A chorus of insanity inducing screams echoed in his mind.

A flash of blinding light streaked through his vision. And then Atreus can see him.

A dark figure in the rain.

Atreus stared into the darkness underneath that hood and he is paralyzed with fear. All the happiness he has ever felt in his life drained away, leaving him cold and empty inside.

There was no hope.

Only death.

Or that was how he felt at that moment. Now in the waking world and far from the reaches of his nightmare, Atreus went over his dream with a clinical point of view than an emotional one. He wanted to make sense of it, something his mother always used to tell him to do right away before he forgets. Unfortunately, his recent dream slipped from his mind like a fish escaping a fisherman's net; leaving only a few scales behind, the only proof anything was there to begin with. It was the same way with his dream.

The entirety of it had swam free into the ocean while only a few scales remained, fragmented pieces that made no sense to him.

Atreus opened his eyes and stared at the drawing. There on the paper was the dark figure from his dream, reaching out to him with claw-shaped armored fingers. He posed the tip of the pencil over the blank area where the figure's face should be.

A shiver crawled down his spine.

It did not feel like there was only one person under that hood.

Atreus scribbled in the face, just a solid black, and snapped his journal shut.

One thing was for certain: he never wants to encounter that thing in real life, even if it was only an imaginary illusion his mind made up. The feeling alone, one of despair and agony, had shaken him to his core. He never wants to experience that again.

From way up high, sat upon the branches of his special ash tree, Atreus breathed in the cool crisp air and set his sight on the beautiful white landscape that was Midgard. Everything was so calm and peaceful.

It made it hard to believe that this was the beginning of the end of the world.

Could this winter truly be the infamous Fimbulwinter? And if so, would the world truly come to an end after the third winter? Freya seemed to think so and so did Brok and Sindri and Mimir as well. He even got the feeling his mom did, too.

Atreus gazed at the land he called his home and frowned.

He overheard what Mimir said to his dad; How Fimbulwinter wasn't supposed to come for another hundred years or so. It made Atreus sick to his stomach. He hoped they aren't the reason for the world ending prematurely. If anything, he would do everything in his power to stop Ragnarok. If he and his father did something to speed up the prophecy, be it a small role, he believed strongly it will be their responsibility to fix their wrongdoings.

Anyways, it would be the right thing to do.

Something Laufey the Just would do.

Just as he began imagining his mother defeating Odin and saving Midgard, he was broken out of his fantasy.

"Atreus!" his father's voice called from a distance.

Reality came crashing back down on him.

His mother was dead. She's not coming back and she won't save the day.

She is gone.

And he has never felt more alone.

The wooden cross necklace was a tiny thing resting in the palm of his hand. It weighed nothing yet somehow it was the heaviest thing he has ever carried.

He remembers how it swung from his closed bloody fist, the only clear memory he retained from the battle in the Scilly Isles. How long ago it seemed, from the man he was to the man he is now and all because of a miracle. All because of Him.

"Having second thoughts, my lord?"

A woman, taller than the tallest of his men and of strong built, appeared next to him.

Olaf Tryggvason closed his hand and gazed wearily ahead at the ocean that encompassed their ship. "Father Tybalt says my faith will always be tested and I should not falter."

"Believe me, I am not testing you," the woman known as Thrud snorted. She crossed her arms over her large chest and said, "I am asking you if you still think this is a good idea."

"The seer said I am to be king, a great king who will bring faith into this hopeless land."

"The seer is of the same faith. Of course he would say that," Thrud quipped dryly.

Olaf smiled at her which looked more like a grimace on his tired face. "And what would you prefer we be doing?"

"Heading back to England," she replied. "I'd rather be raiding and wetting my hammer with Saxon blood."

"You know we can't do that. I already agreed to the Danegeld."

"So? What's the worst that can happen? Æthelred having you baptized thrice?"

Despite himself, Olaf chuckled. "The King of Wessex is a coward, I agree, but he is one with deep pockets. So long as Sweyn and I let him continue playing king, we will profit."

"Less fun that way."

Olaf gave her a look and she grinned right back.

He shook his head, the tip of his lip curling up. "If I were a younger man..." He ran his thumb over the cross in his hand and was reminded why he could not turn back. He breathed in deeply and exhaled. "I have been chosen, Thrud. Chosen by Him. I cannot reject the path He has put me on."

Thrud made a non-committal sound and looked away. "Gods and gods and God," she muttered, a frown on her face. "They are no better than us. They just live longer, that's all."

The corner of Olaf's lip twitched before it thinned into a straight line, the wrinkles on his face deepening. "I did not ask you to follow me."

"No but I followed you out of Midgard to raid with only but a few men and half a coin to your name and then found myself staying in Wendland for three fucking years for you. I followed you into battle against Bluetooth, although that was fun, but I hated fighting for a roman kuk. And I followed you to see that damn seer. So no, you did not ask me to follow you on your delusional religious conquest and yet, here I am."

Olaf had kept silent during her entire speech and when she finished he said, "You are a true friend, do you know that?"

"Yes I do. And you are going to get yourself killed, do you know that? We are heading back to Midgard. Soon as the other jarls hear about your religious campaign they will kill you. And not even the jarls but the people of Midgard. They are all faithful to the gods. They will not accept you and they will not listen to a single word you have to say." Thrud's face softened and their was a hint of worry in her voice. "Your quest will end before it even begins."

A part of him, the more reasonable sane part, knew this to be true. Midgard will crush him like a bug. But... but the other part of him believed.

Olaf looked up at the sky and not for the first time questioned his place in all of this. Why him? He would ask and he would always never receive an answer.

"I have to try," he whispered.

He can feel Thrud staring at him. She must think him insane. Hel, even he does, too.

A voice rang out from the bow of the ship. One of Olaf's men, who had been assigned to watch duty, cried out: "Land!"

Olaf's heart skipped a beat and he strode across the long boat quickly.

"Land, m'lord," the watcher repeated and stepped aside for his king.

Olaf took his place and looked out across the wide sea. Indeed the watcher saw true for in the distance he could see the green of Midgard's tall trees and the misty shapes of her mountains, their peaks blocked from view by thick dreary clouds.

His breath caught at the sight and nostalgia seeped into his heart. Midgard looked exactly the same the day he left. Back when he was boy, he had never considered it home and now here he was, returning to a land that was a stranger to him with the intent of forging a future with her people.

How times have changed.

"Olaf," Thrud called and the concern in her voice caught his attention immediately. She was frowning at something over the railing of the ship and when he joined her side and peered overboard his hand went for his sword.

"Wait," she snapped and they watched in silence as one impossibly large tentacle lined with suckers bigger than a man's head brush against their boat, an even larger shadowy form distorting the water's surface. It slipped underneath the water and was gone just as suddenly as it had appeared.

Only when he was sure the kraken had left did he relax, drawing his hand from his sword. "It did not attack." He gazed at the water around the other boats and noticed that there were more dark figures swimming by and yet none of the monstrous creatures so much as tipped a ship. "What are they doing?"

"Fleeing," Thrud answered and nodded at something behind Olaf.

He turned around in time to see the ocean had become land.

"How thick do you think it is?" one of the men asked.

The crew had stopped rowing and formed a crowd at the side of the boat that floated parallel of the land made of ice.

No one answered the man's question. Nobody did anything but stare.

In the corner of his eye, Olaf noticed Thrud take out her long hammer and without warning brought it down upon the ice with a force that rocked the boat and startle his men. Once everyone regained their bearings, they eagerly looked to see the result of her strike. Aside from some thin spiderweb cracks shooting from the point of the hammer the ice remained intact.

"Lord?" the shipmaster, Esben, called to him. They stepped aside and away from the other men. "I don't think we are going to get the boats to shore. Maybe if we gather the men and set them to break through the ice we can create path to shore-"

"Or how about we just walk it?" A young man chained to the boat by his wrists and ankle interrupted.

"You dare speak again, slave?" Esben growled.

"Let the boy speak," Thrud cut in lazily.

"Thank you." The man gave her a charming smile and in response Thrud rolled her eyes. He appeared unaffected by her response and instead squinted his eyes in the direction of Midgard. "We are... about less than a land mile from shore. It won't take long if we walk and the ice seems thick enough to hold our weight."

Esben frowned in displeasure, "Are you saying we should abandon the boats?"

"All I'm saying is that it will take way longer trying to break through that ice." The man leaned back, or as far as the chains would allow him to and shrugged his shoulders. "And to be honest, I don't really feel like hanging around in the sea for too long. Don't know what could be lurking under these waters. Right, lord?"

Olaf realized the man was addressing him directly. He glanced at Thrud and knew that they were both thinking of the krakens that passed by not too long ago. If those creatures decided to come back...

"Esben," Olaf said, "Sound the horn. Let the others know we will go on foot from here."

"But my lord, if we leave the boats unattended they may get stolen or swept away by the current."

"That should not be a problem, then. Midgard is our home now. We won't be leaving anytime soon. Now, do as I say."

"Yes, lord," Esben relented and walked away to do his king's bidding.

As the men packed their belongings, Olaf nodded towards the slave still shackled to the boat and asked Thrud, "Who is he? I don't recall seeing his face anywhere. What wrong has he done to have become a thrall?"

"He is Leif Erikson, son of Erik the Red and grandson to Thorvald Asvaldsson. He was caught trying to sail off with one of your boats back in Northumbria."

"Alone?"

"No. He paid men in silver to row with him."

"Where did he manage to get all that silver?"

Thrud looked at him and smiled, "From you."

Olaf paused and then chuckled, shaking his head. "I can see why he is a thrall now."

"Hopefully, he will be a better thrall than he was a thief."

After everyone got off they were joined with the rest of Olaf's men from the other boats. Among them were three peculiarly dressed people. They wore baggy woolen clothes that hid their shape and not one sported a hint of armor although each had heavy looking wooden cross necklaces hanging from their necks.

"How was your trip, Father?" Olaf said in greeting to their approach.

Father Tybalt, a short astute old man, waved his hand flippantly as if that itself was answer enough to Olaf's question.

"I'd rather be back in Wessex," he grouched, "It is a miserable place but at least back there I could feel my own arse!"

"Father!" one of the priest's assistants gasped. He was a tall yet lanky individual and in Olaf's opinion, looked like he couldn't pick up a sword even if his life depended on it.

"Oh, shut it," Father Tybalt snarked, causing Olaf to grin in amusement. He slugged a heavy arm around the priest and squeezed.

"Of all the priests that could have gotten chosen, I'm glad it was you."

Father Tybalt snorted, "Lucky me."

Olaf patted him on the back, "Come now, Father. You are doing God's work. Cheer up."

When everyone was ready to go they set out immediately in a quick pace across the frozen sea. About halfway, the air grew colder and there was this sense of foreboding every time he looked at the trees; growing bigger and taller the closer they came. He chanced a glance up and saw the last of the sun disappear from view as thick roiling clouds consumed it.

It was to everybody's relief when they stepped onto real land.

All except Thrud.

She had stopped walking and stood in place at the very edge of the frozen sea where soil met ice and simply... stared.

Olaf frowned at her, "Thrud, what is it?"

Thrud looked back, at the wide frozen sea and beyond, then looked towards the land of Midgard.

"I never thought I'd ever return to this place," she said softly.

Olaf understood. He never thought he would, too. Too many bad memories.

Thrud smirked, a dry and humorless one, and stepped onto land.

It started with a rumbling boom in the distance, then the very ground beneath their feet began to quake! Olaf crouched to regain his balance, looking around wildly for a place to find cover if the trees beside them decide to fall.

Someone cried out: Landskjalpti!

Another pointed west and screamed, "Miðgarðsormr!"

Olaf's blood went cold. He couldn't have heard him right; he could barely hear anything at all. The man must be delusional. Mad! It was impossible! It could not be-

He spun around and his heart leapt into his throat.

"By God." Olaf heard Father Tybalt swear under his breath as the head of a serpent peaked into view. It emerged from between the mountains and slithered onto the frozen sea where Olaf got a good look at how big it truly is and it was monstrous, just as the stories told.

"By the gods," Olaf whispered in terrified awe, "It's the World Serpent!"

Thrud stepped back, warhammer already in her hands. "No," she breathed, a shakiness in her voice, " It cannot be. He's supposed to be asleep."

For a moment, all he and everyone else could do was stare, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing. More of the serpent spilled out onto the ice and its sheer size and weight cracked it apart. The serpent didn't seem to notice that some of its body had become submerged under the ice and continued to make its way towards deeper water.

That is... until its gigantic body stilled. It lifted its head and even from this distance, Olaf could see its nostrils flare as it sniffed the air.

Olaf has never experienced true fear in his life. Not even when he laid dying atop the shields of his comrades.

The serpent's head snapped in their direction, its eyes burning with an intensity he could see from here, and it pulled its thin lips back into a hideous grin, revealing rows and rows of teeth.

Olaf has never experienced true fear... until now.

Terror seized him as the serpent shot towards them, moving faster than he thought something of that size was capable to do. Somewhere in his mind, he registered Father Tybalt going down on his knees, praying to the sky while Leif the slave shouted to be released.

Finally, something inside Olaf snapped and he unsheathed his sword. He may have forsaken the gods and given up entrance into Valhalla but he will be damned to the Devil's Hell if he didn't die a warrior!

It appeared his show of strength spurned others to draw their weapons out, too.

"No!" Thrud yelled in anger, "Away. Put them away if you want to live."

"It will kill us," Esben shouted back.

"It will if you attack him." Thrud's eyes pierced into Olaf's. "Tell your men to stand down if you value their lives. Do it now or else you will never live to regret it."

Olaf hesitated. Only for a second.

"Stand down," he bellowed at his men. Some of them looked at him as if he were crazy. His faced morphed into one of anger. "I said put down your weapons. Put them down!" His voice carried out amongst the terrified soldiers, strong and commanding that they listened and did as told.

Olaf himself placed his sword on the ground and looked to Thrud who gripped her hammer tightly, her knuckles a pure white.

"Thrud! You still have your weapon."

She glanced back at him and chuckled a sort of desperate chuckle. "He won't attack you," was all she said.

It was then the serpent was upon them.

It was even more gigantic up close -and that was only its head- and five times more terrifying. It took every ounce of his willpower for Olaf not to grab his sword and shield when the monster lowered his head so it was at eye level with them, one large eye roaming over their tiny figures. It focused on Thrud longer than it did with the rest of them and drew back to face the woman head on.

The serpent opened its mouth and for a second Olaf feared it was going to eat her but then it did the impossible.

It spoke.

Or what he assumed was the monster's version of speech. With every word hot air that reeked of fish blew over them. It was the worst thing he has ever smelled but it failed to distract him from the legions of razor sharp teeth that lined the inside of the creature's mouth.

By some miracle, the serpent drew back and turned around, heading back to the sea. On its way there, it demolished their boats as it plunged head first into open water. Everyone jumped when it burst out again, flinging its head back with its jaws opened wide to snatch a kraken mid air.

Although the monster was gone, Olaf stood frozen in place. He only regained awareness when Thrud hooked her hammer onto her back and turned facing him. She wore the exact expression he was sure his own face reflected.

They locked eyes and despite the situation, a slow grin grew on her face and before he knew it, they were both laughing. Some of the men around them joined in and Olaf could practically feel the tension in the group ease away.

Thrud trudged up to him and clapped him hard on the chest.

"Welcome home, lord," she said and headed to the treeline.

Olaf swallowed and finally found his voice.

"Come on! Let's go," he barked at his men. He retrieved his sword and sheathed it and followed after Thrud.

He knew it wasn't going to be easy building a future in Midgar.

But this was just insane.

Olaf snatched his cross necklace and brought it to his lips.

God be with me.

For this was a brave new world of monsters and men.