Dipper and Fenris stood in a shroud of heavy mist. There was light enough for them to see a few feet in every direction, but the source of the light was a mystery. The sickly sweet smell of decay hung in the stagnant air.

"So this is what Helheim looks like," Dipper remarked casually, his arm still slung over Fenris's shoulders from their recent blip. "Last time I was here all I got to see was the inside of Hel's cottage." He glanced around and gave a halfhearted shrug. "Doesn't look like I was missing much."

Fenris chuckled wetly, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I can see why it tends to be the least preferred of the three Norse dead realms."

Dipper removed his arm from Fenris's shoulders and scratched the back of his head. "Three? I thought it was just Helheim and Valhalla?"

Fenris shook his head. "There's also Folkvangr, Freya's place. The honored dead either go there or to Valhalla. Hel takes the dishonored dead—basically, anyone who didn't die in battle."

"Huh," Dipper muttered. He shifted his hooves on the uneven, fog-obscured terrain, which created a crackling sound, like dry leaves being crushed. "Seems I should probably try to learn more about Norse mythology if I'm going to be traipsing about in it and mucking things up." He paused and glanced into the veil of fog surrounding them. "Speaking of traipsing, which way should we go? Also, which way is...which way? There's no sun or stars to give us our bearings."

"We should be close to Hel's house. I was as precise as I could be with my blip, but I've only been here the one time before," explained Fenris. "When Cernunnos blipped us here he was able to find his way to her by homing in on the nearest godly power...or something. I don't know how to do that. Do you?"

"No," said Dipper. "But I know how to do this." An oscillating fan popped into existence in front of him, and began circulating the still air, sending the nearby mist swirling away. The mist thinned enough that he could see the shape of a small cottage about thirty meters to their right. He turned to Fenris with his hands on his hips, a grin splitting his face. "Pretty good, huh?"

Fenris didn't respond. He was staring at the now-visible ground with a look of horror, mixed with disgust. Dipper glanced down to see what Fenris was looking at, and immediately regretted it. The crackling noise he'd created from shifting his hooves moments ago had not come from dried leaves. It came from the skin of mummified corpses being torn like tissue paper under his hooves. There was no ground. There was only the dead.

"Uh, did that body just m—yeah, it definitely moved," Fenris answered his own question.

The putrid remains of one of the dishonored dead turned its head toward Dipper, opened its mouth in a silent scream, blinked its milky, unseeing eyes, and slowly began to lift the remnants of its arm.

"Nope," Dipper said emphatically, as he turned and propelled himself toward Hel's cottage, springing like a mountain goat, trying to touch the floor of death as little as possible. Fenris was right behind him. They reached Hel's (thankfully, stone) stoop in a less than a minute, but it still felt like it took entirely too long. Dipper bent over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, while Fenris knocked on the door.

Hel opened the door, and beamed at her brother with the good half of her face.

"Hello, sister," Fenris said, sounding awkwardly formal. He wasn't used to actually speaking to Hel in person, and it showed.

"I know the circumstances are less than ideal, but it is so good to see you again, Fen!" She leaned forward and enveloped him in a hug, smiling at Dipper over her brother's shoulder. Her smile faded slightly, and her eyebrows rose as she pulled away from the hug to stare at the panting satyr. "It is nice to see you again as well, Dipper, and alive this time. But, why are you out of breath?"

Dipper stood, and blew out a final heavy breath with a puff of his cheeks. "I know dead realms are sometimes called 'the fields of the dead,'" he explained. "I was, however, unprepared for actual fields of dead people. Moving dead people."

"Oh, pshaw," said Hel, with a flap of her hand, as she ushered the boys inside and shut the door behind them. "They can't hurt you. The ones that litter the ground are the ancient dead. They're not even really conscious anymore. Their souls are in the mist, unless they were reborn into the pocket Midgard."

Dipper grimaced and glanced out the window. "Even if they can't hurt anyone, there's still the ick factor. I nearly got my hoof caught in some dude's empty eye socket. Also," he paused, and held up a finger. "I could have done without knowing that I was just inhaling lungfuls of souls."

Hel rolled her eyes and turned to Fenris. "Your friend wasn't so...complainy when he was here the first time. Is he always like this?"

Fenris held his palms up and shrugged. "I mean, he had just died last time you met him. That's probably a bit of a humbling experience. He might not have been himself."

Dipper strode over to the floral print sofa he'd been lying on when he woke up on his first, unplanned, visit to Helheim, and plopped down.

"Also, I just had to leave the love of my life, as well as my sister, behind in the mundane realm because I have been drafted into another pantheon's apocalypse. Forgive me for not gleefully skipping through the mass of mummified corpses with a smile on my face and a song in my heart." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Hel crossed her arms and leaned back, a smirk evident on the non-decayed half of her face. "Well, I mean, if you'd rather not keep your promise and help us with our little apocalypse problem, I can always reclaim your soul, and you can go lay out on my lawn and rot."

Dipper shuddered involuntarily. "Uh, nah, I'm good." He raised a fist in the air and pumped it weakly, while intoning quietly, "Yaaaay, apocalypse!"

Fenris sighed and sat down on the other end of the sofa. "Not that I'm not enjoying the snarky rapport you two have going, but I'd kind of like to just get this whole Ragnarok deal over with, so I can get back to Mabel. Can we maybe focus on figuring out whatever it is we're going to do to reroute the prophecy?"

Hel sighed. "Unfortunately, brother, that is something you and Dipper will have to figure out on your own. See, per the 'prophecy,' I'm supposed to side with our father. I want to have plausible deniability of whatever it is you'll be doing. Once you leave Helheim this time, I will not be able to communicate with you until Ragnarok is complete."

"Oh," said Fenris, casting his eyes to the floor.

Dipper crossed his arms and frowned. "So what, you just smile and wave goodbye, while telling us 'Have fun storming the castle!'?"

Hel's brow furrowed. "What castle? The final battle is supposed to happen on the Plane of Vigridr."

Dipper opened his mouth to retort, and then just shook his head. His pop-culture references were wasted on the gods.

Fenris stood. "Well, if there is nothing you can do to help us, I suppose we should be on our way. Can you at least tell us where we should start our journey?"

"I'll do you one better," said Hel, with a small smile. "I'll open a portal for you. To Midgard." She closed her eyes and briefly chanted in ancient Norse under her breath, and a patch of air in the middle of her living room began to shimmer.

"Thank you, Hel," said Fenris, stepping toward the portal. "I appreciate what help you have been able to give me. May we meet again under better circumstances."

Hel reached out and hugged him tightly. "I believe in your goodness, Fenrir. Now go destroy the world."

Fenris chuckled softly, stepped into the patch of shimmering air, and disappeared. Dipper nodded a goodbye to Hel, and made to follow his friend, but Hel put a hand on his forearm to stop him.

"Keep my brother safe, Dipper," she said. Then she squeezed his arm a bit too tightly to be considered a friendly squeeze. With hard eyes, she continued. "Because if he dies, you die." She let go of his arm, leaving the red imprint of her hand behind.

Dipper swallowed hard and gave her a mock salute, then stepped through the portal, with his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

/

Mabel and Wendy were exhausted. It was nearly noon, and they'd been sparring almost nonstop since Fenris and Dipper blipped away, trying to keep their minds off the absence of the boys. Mabel hadn't brought her glaive or armor to the Gravnemeta, because she'd been distracted with having to say goodbye to Fenris and her brother. To fight fair, Wendy promised to use no magic, and the girls grappled hand-to-hand.

Mabel's muscles were aching, but she preferred that to the hollow feeling in her chest that threatened to swallow her whole whenever she thought of Fenris. She jumped back, dodging a fist Wendy had aimed for her abdomen, when she heard a twig snap at the edge of the clearing. She whirled around to see who was approaching, and suddenly felt a hot burst of pain on the back of her skull, and saw stars. She lurched forward and fell to her knees.

"Holy shit, Mabel, I'm so sorry, I was already mid-blow when you turned—oh gods, are you okay?" Wendy cried. She knelt down next to Mabel, who was holding the back of her head.

"What happened?!" cried a voice from the direction in which the noise of the snapped twig had originated.

Mabel looked up sheepishly, trying to push back the nausea she felt. "Hi, Sirona. Ugh, it's okay, I'm fine," she said flapping her hand at Wendy, and trying to stand on her own. She wobbled, and Wendy took her arm to support her.

"I'll be the judge of that," Sirona said, as she approached, her mouth a grim line. Cecil kept pace, slithering at her heels. He glanced up at her, his tongue flicking in and out. "I agree, Cecil," the goddess said, nodding down at the albino python. She set a wicker picnic basket at her feet, and folded her arms over her chest. "Mabel does seem to have a problem following doctor's orders."

Mabel's cheeks grew hot. "I—I really didn't feel bad at all after this last visit to your spring. I thought—"

Sirona cut Mabel off, her voice stern. "You thought that as long as you felt good, you didn't need to listen to the healing goddess?" She walked around Mabel and parted the hair on the back of her head, gently touching the large purple lump where Wendy's blow had landed.

Mabel hissed through her teeth, and swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

"Yep, concussion," said Sirona, her voice more gentle this time. "Let's get you over to one of those 'healing stations' Dipper had me set up." She took one of Mabel's arms, while Wendy kept her hold on the other. Together the two goddesses helped the mortal to a small spring under a tree at the edge of the clearing.

"I'm so sorry, Mabel, it was an accident," Wendy said, squeezing her friend's arm as she helped her get to her knees in front of the spring.

"Cup your hands and drink some first," instructed Sirona. "Then I want you to lie on your back with the back of your head submerged in the water."

Mabel nodded and scooped some of the cool water into her hands, and took a sip. She immediately felt a burst of energy, and her nausea vanished. She sighed with relief as the two women helped her turn over and lie down so that the back of her head was under water. The throbbing lessened, but didn't altogether end.

"Cheese and crackers, Wendy," she said, smiling up at her friend. "You hit like a train!"

Wendy smiled back. "Well you weren't supposed to know that, dork. You were supposed to dodge it! Why the hell did you turn around?"

Mabel's eyes flicked over to Sirona. "I heard a twig snap, and I panicked. But it looks like it was just Sirona and Cecil."

"Mabel, dear, I need you to listen to me," said Sirona, her voice once again taking on a stern tone. "You've been overdoing it. Your grunkles told me about you practicing glaive drills all night in the Gravnemeta, and now this—sparring—after I told you to take it easy for a few days. I know you felt fine, but that doesn't mean your body is completely done healing." She reached down and took Mabel's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You spend so much time with gods that I fear you sometimes forget that you are mortal. Mortal bodies have limitations, sweetheart. Injuries, especially head injuries, when accumulated over time, can cause permanent damage. Especially if you don't allow yourself time to fully recover between injuries."

"Oh," Mabel said quietly. Her face felt hot, and she was sure it was bright red. "I kind of just thought, you know, magical healing and all..." She trailed off, feeling exceptionally stupid.

Sirona smiled and shook her head. "Mabel Pines, I think you must be the most injury-prone mortal I've ever met. Just do me a favor, and after a healing, wait until I clear you for duty, okay?"

Mabel nodded mutely.

"Speaking of duty, I was supposed to be on guard duty until later this afternoon," said Wendy, looking at Sirona. "But would you and Cecil mind covering the rest of my shift, so I can stay with Mabel?"

"Not at all, dear. Mabel, you may get up from the spring now, but you must wait two days before any physical exertion this time, okay?"

After Wendy and Sirona helped Mabel to her feet, Cecil bopped his nose against Sirona's calf.

"You're right, Cecil," the older goddess said, nodding. "You girls go ahead and take the lunch I brought for you. Go have a picnic by the lake or something. Rest. We've got things covered here."

After exchanging a quick goodbye and grabbing the picnic basket, Wendy blipped herself and Mabel over to the lake, where they sat at a picnic table and shared the meal.

"I know Sirona's right," Mabel said, swallowing a bite of sandwich, "but I don't like just sitting on my hands, doing nothing. It gives me too much time to think, and all I can think about now is that Dipper and Fenris are in danger." She took a shuddering breath and sat her sandwich down. It was good, but she wasn't very hungry.

Wendy bit her lip, but then smiled. "Honestly, though, they just got there. They can't have gotten into too much trouble yet, right?"

/

"Fenris, I think we're in trouble!" Dipper cried, his voice nearly lost in the shrill whistle of wind. They had stepped through the portal from Helheim directly into a complete whiteout of a blizzard. Dipper conjured himself a parka, mittens, a scarf, and a knit cap, then grabbed Fenris's shoulder and spun the other boy to face him. "Is Midgard supposed to be this cold? Are we even in the right place?" he asked, as he conjured cold-weather gear for Fenris and handed it to him.

Fenris quickly donned the gear and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, shivering. "We have to be," he said loudly, to be heard over the storm. "Hel wouldn't have sent us to the wrong place on purpose. I mean, she's the reason you're here!"

Dipper frowned, remembering Hel's words to him just before he stepped into the portal. He didn't plan to tell Fenris what she'd said. He didn't want his friend to feel any worse than he already did about Dipper having to participate in Ragnarok. Instead, he went with "Well she did say that due to the prophecy, she's on team Loki—maybe she sent us to the wrong place on his orders?"

The corners of Fenris's mouth turned down and his nostrils flared. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyelashes of the snowflakes collecting on them, and shook his head.

"I don't think so. She wouldn't have been so forthcoming with that information if she planned on using it against us, no?"

Dipper shrugged. "All I know is I am really fucking cold. Let's get moving and see if we can find some sort of landmark, or at least shelter."

Fenris nodded, picked a direction at random, and began walking, with Dipper following close behind.

After hours of walking, the weather had not improved. They were still in whiteout conditions, and had no idea where they were, other than that there were trees around. Dipper found that out by walking into one.

"Fen, I know we can't die of exhaustion or exposure, but all the same, I'm starting to forget what warm feels like," Dipper called out. Fenris, who was a few feet ahead of him, stopped and turned around.

His lips were blue, and snow clung to his eyelashes and eyebrows, as well as the bits of his black hair that stuck out from underneath his knit cap. "What's this 'warm' of which you speak?" he asked, attempting to smile. It looked more like a grimace.

"Let's stop for a bit and I'll conjure us a fire and some junk food, how about that?" Dipper asked.

Fenris nodded vigorously. "Fire good."

Within about a minute, Dipper had whipped up a small bonfire, two lawn chairs, and a random assortment of chips and cookies. Fenris ripped off his mittens and shoved them in a pocket, so that he could open a package of Oreos. He shoved an Oreo into his mouth, whole, then slumped down into one of the lawn chairs, basking in the warmth of the fire.

He looked over at Dipper, and through a mouthful of cookie, said "Did I ever tell you you're my best friend?"

Dipper grinned. "Well yeah, but I don't mind hearing it again." He tore open a bag of potato chips, and proceeded to shove a handful into his mouth and munch loudly.

"What in the nine worlds are you doing?!" cried an unfamiliar male voice. "Are you trying to attract monsters?"

Fenris and Dipper jumped up, startled. They hadn't heard anyone approach. A tall, young man strode into the light cast by the fire, his black, shoulder length hair whipping in the wind. He was draped in various animal pelts, over thick, hide pants, with heavy leather boots on his feet. In one fist he held two dead rabbits by their ears, and a wickedly sharp-looking dagger was strapped to his belt.

"Aw, poor bunnies," Dipper murmured sadly. Then, the stranger's comment about monsters registered. Dipper looked down at his goat half self-consciously, and shifted so that the fire obscured his bottom half from the stranger. He didn't know what was considered a monster in these parts.

"Who are you?" Fenris asked. He seemed more startled than frightened.

"Someone with sense," answered the stranger. He knelt and sat the rabbits on the ground, then began scooping snow onto the fire.

"Hey!" Dipper cried. "We were using that! If you haven't noticed, it's a bit chilly out."

The stranger glared at Dipper over the dwindling flames. "A bit?" he said, incredulous. "It's fimbulwinter, man!"

Dipper blinked at him. "Mimblewimble?"

Fenris, however, gave a gasp of recognition. "Of course, fimbulwinter! Okay, everything makes sense now."

"Sure, right," said Dipper, with a nod. Then he caught Fenris's eye, and mouthed what the hell?

"Thank you for the warning, but we can handle monsters," Fenris told the stranger. The man stood up and dusted snow from his hands. The fire was reduced to mere embers.

"Handle the monsters?" he repeated, arching a single eyebrow. He looked from Fenris to Dipper, and back to Fenris, as if sizing them up. Then he did a double-take at Dipper, or, more specifically, Dipper's legs. "That is not normal," he said faintly.

Dipper grinned, pulled his knit hat up a bit so his horns were visible, and waved. "Hi, I'm Dipper Pines, god of mischief and tomfoolery. And you are?"

Instead of answering the question, the stranger frowned and said "You are not one of our gods."

Dipper shot fingerguns at the man. "Correct you are. However, my friend here—" Dipper cut himself off mid-sentence when he noticed Fenris give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Dipper coughed, and continued. "My friend here would like to introduce himself to you."

The man turned to look at Fenris expectantly, his arms crossed over his chest.

"My name is Fen," Fenris began. "And, I, uh, am from here. Sort of. I didn't realize fimbulwinter had started, though. I've kind of...been gone...awhile."

The stranger nodded. "Well, Fen, and… Dipper the god… as it is fimbulwinter, and nightfall is not far off, I insist you come shelter with me for the night." He stooped to pick the rabbits up by their ears again. "I make a fine hare stew."

Dipper looked to Fenris. "Your call, Fen."

Fenris bit his lower lip, then nodded. "I think we'll take you up on that offer," he said.

"Smart of you," the stranger said with a nod. He started walking away, the limp rabbits swinging from his fist, and waved for them to follow. "This way."

After about twenty minutes, the trio came upon a squat, stone shack, with a thatch roof. As the man unlatched the door, Dipper spoke up.

"So, since we're having a slumber party at your house and all, maybe we should know your name?"

The man turned in the doorway to face them. "My name is Erik," he said. "Erik the Blue."

/

The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon as Mabel moved her top hat game piece, then covered her mouth with her hand, and yawned. "Why does every game of Monopoly last so long?" she complained to no one in particular. "Grunkle Stan is clearly going to win."

Not long after Mabel and Wendy had finished their lakeside picnic lunch, the grunkles had spotted them, and insisted they spend the afternoon on the Stan O' Home, playing board games. It was obvious that both girls were in need of a distraction.

Stanley grinned down at the pile of colorful fake cash in front of him. "Money is money, even if it is pretend. By the way, you just landed on my boardwalk." He held his hand forward, palm up, and Mabel slapped some Monopoly money onto it.

Ford frowned at the dwindling pile of pretend money in front of him, and glanced over at Stanley's hoard, before saying "I think we ought to call it a night. You girls need to go home and get some rest. Plus, the two of us have to get ready to go on guard duty. We've got the night shift."

"Aw, you're just sayin' that cause I'm winning!" Stan pouted.

Wendy snorted and shoved her small pile of colored cash at him. "Here, old man. You were going to end up with it anyway. Don't spend it all in one place!" she added, with a cheeky wink.

"Who are you calling old man, you—uh—nature...girl?"

Wendy stood and stretched, ignoring Stan's impotent insult. "You ready for me to blip you home, Mabel?" she asked, looking down at the brunette.

Mabel swallowed, and stared at her hands. She'd been dreading this—going home to sleep in an empty bed, having neither a puppy nor human-shaped Fenris to cuddle with.

"Yeah," she said quietly. She stood up, and hugged her grunkles. "Maybe next time we can play a game that doesn't involve the accumulation of property and wealth?" she said, with a small smile at Ford. "Something knowledge-based, like trivia?"

Stan gave an annoyed grunt, but Ford nodded. "That sounds good to me. We'll see you later, sweetie. Sleep well."

Mabel stepped next to Wendy and linked arms with her. She blinked once, and they were standing in the middle of the attic bedroom at the Mystery Shack.

"Well," said Wendy, hesitantly. "I guess I should go now. You gonna be okay?"

Mabel sank down onto the edge of her mattress and took a deep breath. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "I guess I'll find out."

"Same," said Wendy. "Do you want me to crash here tonight? If you do, I will."

Mabel smiled, but shook her head. "No, Wendy. I really appreciate the offer, but you should go spend time with your family. I'll manage."

Wendy sighed. "Alright. But call my cell if you need anything, okay?" Then she pointed a finger at the younger girl and shook it. "And I don't want to hear about any all-night glaive practice sessions, missy."

Mabel leaned her head back and rolled her eyes. "Okay, mom."

Wendy's lips twitched upward, and she reached out and squeezed Mabel's hand. "I'll stop by tomorrow, before my shift. Get some sleep."

Mabel nodded, and lifted a hand to wave as Wendy blipped away.

The attic felt more empty than usual, and Mabel was unsure of what to do with herself. She finally decided to get a shower, change into pajamas and lie down. After all, she was tired. Exhausted, in fact. It was her mind that was the problem. She just needed to try and empty her thoughts.

She had just closed her eyes, when someone knocked on her door.

"Mabel?" Melody opened the door a crack and peered in.

Mabel sat up in bed, leaning back onto her hands for support. "What's up?"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were already in bed. Soos and I heard someone moving around up here, and figured it was you. I just wanted to see if you wanted any dinner. I can heat up some leftovers, if you'd like."

Mabel shook her head. "Thanks, Mel, but I'm okay. Wendy and I hung with the grunkles all afternoon and ate junk food. I spoiled my appetite."

"Well, okay," said Melody. "If you get hungry you know you have free reign of the kitchen. And if you need us, Soos and I are right downstairs."

"Okay. Thanks again," said Mabel. "'Night."

"Goodnight, sweetie," Melody said, before pulling the door closed.

Mabel lay down once again, and closed her eyes. The back of her head no longer hurt, but it was still tender, and uncomfortable to have it pressed against the pillows. She grunted in annoyance, opened her eyes again, and rolled onto her side. She stared into the darkness, trying to empty her mind—to think of anything but what was happening to Fenris and Dipper. Her eyelids began to grow heavy, and Mabel finally felt like sleep was once again more than just an abstract concept.

Just before she fell asleep, Mabel caught herself staring at the pale triangle on the floor, illuminated by the moonlight that filtered in through the attic window. As she was drifting off, a shadow marred and distorted the perfect triangle. A shadow in the shape of a large bird.

/

Erik the Blue ushered Fenris and Dipper into his hut, then latched the door behind them. Flickering, red embers in a fire pit at the center of the windowless, one-room dwelling provided the only light. As Erik began to stoke the fire, and add wood from a pile next to the door, Dipper and Fenris looked around to take in their surroundings.

There was a straw pallet on the floor against the far left wall, and a rustic, wooden table against the back wall, on which sat a large, three-legged iron cauldron, and various other cooking implements. Against the far right wall there stood a plain wooden desk, covered in stacks of vellum, an ink pot, and several sharpened quills.

"So… erm, Erik the Blue," Dipper said finally. He leaned against the stone wall, near the door, and stared at the back of Erik's head. "Any relation to Erik the Red?"

"Who?" asked Fenris. He sat down cross-legged in front of the fire, and held his hands out to warm them.

Erik, who had begun to skin the rabbits, glanced over his shoulder at Dipper. "I know of no such person."

"You've never heard of Erik the Red?" Dipper asked, incredulous. "Neither of you? Wow, I actually know something about Norse history that you don't! See, he was a Viking—"

Fenris cut him off with a harsh cough. When Dipper raised a questioning eyebrow at him, Fenris mouthed pocket Midgard.

"Oh, right, nevermind," muttered Dipper. This Midgard had separated from the Mundane thousands of years ago, after the original Ragnarok. The Norse history from the Mundane wouldn't have happened here.

An awkward silence fell over the hut. The only noises were the dull thud of a knife against wood, the squelching sound of rabbits being gutted, and the whistling of the wind outside.

Dipper walked over to the fire and sat down next to Fenris. "So what's the plan?" he whispered.

Fenris ran his hands through his hair, and blew out a puff of air. "I don't know," he replied softly. "Fimbulwinter would have begun around the time Puck helped me escape my chains. And it's supposed to last for three successive seasons, with no summer in between. I don't want to be away from Mabel for that long, and I know you sure as hell hadn't planned to be away from Wendy that long."

Dipper recoiled, his eyes wide. "I should think the fuck not!" he hissed. "Is there any way we can accelerate the whole process?"

Fenris stared into the flickering flames, shadows dancing across his face as he pondered the question. "It's just… so structured. The prophecy. First, fimbulwinter. Then three roosters crow to warn of the coming of the end—one for the giants, one for the dead, and one in Valhalla. After that, an army of giants, as well as me, and my brother Jormungandr, lay waste to Midgard, and then board Naglfar, a ship made of the nails of dead men, and sail on to Asgard with my father at the helm. As the ship of the dead approaches the Plane of Vigrid, the Aesir, Heimdall blows his Gjallahorn, and the final battle commences."

"But Hel said things were dif—" Dipper saw a shadow move in the corner of his eye, and cut himself off. Erik was standing on the other side of the fire, holding the cauldron. He sat it down in the fire, its three legs tall enough that the bulk of the pot sat above the flames.

"You speak of Ragnarok?" Erik asked. "Because I could swear I heard you say..." He sat down on a wooden stool across the fire from them, and stared at Fenris, his dark eyes suspicious. "Huh. Fen. Interesting name, that. Is it short for something?"

"Um," Fenris said, shifting nervously, and looking to Dipper for help.

"Yeah, it's short for Fenjamin," Dipper answered. He crossed his arms, attempting to appear annoyed. "And he's embarrassed of his name, because—well, wouldn't you be? Thanks so much for bringing it up, dude."

Erik stood up so quickly that he knocked his stool over. "Don't lie to me. I heard you say 'me, and my brother Jormungandr.' The only Jormungandr I know of is the world snake. And his brother is the great wolf, Fenrir."

Fenris stared up at Erik, the picture of innocence. "But, I'm obviously not a wolf, as you can see."

Erik glowered down at him. "That doesn't mean you are not a monster."

Fenris opened and closed his mouth, and looked down at his hands, his eyes beginning to water. Erik's jab had struck a nerve.

"Look," Dipper said, standing. "Clearly you're having second thoughts about your offer of hospitality to us. We don't want any trouble. We'll leave." He leaned over and offered Fenris a hand up.

"That would probably be best," Erik murmured. He unlatched the door, and jumped back, startled, as the force of the wind blew it open. The dark figure of a man stood just outside, silhouetted against the icy backdrop of swirling snow. He walked forward, the light from the fire pit illuminating his cold, yet somehow elfin, features. He was dressed differently than he had been before—this time in more traditional Norse garb, and wrapped in a dark green cloak with the hood pulled up—but Dipper immediately recognized him nonetheless. It was clear by Fenris's body language that he did, too.

Loki swept into the hut, hands on his hips, and grinned at Fenris and Dipper. "There you are, boys! I've been looking everywhere for you! We have an apocalypse to get underway!"

/

Mabel woke up before dawn, and was unable to fall back asleep. Her bed felt cold and empty, and tears pricked at the back of her eyelids, because she couldn't help but think about why that was. She needed to do something to distract herself, but she couldn't do too much, or she'd risk getting in trouble with Sirona again. She touched the back of her head, happy that it was at least no longer tender.

She stood and stretched, then shivered. The past few days it had been beginning to feel like Spring, but this morning was unseasonably chilly. Still, being outside and keeping occupied was the best bet to keep her from focusing on the empty feeling gnawing a hole through her chest. She decided to go for a walk in the woods while listening to music with her phone and earbuds. Her body would have to focus on where it was going, and her mind could focus on the music.

She quickly dressed in warm leggings and a thermal shirt, then donned her armor. While she didn't plan on needing it, she accepted the fact that trouble seemed to be attracted to her, and she wanted the protection—just in case. However, she chose to leave her glaive behind. That way if Sirona, Wendy, or any of the others saw her out and about, they couldn't claim she was looking for trouble, or doing glaive drills.

Once Mabel had all her gear on, she stole quietly down the steps, and out the front door. The sky was a deep purple, scattered with stars, as the first fingers of sunlight began to caress the horizon. She trembled in the cold, her breath coming out in puffs of white mist. She put in her earbuds, then pulled the hood of her cuirass up, selecting an EDM playlist on her phone—one with which she could easily get lost in the beat—and began walking.

Mabel strode aimlessly through the pine woods, avoiding the Gravnemeta. She fell into step with the steady pulsing beat of her music, and tried to focus on individual notes within each song. She should have known better than to focus so much on the music, because it not only kept her distracted from thoughts of Dipper and Fenris, but it also kept her distracted from her surroundings. She didn't notice that she was being followed.

Mabel finally stopped walking when she noticed the sky above was now a pale gray. It wasn't the color that got her to stop, however, but the fact that she could see it so clearly at all. She had stepped out from under the forest canopy, into a small clearing she had never seen before. She paused her music, and pulled out her earbuds, trying to get her bearings, and that's when she heard it: the cawing of dozens of crows.

Her eyes widened, as she turned slowly on the spot and scanned the tree line around the clearing. An entire murder of crows stared at her from all sides. They stopped cawing when they were sure she had noticed them, an eerie silence falling over the clearing. Mabel knew there were quite a few gods associated with birds from the family Corvidae, and due to the crows' strange behavior, she was sure a god was involved. What she didn't know, however, was whether or not the god involved wished her ill.

Mabel took a deep breath, and called out. "I know you're out there. What do you want? Come out and face me!" She sounded much more brave than she felt, and cursed herself for deciding to leave her glaive at home.

A dark, feminine chuckle resonated throughout the clearing, seeming to come from every direction at once. "You are brave, little magpie, to call out an unknown element so readily—especially as you are one of few mortals who is actually aware of the monsters lurking in the shadows."

The voice didn't sound threatening, but neither had Loki, at first—until he'd dragged Arden out from behind him like a dog on a chain. Sounding non-threatening meant nothing, coming from a god.

Mabel clenched her fists at her sides. "Who are you? Show yourself!"

A flapping noise came from behind her, and Mabel turned to witness the largest crow she'd ever seen land gracefully. It hopped forward a few steps. Then in a swirl of black feathers and silk, there was no longer a crow standing before Mabel, but a darkly beautiful woman, with pale skin, scarlet lips, and shiny, raven-black hair that seemed to stir in a non-existent breeze. Robes of black silk spilled elegantly over her shoulders, under which she wore a gauzy, diaphanous, black dress.

Mabel didn't know what possessed her to do so, but she knelt in front of the dark goddess. Never once had any of the gods she'd met given her this sense of awe. A terrible power was standing before her—of that, she was sure.

Mabel was looking down, but heard a smile in the goddess's voice when she said "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. A mortal who knows her place! You may rise, my dear."

Mabel stood, and hesitantly made eye contact with the goddess, whose eyes were inky pools of infinite darkness. They didn't reflect the light—they absorbed it. She smiled and reached out an icy hand to cup Mabel's cheek.

"Arduinna didn't know what a gem she had in you, Mabel Pines. I see it, however. I will polish away your rough edges, and show you that you are capable of power beyond anything you could have imagined."

The goddess's words scared Mabel, but also intrigued her. "I—I don't understand," she stammered. "Who are you?"

"I am your new mentor, my magpie," she said, stroking Mabel's cheek. "I am The Morrigan."