Although Fenris had been able to keep his face free of emotion, his clenched jaw and fists, as well as his stiff posture, were a dead giveaway to Dipper that he was seriously upset.

"So, what now?" Dipper asked Loki, hoping to draw his attention away from Fenris. "Ragnarok isn't really going the way it's supposed to—so what should we be doing?"

Loki pursed his lips and shrugged. "You're a trickster—do what comes natural. Cause some mayhem! Burn down villages! Have fun!"

Dipper forced himself to grin, as if burning down villages was totally his idea of fun. "I meant, what should we do that will put you and Fenris on track to not dying? Instead of going after the humans of Midgard, maybe we should take the fight straight to the gods? Take them by surprise?"

Loki stroked his chin, and frowned thoughtfully. "That lacks a certain… finesse, though. Besides, I'm having fun imp—I mean, I have to have time to go to Jotunheim and rally the giants to my cause. Can't very well leave them out of the Ragnarok festivities. They'd be hurt!"

Dipper paced in front of the fire pit, his hooves clacking softly on the hard-packed dirt floor. "Well we have to get ahead of the game somehow if you and Fen are going to thwart the prophecy and live."

"Ahead." Fenris said quietly. "Get ahead." He finally looked up from the scorch mark and shot Dipper a small grin.

Dipper looked at his friend, his brows furrowed. "Sorry, what now?"

"What you just said," Fenris explained, "about getting ahead… it gave me an idea—what we can be doing while my father parleys with the giants."

Dipper raised his eyebrows, waiting for Fenris to continue. Before he could, Loki let out a gleeful squeal. He held both hands to his mouth in excited anticipation, like a teenybopper at a boy band concert, and stared at his son with shining eyes. It seemed he had already guessed what Fenris's idea was, and it apparently pleased him.

"Um, okay?" said Dipper. "What's the idea?"

"We literally get a head. We kidnap Odin's most trusted advisor—the head of Mimir."

Dipper was interested in the specifics. Specifics such as, 'who is Mimir?' and 'why are we only kidnapping his head?' However, Loki seemed about to explode with pride at Fen's idea, so Dipper decided to wait until after he and Fenris were alone again to ask those questions.

"My boy!" Loki cried. He lurched forward and enveloped Fenris in a tight hug. Fenris blinked, taken aback. When Loki let go of him he stumbled, and had to steady himself. "You truly are my son," Loki gushed. "'Get ahead,' he says." Loki chuckled and patted Fenris on the shoulder.

"I-I figured, none of the Aesir know I can shapeshift into human form, so I shouldn't have too hard a time getting into Asgard, because no one will recognize me," Fenris explained, mostly for Dipper's benefit. His cheeks were red, and he couldn't look Dipper in the eye. Loki's sudden affection had completely thrown him off kilter.

"Well, I'll leave you to hash out the details of your plan to," Loki paused and grinned at Fenris, "get ahead. I've got to get back to—to go make nice with your mother's kin." The trickster made as if to turn and leave, but stopped, and glanced at the cold-weather clothing Fenris and Dipper were wearing.

"You conjured the gear you're both wearing, didn't you?" Loki asked Dipper.

"Yes," Dipper answered, slightly defensive. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," Loki said, flapping a hand. "They're just so basic. They've got no flair. I mean, this is Ragnarok, after all. You should look the part." He snapped his fingers and suddenly Dipper and Fenris's clothing was replaced by old Norse armor, and heavy, wool cloaks that wrapped around their shoulders and clasped at the neck.

Dipper looked down at himself and frowned. He lifted his head to tell Loki that there was nothing wrong with basic, but the Norse trickster was gone.

Fenris blew out a breath, and sank down in front of the fire, next to the scorch mark on the floor. Dipper followed suit, his new armor creaking and groaning as he moved.

Erik's rabbit stew bubbled merrily in the cauldron in front of them. Dipper had nearly forgotten about it with everything going on. Although he wasn't a fan of eating bunnies, the stew smelled delicious, and his mouth began to water.

"So it's probably a faux pas of some kind to eat a dead man's supper, but I'm really hungry," Dipper admitted. "How about we eat while we discuss your plan to kidnap some dude's head."

Mention of the 'dead man' seemed to visibly deflate Fenris. His shoulders sank, and he touched the hilt of Erik's dagger that now hung from his belt.

"He ran at me with his knife drawn," Fenris murmured. "He had to have known there was no point. Why would he do that?"

Dipper shrugged. "Probably because I told him to?"

Fenris's head shot up. "Why? You didn't give him false hope, did you?" He looked like he might cry.

Dipper shook his head. "Nope, he knew he was done for. But I figured it was the least I could do to see that he went out fighting. I remembered something you said earlier—about how Hel takes in all the dishonored dead—anyone who didn't die in battle. No offense to your, erm, lovely sister, but Helheim is kind of a hellhole. I hope that running at you with a knife drawn counts as enough of a battle that Erik the Blue got sent to Valhalla, or that other one. What was it?"

"Folkvangr," Fenris supplied. He bit his lip and gazed back down at the scorch mark. "I hope it didn't hurt."

"I doubt it did, buddy," Dipper offered gently. "It was pretty much instantaneous. And from my personal, albeit short, experience being dead—even down in Helheim—the injuries that killed me didn't hurt, at all."

Fenris stared at the fire as he absorbed that information. While he was distracted, Dipper conjured a ladle, bowls, and spoons, and filled both bowls to the brim with the fragrant stew. Fenris seemed surprised when Dipper shoved a bowl into his hands.

"Okay, now," Dipper said, intent on taking Fenris's mind off his first kill of Ragnarok. "Tell me about Mimir, and how we're going to go about stealing his head."

/

Mabel walked slowly through the dense woods, trailing her fingers along the rough bark of the tree trunks she passed. A chill breeze played with strands of her loose hair, and bit at her pink cheeks and the tip of her nose, while the weak sunbeams that made it through the forest canopy dappled her skin in warm, soft light. Around mid-morning, Morrigan had called an end to their impromptu tea party. The goddess told Mabel that she would see her again very soon, before disappearing in a swirl of black silk. The murder of crows had all disappeared as well, leaving Mabel alone in the eerily quiet clearing. She decided she might as well head over to the Gravnemeta to hang out with Wendy and Beithe, who were currently on guard duty.

Talking with Morrigan had given Mabel a lot to think about. She remembered how, only last summer, she had been absolutely devastated when that unicorn bitch, Celestabellebethabelle, had told her she wasn't pure of heart. She'd seen it as an insult. No, more than that. She'd seen it as a condemnation. She had always tried to do the right thing, to be kind, to be charitable. Being seen as a good person had seemed so important to her back then.

She grinned as she imagined the look on last-summer-Mabel's face if she could see herself now, decked out in armor, and fit from Arden's intense training sessions. In addition to actually having defined muscles, she'd recently had a growth spurt. She wasn't as tall as Dipper or Wendy, but the change in height was enough to give her the look of a proper teenager, not a chubby kid. Her look was also different in that while she still loved her turtleneck sweaters, more often than not, now, she was clad in leggings or yoga pants and a tank top. They were easier to move in during training, and fit perfectly under her armor. Her hair was still the same, but she was actually considering cutting it. She wasn't a huge fan of ponytails or braids, and wearing her long hair loose while training or fighting was simply not practical.

Mabel chuckled to herself. Practicality was definitely not something last-summer-Mabel had cared about. Aesthetics had been everything to her. If it wasn't brightly colored, bedazzled, or covered in glitter, last-summer-Mabel didn't want anything to do with it. Not that current Mabel didn't care about aesthetics anymore. They just weren't as important to her in the grand scheme of things. Her most treasured possessions used to be her knitting needles, bedazzler, and hot glue gun. Now her glaive and armor topped that list.

She stopped walking for a moment and looked down at her plain, black leather armor. It could use a little something to snazz it up. On Sirona's orders she was still barred from guard duty for the rest of today and tomorrow, so she made a mental note to get out her old craft supplies when she got back to the Mystery Shack. She was going to bedazzle the shit out of her armor.

A few more minutes of walking found Mabel at the edge of the Gravnemeta. She heard shouting, and the sounds of a scuffle, and had to fight the urge to run into the fray. Her decision to leave her glaive at home suddenly seemed like the wrong call. She snuck closer so she could see what was happening, hiding behind a large henge-stone, and poking her head out to assess the situation. She recoiled in horror at the grotesque creature attacking Wendy and Beithe. It was a giant, horse-sized scorpion with the head of a man. It lurched at Wendy, clacking its claws, its barbed tail darting toward her over its back.

Mabel gasped, and held her hand over her mouth. Wendy dodged the scorpiman's tail strike, and struck back with a whip made of thorny vines. The creature hissed angrily as black blood oozed out of the slashes left by the whip.

"Mom, we need to bind it! I'll get the claws, you get the tail!" Wendy called. Beithe nodded and positioned herself behind the monster. Mother and daughter simultaneously shot vines at it, encasing its claws and stinger in thorny, green cocoons. They pulled the creature's appendages in opposite directions until their vines were taut. It hissed and growled and spit, its legs scrabbling to find purchase to be able to either move forward or backward.

"Um, now what?" Wendy asked her mom over the monster's indignant screeching.

Beithe shrugged. "We kill it, I guess. I'll do it, since I've got a free hand." As she spoke, she shot a vine from her left hand, which encircled the creature's neck. The vine tightened until the creature's noises became gurgles, then silence. Its face turned the color of an eggplant, its legs kicked and flailed. Finally it went limp, and sagged to the ground.

Mabel began to step out from behind the henge to congratulate the goddesses on their victory, and inspect this new, disgusting, type of enemy, but Wendy said something that brought her to a halt.

"Ugh," muttered Wendy, as she released her vines. "That wasn't too hard for us to take down, but can you imagine if that thing attacked Mabel? What was Arden thinking, tapping a mortal to protect the Gravnemeta?"

There had been something like derision in Wendy's tone when she'd said the word 'mortal.' Mabel wanted to know where Wendy's line of thinking was heading, but she didn't want to risk being seen eavesdropping. She pulled her head back so she could no longer see Wendy or Beithe, then leaned back against the tall stone, closed her eyes, and listened.

"Well, dear, the plan was always for Arden to be the main protector. She never planned to leave Mabel out here by herself."

Wendy huffed. "Why have a mortal protector at all, though? Mabel's gotten herself hurt multiple times now—hell, the first time she was out here alone she ended up with third degree burns and in a coma for a week!"

"That's my point, dear," Beithe said, beginning to sound exasperated. "She shouldn't have been out here alone. Loki kidnapped Arden." As an afterthought she added, "And apparently Fenris was taking a nap, or something?"

"Don't even mention that name," Wendy spat. There was so much venom behind her voice that Mabel flinched. "I would never say this to Dipper, because those two have a serious bromance going on, but it's Wolf Boy's fault things are as screwed up as they are now. If he hadn't come to the Mundane with us, Loki wouldn't have had to come after him. Nor would he have had a reason to kidnap (and eventually murder) Arden. And Dipper most likely wouldn't have been forced to accompany Wolf Boy to the Norse apocalypse. Or if he had, at least I could have gone along and watched Dipper's back. I wanted to, you know. But Dipper made me promise to stay back and babysit Mabel, because she's so heartbroken and vulnerable and mortal."

Mabel doubled over, and gasped as silently as she could. She felt as if Wendy had physically punched her in her sternum. She'd thought Wendy had chosen to stay behind. She didn't realize that Dipper had essentially demanded she stay behind simply for Mabel's sake. Worse than that, however, was that Wendy made it sound like she hated Fenris, and blamed him for keeping her and Dipper apart. Even blamed him for Arden's murder.

Mabel wrapped her arms around her midsection, and shook her head. No, Fenris was a victim in all this. First the Aesir had tricked him and bound him because they were afraid of his size and strength, and then Loki threatened everything Fenris loved because he needed his son's destructive power to jumpstart Ragnarok. As fierce as all the legends and prophecies made Fenrir sound, the Great Wolf was not inherently evil. He was a victim of circumstance.

Beithe seemed to agree with Mabel. "Wendy, that's not fair. You know the poor boy never asked for any of this. He fled a bad situation, and then fell in love—and that love is being used against him. And as for Dipper accompanying him? Honey, as you said, those boys have a bromance thing going on. You know how loyal Dipper is. If he hadn't made that rash promise to Hel, he probably would have gone with Fenris, regardless. Dipper and Mabel aren't the type to stand idly by when their friends are in trouble."

"Yeah, I know." Wendy sighed. "I still wish he hadn't made me stay behind. Mabel has all of you—plus Grenda. And Pacifica—sort of. When they're not busy with school, at least. She doesn't need me here. I'd be much more useful with Dipper and Fenris in the Norse Realm."

"Dipper knew we'd have watched after his sister if you went with him. He asked you to stay behind with her because he wanted to know you were safe, Wendy. Although I'm sure Mabel is happy to have you around to commiserate with, seeing as you're both dealing with the same separation woes right now."

Wendy scoffed softly in reply to her mother's assessment of the situation.

"Come on now, let's focus on the problem at hand," Beithe suggested. "How should we dispose of this… thing?"

Mabel wasn't interested in hearing their discussion of monster corpse disposal strategies, so she tiptoed back to the edge of the clearing. Once she was past the treeline and properly back in the forest, she broke into a run. She didn't have a destination in mind. She simply wanted the burn of her lungs to overshadow the feeling of emptiness in her chest. She felt betrayed. Wendy blamed Fenris for everything bad that had happened since they'd returned from the Green Realm, and she apparently resented Mabel, because Dipper insisted Wendy stay behind with her, instead of accompanying him and Fenris into the Norse Realm.

Mabel wasn't sure how to process the emotions that the knowledge of Wendy's true feelings had stirred up within her. She was sad, because she'd thought Wendy was her friend, and that she'd stayed behind so Mabel wouldn't be lonely while the two most important guys in her life were risking their lives in another realm—but now it seemed that her friendship with Mabel was less about Mabel, and more about keeping Dipper happy. She was angry that Wendy thought Fenris was in any way to blame for the bad things that Loki had done. And she was indignant that Wendy thought Mabel wasn't capable of protecting the Gravnemeta.

As Mabel ran through the forest, dodging low-hanging branches, she let out a guttural scream. She wanted to punch something. None of this was fair. And how dare—how dare?!—Wendy look her in the eye yesterday evening, and ask Mabel if she was going to be okay, considering her true feelings on their situation and her resentment of Mabel?

After running for what felt like an hour, Mabel finally stopped to catch her breath. She bent over, with her hands on her knees, and tried to take slow, even breaths. Running had always seemed to help when she was upset before, but not this time. She kept hearing Wendy's voice in her head, hissing words like mortal, vulnerable, and babysit, and her ire continued to increase.

"Oh my dear magpie, who has hurt you?"

Mabel yelped and jumped back at the unexpected voice. Morrigan stood before her, a vision in black silk. Her arched eyebrows were drawn together in concern. Mabel held a hand to her heart, waiting for the palpitation's Morrigan's sudden appearance had caused to stop. Then she blinked, taking in her surroundings. She was back in the same clearing where she'd met Morrigan that morning—but she had been in a densely wooded area when she'd stopped to catch her breath, she was sure of it.

"How did I get here?" she asked.

Morrigan smiled mischievously. "It would appear that you ran."

Mabel heaved a sigh at the non-answer. "Right. So, magic, then."

Morrigan's scarlet lips curled up in a smile and she shrugged. "Well, I am a goddess. I felt that you were hurting, so I brought you here."

"How could you feel that I—" Mabel cut her own question off. She knew the answer. "Magic."

"Very good, she's learning!" Morrigan said with a chuckle, glancing into the trees at the edge of the clearing. Mabel followed her gaze, and realized that the murder of crows was once again perched amongst the branches. Morrigan turned her gaze back to Mabel. "But you still haven't answered my question. Who has hurt you? Do I need to set a curse on someone?"

"What?! No!" Mabel cried. As angry as she was with Wendy, she didn't wish harm on her. She was still Dipper's significant other, after all. "I just—I overheard someone I thought was my friend talking about me and my boyfriend... they said some hurtful things that I know they'd never say to my face. Don't worry about me. I'll get over it eventually."

Morrigan raised a single eyebrow, patted Mabel on the shoulder, and smirked. "Oh, no, my magpie. I don't want you to get over it. I want you to use it. Nurture the feeling this person has caused—this tiny seed of anger that has been planted. Your emotions are the source of your power, and while you love deeply, the power of love is too pure for some of the spells I will be teaching you to cast. You need the power of wrath."

Mabel frowned. "Wait, spells? What?"

"How else did you expect me to train you to protect the Gravnemeta?" Morrigan asked gently.

"I-I just figured you'd pick up where Arden left off—with weapons and stuff..."

"While brute strength can be effective, that is simply not my style," said Morrigan, with a shake of her head. "No. I am going to train you, my magpie, in the ways of magic."