AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you so everyone for your ongoing support. It means so much to me to read your kind words. I've got a few things in store so thank you for your patience.

This chapter is a bit different, delving into Faye's past. I hope you enjoy where it goes!

Halvar woke with a choked gasp. The tall grass whispered around him in the wind and the freezing mud had seeped through his clothes, chilling him to the core. Above, the grass waved listlessly in the wind, the hazy sky above him. His bones went jellied with relief, at first. Thank the gods, he was alive. His throat ached and he swallowed hard. Relief soured as he remembered what had happened. He had been attacked. Something - someone had strangled him into unconsciousness. His head pounded and his vision swirled as he came to.

There were voices coming from the camp but they weren't those of his brethren.

"That was reckless!" came a rough, booming voice. The boy's heart began to gallop in his chest.

Halvar rolled onto his belly and crawled to the edge of the grass. Peeking through, he could see a pale man with a red stripe of a tattoo over his body. Gripped in his hand was a bloodied axe. But the axe wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before. The blade was frosted over almost as if it was made from ice itself. He;d only heard rumors of magical weapons. But to see one in the flesh was terrifying. The pale man was speaking to a woman with hair like copper. He was enraged. As they argued, Halvar's eyes flashed from the attackers to the rest of the camp. The captives were gone. The horses were gone. And the men, his battle-brothers.

A wave of nausea grew in Halvar's aching throat. They were in pieces across the camp. Bjorg with chunks of him missing. Arne without a leg. Henrik's arm hacked clean from his body. Hoof beats pounded close by. The woman tucked Henrik's dagger into her belt as rider's approached. Halvar whimpered and scurried further into the cover of the tall grass. He ducked down and waited for them to pass, breathing hard into the stinking mud and blood rushing in his ears. They remained, speaking and praying but Halvar couldn't focus on their words. He just wanted them to go away. He wanted to live and he was too frightened to move an inch.

Even when the attackers left, Halvar stayed like that in the mud until the sun began to hang low in the sky. He couldn't go back to his camp. They'd all think he was a coward. Besides that, they'd be furious with him. They would all blame him. Svana would kill him, his mind came to the cold realization. Sacrifice him for her dark magic, or whatever it was she did in her darkened chambers. All he knew is that when the men brought her captives, they never came back out alive. And the screaming, Halvar shuddered. There was so much screaming.

Halvar had nowhere else to go but he couldn't stay here. The bodies would attract scavengers and gods know what else. Halvar started to stumble his way back to his settlement. He had to give the witch something she wanted. She may punish him still but she would leave him alive. And if the information he gave her was pleasing enough, the others would leave him alone. Gods, he just wanted to be left alone. He didn't want this life, he didn't like hurting people. He even tried to feed the prisoners, offer them some comfort before they were brought back to the camp to suffer whatever it was Svana did with captives. She always said that it was their duty to cull the weak to make way for the strong but Halvar didn't feel strong. He felt useless, hopeless.

He wracked his mind for some reason why he had been left alive while the others were killed. Perhaps the attackers saw him for the weakling he was and that he was not even worth bloodshed. Just a useless whelp, like Henrik always said. He was grateful to be left alive but part of him wished the attackers had just killed him. A good death would at least be an honorable sacrifice in Svana's eyes and he would be welcomed in the halls of Valhalla. Returning alive would brand him a coward, they would think that when trouble came that he ran.

He'd have to tell Svana about the pale man and the woman and the magical axe. And there were horse tracks leading south. He prayed to whoever was listening that Svana would be pleased with this information. Gods help him if she wasn't.

FAYE

BEFORE

Faye and her companions, Frode and Hana, sat huddled around the open hearth of the longhouse. Outside a winter storm had been raging for days. Hvítur dauði, they called it. The 'white death' in their native tongue.

Their shoulders were cloaked in fur blankets, fingers and noses turning red from the cold. Breath coming in smoky puffs from dry, crusted lips. Each of them coped the cold differently. Hana, the poet, fed warmth into their souls with tales of myth and legend. She was a wispy, ethereal woman with pale blue eyes and golden hair rumored to have been spun by dwarven craftsmen. Tonight Hana told the story of Bjorn, a warrior that wished to be the fiercest of all his brethren so he was given the shape of a bear. All Jotunn children are told this story and taught to be wary of the shapes they took as adults. Faye listened and allowed Hana's tender voice to carry her away from her body and forget how cold and hungry she was.

"Claws of iron," Hana rasped, "Hide like armor, and jaws that could snap a sword in two."

Battle after battle Bjorn led the charge and there was no match for his rage and ferocity. But when after his clan had claimed victory, he found he could no longer change his shape. He realized that he had been cursed and had become stuck in his bear-skin. The men Bjorn had once called brothers grew jealous and betrayed him. They drugged Bjorn's mead and tried to claim his hide as their own while he slept. But their swords and daggers could not pierce Bjorn. Bjorn woke in a fury and slaughtered them all.

"He spent the rest of his cursed existence wandering the woods," Hana said in her lilting, sing-songy voice, "The man inside him withering away until there was nothing left but the beast."

Frode, a carpenter in his former life, found it best to work the chill from his bones by carving little statues. He was a rough, wiry man with a blaze of bright curly red hair and shaggy beard to match. Frode blew the wood shavings from his creation and placed the little bear-man at the stone hearth. He rubbed his palms together in an attempt to capture a bit of warmth. The bitter Midgardian winter had made them all wish they had chosen the shapes of bears instead of men.

Silence stretched between them. For a long moment there was nothing but the moan of the blizzard and the creaking protest of the old timber beams.

"How much longer?" Frode asked, peering across the embers to Faye. The question was sobering, causing an uneasy shift in Faye and Hana. While Hana had her head in the clouds with her stories, Frode was the one that kept their feet on the ground.

"Yrsa said she would be back before the storm," He said. "Something is wrong."

"Give her more time," Hana said.

"We don't have more time," Frode reminded her. His green eyes once as bright as the fields of Vanaheim were now darkened with exhaustion and hunger. The two looked to Faye for her deciding vote. With Yrsa gone, Faye had become the de facto leader of the group. It was only fair that the responsibility should shift to her shoulders in Yrsa's absence. Afterall, it was her mission they were on.

Faye looked between both of them and pulled her hide blanket tighter around her.

"One more night," she decided. "Then we recover the body." The thought of finding Yrsa frozen and blue made Faye feel sick.

By tomorrow the storm would pass. Faye could tell by the way the wind shrieked and moaned, vicious and cruel. One last attempt to bury them alive in a tomb of ice.

They ate a meager dinner from the last of their rations, some stale bread and a piece of dried meat. Faye savored the strip of salty meat in her mouth, chewing slowly to stifle the aching in her belly. It had been years since diplomacy failed with Asgard. Since then, Odin's thrall began coordinated attacks on Jotnar settlements across the realms. No one could stand against the devastating power of Mjolnir. It didn't take long for it to become an all out massacre.

Tyr had simply disappear when the killing started. Most of the diplomatic envoys believed him dead, or at worst a coward. It was Faye that convinced the elders to send her across the realms to find him. Or what was left of him. She had stood by Tyr for centuries as an emissary of Jotunheim and she believed in him even when all others doubted him for his lineage. Faye wouldn't let her hopes go to waste and she would prove to her people that good gods still existed.

"Do you think they found her?" Hana asked as she nibbled on a hunk of stale bread.

The group all knew who 'they' was. The mention sent another bristle through the group, souring their appetites. Though they had bewitched themselves with protection staves, it was still possible to be found by the Aesir. Odin's eyes and ears were everywhere throughout the nine realms. His devilish ravens were always keeping watch and reporting to their master.

"If they found her then we'd already be dead," Frode said, eyes glazed over in the firelight. Hana snapped at the implication.

"She'd never give us up," Hana said.

"The Aesir have seiðr magic," Faye said, "I don't think she would have a choice."

Yrsa had gone almost a week ago to investigate rumors of Jotuns hiding away in a dwarven mine. They were supposed to have gone together, but Yrsa had slipped away in the early morning hours before anyone could protest. Before Faye could stop her, or insist on joining.

"Maybe she found a dragon," Faye mused. It was probably more likely she'd found a dragon than any remaining Jotunns. Thor had been very thorough in his 'cleansing'.

Frode raised his brows.

"I pity the dragon," he said. He considered the thought for a moment before picking up another piece of wood to whittle with his knife. Yrsa could probably take a dragon on her own. She was a mountain of a woman whose war-hammer could smash the heads of trolls in one swing.

"Don't be daft," Hana hissed, settling deeper in her furs. "There haven't been dragons for centuries."

They slept in restless shifts and in the morning, they woke to a clear sky. The rolling hills of the valley sparkled with their fresh blanket of snow in the early morning sun. They cut strips of cloth and made slits for their eyes to protect against snow-blindness. The valley had gone still as death, the quiet overwhelming. They muscled their way through the thick snow, leaving knee-high trenches behind them. There was nothing but the crunch of their boots in the snow, and the soft chime of icicles amongst the tree branches.

Faye had tracked a small herd of elk, their white-grey fur blending almost seamlessly into the terrain. Hana, their sharpshooter, had her sights on breakfast.

"Satt markmið," she prayed. True aim. She loosed the arrow and pierced the elk between the eyes.

It collapsed into a cushion of snow, blood leaking from its face. The shot had been so quick and lethal that the others in the herd didn't seem to notice their companion was dead. They only scattered when Jotunns approached.

Frode could barely contain his excitement at the kill. He pulled a curved dagger from his belt and heaved it into the elk's chest, then dragged it along the belly. Steam erupted from the body as hot guts spilled out onto the snow.

"Three fucking days eating scraps," he grunted as they feild-dressed the elk. "Finally a real meal."

"I am sensing a stew in our near future." Hana was shaking with giddy energy. "What do you think, seeress?"

Faye scowled.

"I'm not a seeress," Faye said. She didn't share their uplifted spirits, regardless of the promise of a proper meal. She kept her eyes on the trees with the Leviathan poised in her grip, ready to swing.

"Yet," Hana added with a look to Frode. Faye ignored them.

It seemed clear to everyone besides Faye herself that she had been chosen as the receiver of Groa's gift. There were other candidates for Groa's gift, other warriors worthy enough to the task. Others that demonstrated a strong compatibility with the ancient magic. Faye wasn't particularly magically talented, no more than any other Jotun. She certainly didn't feel worthy. She felt like the fool that was leading three Jotun to their deaths. Already they had lost one, Faye thought bitterly. Faye scanned the forest, ears trained on every snap of branches and every shift of snow. She hoped she would see Yrsa's looming shape appear from amongst the trees, having simply lost her way in the storm. Faye longed to see that crooked smile of hers, hear that gravelly voice. The uneasiness in Faye grew and twisted like eels in her gut.

They took all the meat they could possibly carry and left the carcass for lucky scavengers that would happen across it. Faye was relieved that they would survive just a bit longer but her mind was crowded. She'd be lying if she said she knew what to do next. They hadn't found any leads on Tyr's whereabouts. No one had heard anything since his disappearance. From the elves of Alfheim, the Vanir of Vanaheim, even the dwarves of Svartalvheim. No one had any information. Or if they did, they were too afraid to speak of Tyr lest they risk Odin's wrath. It was doubtful that Tyr had fallen into the twisting mazes of Niflheim, or the fiery pits of Muspelheim. Not even the Odin dared to enter those realms. He only sent his cursed mist or ravens to do his bidding. Midgard was their last hope.

It crossed Faye's mind that the elders had only agreed to this mission as part of their final test before choosing their champion. Yrsa was one of the other candidates. A woman far stronger and far more brave than Faye felt she ever could be. Who else ventured into the white death on rumor alone? Maybe she was brave, or just downright reckless.

Rash. Irresponsible. Faye bit back a wave of equal parts resentment and distress. The two sides warred inside Faye leaving her torn between her jealousy and worry. Faye doubted she'd ever see her again. The thought made an ache grow in Faye's chest. And if Yrsa had met her end in the blizzard? Faye would be chosen for lack of other options. What a way to devalue the highest honor in Jotunheim.

As they hauled their prize back to the longhouse, Faye noticed smoke was rising from the center. Faye held out a hand, stopping Frode and Hana. The structure had been long abandoned so it was very unlikely that a Midgardian was huddled inside.

"Yrsa?" Hana guessed. Frode didn't look as hopeful. He'd already drawn his sword. Faye drew Leviathan and commanded frost to the blade. They couldn't be too careful.

Frode would enter through the front door while Hana and Faye took to the rear entrance. He'd attract the attention of their unknown visitor for the others could strike from behind if negotiations became unfriendly. Hana drew her bow as she and Faye slipped inside soundlessly. Faye nodded to Hana and they split off in two directions. They stalked inward, concealed among the shadows of the timber beams.

There were two figures at the hearth. A big one wearing a bear-hide cloak sat on a bench. The other one, Faye noticed, was slumped over in a heap on the floor barely moving. Probably asleep. Ice and snow clung to their furs.

When they were close enough, Faye held up a hand to signal Hana to hold her position. From the other side of the hall the creaking doors shattered the silence as Frode entered. His steps thundered against the stone floor. He clapped his sword against his shield, drawing the attention of one of the visitors.

"Make yourself known, stranger," Frode said. The big one pulled back their hood, releasing a thick coil of tangled chestnut braids.

"Don't recognize me, Frode?" Yrsa rasped. "You can come out now. Hana. Laufey. I know you're lurking around."

Faye felt a lurch in her chest at the sound of her rough voice. She peeled out of the shadows and met Yrsa's stony gaze.

"There you are," Yrsa said, flashing that crooked grin.

"Your eye," Faye said. The words just tumbled out the moment she saw the warrior's face. Yrsa's single grey eye was dark, like a gathering storm. There was a patch of darkened cloth wrapped across her face, dry blood caked to her pale skin. Faye never thought someone could look so smug with a missing eye.

"Would it satisfy you if I said I sacrificed it for knowledge from the universe?" Yrsa grumbled but Faye was not in the mood for her humor.

Frode released the tension from his body, lowering the sword and shield.

"We thought you were dead," he gasped.

"I didn't," Hana said as she stepped from the shadows. She was beaming as she lowered her bow.

"What happened?" Faye hissed and strode forward. Yrsa sat back, her remaining eye narrowing to a slit. That face made of sharp angles and ruthless beauty revealed nothing to Faye. She only seem displeased at the lack of a warm reception from Faye.

Frode inspected the heap on the floor.

"Who's that?"

"Who did you find?" Hana asked, voice lifting with hope.

Faye and Yrsa were still at a stand off, the warrior unyielding to Faye's scrutiny. The growing silence made Hana's hopeful demeanor shrink. If they had been a Jotun, Yrsa would have said so.

"You could have at least said goodbye," Faye said, tone sharp with rage.

"You would have never let me go alone," Yrsa said.

"And maybe then you'd have both eyes."

Frode nudged the cloaked body with his boot and the heap twitched with a muffled whimper. Yrsa jabbed them with a sharp kick.

"Quiet," she growled.

"Seriously, who is that?" Frode said, ready to poke the hooded figure with his sword. Hana squatted by the body, cocking her head to get a better look.

"Take a look," Yrsa urged Hana.

Hana split a nervous look between Yrsa and Faye, unsure of who to listen to. Faye jutted her chin in approval. Hana reached out with a tentative hand and pulled back the cloak.

"Ymir's Blood!" Hana shot up, hand flying over her mouth and her face gone pale as the snow. Faye winced and looked away from the captive. Frode's hands went to his unruly carrot-colored locks, face drawn in shock.

It was an Aesir soldier under the hood. A woman with her mouth gagged behind a thick strip of leather. Face beaten to a pulp. And where hands should have been were two mangled, swollen, bloodied lumps of flesh. Smashed by Yrsa's hammer.

Faye whirled around to Yrsa, hooking her hand in the chestpiece of her armor and jerking her hard.

"What have you done?" Faye snarled. "What have you brought down on us?"

There would be consequences for this. Faye only hoped that Yrsa was able to kill them all. If an Aesir managed to return to Thor, then it would all be over.

"The Aesir are patrolling Midgard?" Hana asked, dazed.

"We're proper fucked now, aren't we?" Frode gave a humorless laugh.

"It was a trap," Yrsa said and reached up to Faye's wrist. Icy, calloused fingers wrapped around Faye's tattooed skin. The touch softened the torrent of rage in Faye and that ache overwhelmed her again. "There were never any Jotuns in Midgard."

Faye backed away, unable to conceal the disappointment from her face.

"There had to be something," Faye said, voice thick. How could there be none left? No tribes, no settlements, no one.

"I'm sorry, Laufey," Yrsa said, "I know we were all hoping." Faye rubbed her mouth, heart heavy.

"Sorry," she spat the word like the cheap thing it was. There were multitudes to be sorry for, more than words would suffice. Sorry that there were no more of their kind left in all the realms. Sorry that this war had made them do ugly things to survive. Was there no place they could hide out of reach from the AllFather's wrath? Faye's knees weakened.

They were all gone.

"Why is there an Asgardian here, Yrsa," Hana asked, voice hollow.

Yrsa moved from the bench to crouch by the captive and the woman cowered away from Yrsa's hands. Yrsa dragged her to her knees then took her roughly by the jaw. The woman gave a muffled cry of pain.

"Don't do anything stupid," Yrsa said and pulled down the strip of leather from the captive's mouth.

With the gag removed, the captive coughed and sucked in wheezing breaths. She looked about twenty, barely older than Faye had been when she became a diplomatic envoy for her people. Faye's eyes lingers on the mangled hands. She couldn't allow herself to be too compassionate for the Asgardian. It was still war, and you do what you must to survive.

Yrsa stood and took up her hammer. The captive started to cry in wordless blubbering sobs.

"Tell them what you told me, pig," Yrsa growled, leveling her hammer at the woman's head. "Or I start with your feet."

"Please," she whimpered, voice ragged. Yrsa gave the woman a hard, sobering slap across the face. The prisoner went still as Yrsa pointed a finger in her face.

"Don't," Yrsa said. "You don't get to beg."

The captive nodded in earnest, blood and snot leaking from her crooked nose.

"Speak," Yrsa ordered.

"He is alive," The woman said, pleading eyes flying from Faye to Frode then Hana. Searching for mercy but finding none.

"Tyr. He is alive." The four Jotuns shared a skeptical look. It was their first lead on the god in months of aimless wandering. But they had also wanted to believe that more Jotunns survived the Desolation. That false hope dug aching pits in their chests that Faye was sure would never heal.

"She's lying," Frode said scratching his beard. "Look at her, she'll tell you anything you want like that."

"It's the truth. I-I swear," the captive blubbered. "He's being held in the palace dungeons."

"Why would the Allfather keep his traitor son alive?" Hana asked.

"You haven't heard the best part yet," Yrsa said,"Tell them, pig."

"The Mistress of Battle guards him," The woman shook terribly with every word.

Faye registered a shiver from Hana and Frode. She didn't blame them, it was a title that struck fear into the hearts of many and for good reason. Hildr, Mistress of Battle - the most favored among the Valkyrie by none other than the AllFather himself.

"This is nonsense," Faye scoffed. Valkyries were spirits sworn to their duties of choosing slain warriors from battlefields across the realms, not guarding prisoners. They simply didn't exist in corporeal form outside of Valhalla. And if they did…? Faye balked at the kind of bastardized, tainted magic it would take to tame the wild soul of a Valkyrie into a physical form. She wouldn't put it past Odin to create such a corruption of nature.

"That's all I know!" The captive wailed. "Please don't hurt me!"

"How can we be sure you are telling the truth?" Faye asked.

"Only one way to know for sure," Yrsa said, grey eye settling on Faye. There was a long stretch of silence between the four as the Aesir crumpled with exhaustion.

Frode shot anxious glances between his companions.

"Don't tell me we're going to Asgard," Frode said, "It's suicide."

Faye sat across from Yrsa with a heavy sigh, chin resting on folded hands. They couldn't pass on information like this, not when it concerned Tyr and this new plot plot of Odin's with involving Valkyries. Faye looked up at Frode and he could see the answer in her face.

"Fuck's sake," he snarled. They all knew what the answer would be, but still he looked from Hana and Yrsa trying to see if there was a lick of sense left in them. Hana sat beside Faye as a sign of her agreement. Faye felt an aura of calm emanating from her. How could she be so stoic in the face of an impossible task? But Faye knew why. The four of them had served as soldiers and companions for many years as the war against the Aesir raged on. Even amidst their deepest doubts, they would never abandon each other. It was why Faye had felt such a stab of betrayal when Yrsa had gone off on her own without so much as a goodbye. It was why Faye decided to await Yrsa's return, or retrieve her body where she had fallen. And it was why they would go to Asgard. Together. Always.

Frode paced around like a caged animal for a moment before he sat in a huff, his knee bouncing with nervous energy.

"How will we even get in?" He said, "Paths to Asgard have been closing across the nine realms. The bastards are shutting the place up."

"There may be one left," Yrsa said. She reached into the chest of her armor and passed a shimmering crystal relic to Faye. A bifrost. The light of Alfheim imbued in the crystal hummed with magic as she turned it over in her hands. She could feel the primordial vibration of it through to her bones. Faye secured the bifrost to her belt. It made the weight of their decision all the more real.

"Say we do find the path, the might of Asgard will come down on us the moment we enter the realm," Frode said.

Yrsa reached into a nearby satchel and threw something shiny at Frode. He caught it, confused, and flipped it over in his hands. A helmet. An Asgardian helmet, forged from the metals of Valhalla itself. Yrsa shook out the satchel and enough armor for all four of them clattered to the floor.

"You're all insane." Frode couldn't help his nervous laugh. "Anything else? You got a troll we don't know about in that bag too?"

Yrsa turned to Hana.

"You've been quiet," she said.

"Was that really necessary?" Hana nodded at the smashed hands of the now passed out captive. Yrsa's face hardened.

"It's a fraction of what they deserve," she said.

"That's not what I asked," Hana said, her usual soft demeanor breaking, "We are better than this!"

"Enough," Faye said. "We need a plan."

"I have a plan," Yrsa said, eyeing the prisoner. "But I need a traitor's tongue for the bewitching spell."

Hana turned away in disgust. Frode was already going for his dagger.

"A plan that doesn't involve torture," Faye clarified.

Yrsa's brow furrowed.

"As long as you're taking requests: my other plan involved asking the Allfather to tea and politely asking for him to free the most wanted god in the nine realms," Ysra growled.

"Some hands and a tongue is cheap compared to what they took from us," Frode said.

"Senseless violence won't pay for our loss," Hana said.

"It won't," He conceded, "But it'd be damn satisfying."

"Can our scheming wait until tomorrow?" Yrsa said. Faye could see more clearly the cost the journey had made on her. Her lips were cracked an her face was red and blistered from the bitter winds. Faye wasn't sure how she had survived a troop of Aesir on her own and managed to only lose an eye. She was still seething over the fact that Yrsa hadn't even given her the choice to join her.

"Rest," Faye said. "We'll speak more tomorrow."

Frode secured the prisoner to a timber beam while Hana made an offer of scraps of meat and a cup of water. Faye watched the captive try and fail to pick up the cup with her ruined hands. She couldn't say she would have done the same thing in Yrsa's position. But given the choice, Faye would have at least tried to find a different way. As the others ate their meal, Faye separated off and approached the prisoner.

At first she didn't notice Faye coming near, too occupied with pawing at the scraps of meat. Faye crouched and took up the cup. The captive looked up, the fear palpable in her beaten face.

"Please," she started to beg, probably thinking Faye was there to taunt and torment her.

"Let me help you," Faye said. The captive's eyes were wide with terror, watching Faye's hands, searching her for weapons as Faye brought the cup to her lips. She drank, taking in greedy gulps then coughing.

"Easy," Faye encouraged.

Faye pulled the cup away and the captive still watched her movements with a confused look. Faye took the scrap of meat and tore it into small, bite-sized chunks and offered a chunk to the captive's lips.

"What is your name?" Faye asked. The woman nearly took a finger off with her vicious hunger.

"Salka," she said between chews. "T-thank you."

"Don't thank me. We need you alive," Faye said as she offered another piece of meat. Faye couldn't have their only source of information of Asgard starving to death before they even found a path to the realm. Salka swallowed the half-chewed piece of meat, wincing.

"I heard your friends," she said. Faye glanced at Salka's hands. They were swelling terribly and she would require medical attention or infection would set in. "I don't know the path back to Asgard," Salka said.

Faye fetched some clean water and cloth then sat beside Salka to break it down into strips.

"Are you listening?" Salka whispered. "I don't know the way."

"Then guess," Faye hissed, gesturing for Salka's hand. She gingerly washed the wounds and bandaged as best she could. It was difficult when Salka gasped and jerked in pain at every move. She would have mangled hands for the rest of her life. If she managed to live through this ordeal, that is.

"If you do not know the path, then how did you enter Midgard?" Faye asked, wrapping the other hand.

"The way was shut behind us. Only our captain knew how to return," Salka said, her eyes on Yrsa's hammer, "He's dead now."

Faye sighed, balling her hands.

"Is there no one else who would know?"

"You know what waits for Jotunnar in Asgard. Are you so eager to be killed?" Salka asked.

"Are you?" Faye shot back. "The moment Yrsa discovers that you are useless, what do you think will happen then? Do you think I could stop her?"

Salka paled. Faye cupped her hands, leaned close and whispered an incantation.

"Hreint blóð." Tiny wisps of silvery magic blew from cracked lips as she said the words. Pure blood. That would help stave off infection, and that was the extent of Faye's mercy. She wouldn't do anything for the pain. The pain was deserved. Like Yrsa said, it was a fraction of the punishment the Aesir were owed. Faye stood and wiped her bloodied hands on her trousers.

"If you value your life, I would find a way to be useful, Salka."

"But...how?" Salka whimpered.

"You seem clever. Figure it out."

Faye returned to the hearth to see that Frode and Hana had already surrendered to exhaustion beneath their furs. Frode was curled against Hana's spine, face buried in her golden hair. Since when has that happened? Faye raised a brow and wandered outside, suddenly feeling very confined by the space.

Outside the sky was clear and the stars winked out from the darkness. Yrsa crouched to dig up handfuls of snow. She pressed the snow against space where her eye had been, grunting and cursing in pain. Faye closed the doors behind her and leaned against the wall beside Yrsa, looking up into the vast expanse above. Yrsa sad back on her heels, panting as the pain abated. Yrsa's braids were undone and her deep chestnut hair flowed over her shoulders long and free. Faye imagined what it would feel like to run her fingers through the wavy tresses. She was looking up at the stars with Faye as the snow melted and streamed down her face like bloody tears.

"Come to lecture me?" Yrsa said, scooping up another handful of snow and pressing it to the empty socket. Faye shrugged.

"What's done is done. Besides, I think you've learned your lesson," Faye said, crossing her arms.

"Maybe I can ask the elders to give me an eye made of jewels when we return," Yrsa teased.

"If we return," Faye said. Yrsa looked up, brow furrowed.

"Don't tell me you've lost your grit, not when we've come so far."

"I haven't lost anything. There's a difference between optimism and foolishness," Faye explained. "Boldness and impulsiveness."

Yrsa stood, swiping off the melted snow from her palms. The empty socket was still oozing blood in some places but for the most part it was a clean wound. She was lucky to have escaped at all. Yrsa took a fresh scrap of cloth and wrapped it across her face.

"I thought you weren't going to lecture me, diplomat," she said and secured the cloth.

"I'm not."

"It sounds like you are."

"Then what do you want me to say, Yrsa?" Faye huffed. "You left us."

Yrsa's jaw tightened as she regarded Faye. There were many things unspoken between them but the moments when those words could have been said were long since passed.

Foolish girl, Faye scolded herself. Nearly a century as companions and Faye still found herself tongue tied.

"It doesn't matter what I want," Yrsa said, breaking the silence. She stalked past Faye toward the longhouse. "Are Frode and Hana done wrestling? I'd like to sleep undisturbed."

Faye cocked her head. "Since when did you know?"

"I've always known," Yrsa said over her shoulder, "You just never noticed."

Faye had the crippling sense that Yrsa wasn't only speaking about Frode and Hana.

Faye remained where she stood with her eyes scanning the stars. She wanted to be brave enough to say how she felt, and to be the kind of leader her people needed. She wondered if that was why she was so desperate to find Tyr. When he disappeared, he left shoes too big for Faye to fill alone. She needed him.

The wind whipped around her, small flurries of snow kicked up and lashed her skin. Standing there, Faye felt she was on the precipice of something huge and unfathomable. Like standing before the ocean, where deep unknowable things moved unseen in the abyss. Inside her, the void yawned open and magic hummed in her bones.

She stood there, paralyzed, until the cold became unbearable.

When Faye returned to the longhouse, she slipped inside the furs beside Yrsa like she had on many winter nights. She pressed her back against Yrsa's, letting her warmth chase away the icy chill in her bones. But that feeling wouldn't go away. She'd tapped into something out there in the cold and dark. She wasn't sure what just yet but it was there and it was waiting for her. It felt like destiny. And it terrified Faye.

Yrsa rolled over and wrapped a thick arm around Faye's waist. Faye stiffened at the touch, thought briefly she should find someplace else to sleep. But then Yrsa was drawing her close until she was molded to Faye's spine with her head buried in the crook of her neck.

"Don't go," Yrsa murmured. There was something terribly sad in her raspy voice. They could never be like this when they were awake, at odds with each other and driven by duty. Faye couldn't spare more of herself to be both a leader and belong to someone. Faye relaxed.

They could have this moment. If nothing else, they could have this.

Faye twined her fingers around Yrsa's and drew their hands against her chest.

"I won't," Faye said.

FAYE

NOW

Faye was still swimming in her memories as the clan began mobilizing from the abandoned marketplace. Though the memories were old, they felt fresh in her mind. Unseen yet so obvious at the same time. How could she have forgotten?

The people were sluggish, some still drunk from the night before, but their spirits were uplifted at least. Kratos remained behind to assess the combat skills of the able-bodied. Some were trained with swords and shields while most were simple hunters and untrained tradespeople. The clan all together numbered at thirty-seven, little over half of which would at least carry a weapon. Thirty-seven souls that Faye had promised to return home.

As Faye watched the clan, she saw flashes of old faces. It was double the peculiarity to be fitted with her old armor. It had been ages she'd last worn it, and with it came a tide of long-forgotten memories. She thought of Hana's stories, poems, and legendary tales of ancient battles. But war was never as glorious as the songs and poems wrote them to be. It was ugly and brutal and every person Faye ever loved died with fear and panic. There had been days like this when she awoke with her companions. Dark, weary days when all Faye could hope for was to survive the next hour, and the next, and the next.

What happened after that night? Faye thought hard. What happened next?

Faye came abruptly to blank space in her memory like a shore whose steady tides have washed away the footprints. Faye felt that familiar prickle again at the back of her neck. Hairs rose on her skin. A sharp pain stabbed her temple.

I'm sorry, the child kept saying. Over and over again, his voice was so small and helpless. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry.

Her ears were ringing with the cacophony. It all began to blur together and Faye couldn't parcel out what the child was saying anymore.

It all just sounded like screaming. Faye's hands flew to her head, fingers digging painfully into her scalp.

"Stop," Faye begged.

Then Kratos was beside Faye. He had spoken but she didn't catch the words. She looked at him, brow furrowed. How long had he been standing there?

"You are not focused," he said, annoyance biting in his tone.

Faye came back to herself, unsettled in her bones and uncomfortable in her own skin.

"I'm well enough to travel," Faye answered, "Time is the best remedy after a night of drinking." Faye gestured to the band of clanspeople Kratos had spent the morning harassing.

"And the troops?" she asked, brow raised.

"They are not soldiers," he grumbled, "but they will have to make do for the journey."

Kratos strode forward a few steps with his attention heavy on the forest before them. His shrewd gaze roved over the trees as if he was waiting for enemies to come bursting from the shrubs.

"You know these lands well," he said, "What manner of threats will we face on the journey?"

Faye blew out a breath and crossed her arms, meeting Kratos where he stood. Even with the help of a god, Faye had immediate doubts about the journey. She had no idea what condition the road through the mountain would be, and they would certainly come across some of the more unruly forest creatures. She scratched her jaw with a considerate look.

"You want the optimistic answer?" But Faye knew better. Optimism was the mistake of fools.

"I want the truth."

"A bit of everything most likely. Besides the wolves and bears there's also draugr. Ogres," Faye listed. "Frost Trolls."

"Hm," Kratos grunted and looked out on the gathering clan. She could see the general in him working behind his molten gaze, calculating logistics and resources on how best to move forward.

"Do you wish to reach the destination with speed or with minimum risk of casualty?" he asked.

"Is that your attempt at a joke?" If so, Faye wasn't amused. Kratos returned to his thoughts, recalculating. She could tell by the sour look on his face that whatever he was formulating - it wasn't the most efficient option.

"We put the elders and the sick at the lead. They will set the pace," He said, drawing an arrow-like formation in the road before them. "The able-bodied will be stationed at the center. I will defend from the rear. In case of a beast attack, it will give you time to lead the way to safer territory."

"Can you handle a troll?"

"I have handled worse."

"Fair enough," Faye shrugged and wondered if he's seen a dragon yet. Then she wondered what Kratos would really do if and when conditions became critical. Would he abandon the others in order to save her and himself? Faye stopped herself from delving too far down that trail of thought.

"It is a sound plan," she said with a bob of the head, "I will inform Revna."

Faye turned to rejoin the clan, but Kratos held out a hand to stop her.

"I will not tolerate impulsive behavior on this trek," he glowered down at her, "We must be of one mind if they are to survive this journey."

Faye stepped closer, stabbing a finger in his chest.

"I understand. But hear me when I say that I will not be leaving anyone behind."

His eyes worked over her face and she could sense the rage building inside him. Faye wanted to believe that there was more to Kratos than his austere apathy. Afterall, he'd been human once before becoming a god. A husband, a father, a general. There had to be some part of him that remembered what it was like to care for someone other than himself. She'd help him to remember, no matter how painful. Kratos said nothing more, gave a dissatisfied grunt, and strode past her to form up the ranks.

What you did will not bring your people back. Kratos' words had stung, the truth in them so disarming.

Of course it wouldn't. She wasn't a child, she knew that there wasn't magic in the nine realms strong enough to undo what had been done. At best she could grant their souls justice but that wouldn't be what helped Faye sleep at night. He was right, partially. There was a part of her that so desperately wanted to absolve herself of the guilt. If not through justice, then maybe absolution. If not that, then Faye didn't know how else to live on.

She had a lifetime of mistakes to make up for.

Don't go.

A shudder ran down her spine at the memory of Yrsa's breath against her skin, and her body pressed against her own.

Faye did her best to prepare the people for what dangers might come. She warned the scouts of troll-signs, ogre dens, and other creatures of the forest. Even suspicious looking ravens. Faye returned to her bathhouse for a brief moment to cast a cloaking spell on herself. She dipped her fingers in the chilled waters then drew the mark on her neck.

"Leyna," she murmured. Disguise. They would be stepping outside of the protective barrier around the forest, something that Faye hadn't done since going into hiding. She considered marking Kratos as well, but reconsidered. He wouldn't trust her enough to put a mark on him. Besides, the Allfather wasn't looking for gods. Kratos could go unnoticed. As for Faye, the Aesir would still be sniffing out any sign of Jotunns who managed to escape the Desolation. The mark had done well enough to conceal her and her companions on their journeys before. She had no reason to doubt its power now.

"The runes foretell a successful journey," Revna said as they began hauling out. As if that meant anything. But Faye took the old woman's hand and patted it reassuringly.

"We will deliver your people home," Faye promised, even if she doubted the truth in her words. Faye spared a look back down their formation to Kratos. He left a wide breadth between himself and the others. Intrusive thoughts crept in that he might slip away unnoticed as they moved on.

No. Faye had to allow him the space to show her who he truly was as she had done with Tyr. She needed to see that there was more than what he appeared to be.

Prove me right, Farbauti, Faye thought. I pray you prove me right.