(SIGYN)

Loki was moved to a small private tent besides mine. Both of which were a far cry from the comforts of Asgard's palace. How ironic that after binding the Allfather to the Odinsleep, Loki was in a makeshift one himself—left to do nothing but let time work its own magic, free of responsibility or stress. He rested in serenity while the Vanir changed his bandages regularly and kept me apprised of his progress. Instead of endless suffering from his tent, there was silence.

I was not as lucky, since being assimilated into the mountain village meant they quickly stopped treating me as a guest. It wasn't terribly unlike my days in the servantry, except more grueling. Everyone pulled their fair share of weight, yet there was always labor to complete and something new to learn. Boredom didn't exist.

Grid took me on as a protégé of sorts, not at all resistant to my integration. Björn made it no secret how he wished I would return to Asgard—in his mind, Aesir were not to be trusted, despite the centuries since our people had technically made peace after the union of Frigga and Odin. He was of an old mind. Loki's connection to Vanaheim was absolute, even as a Jotun deep down, but I had no privilege in their world. I couldn't even claim Loki as my own since our mutual expression of actual love was stunted.

Still, no one appeared to refute anything Grid had to say once she made her intent known. She was matriarch to all in the village. For all the surrogate family I'd adopted in my life, she was the quickest addition. Firm and determined, Grid wouldn't let a single drop of my own potential go to waste, much like how her culture and people felt about the sacred water flowing beneath our feet in secret passages.

The seasons of Vanaheim were entirely different from those on Asgard, where snow only existed deep in the mountains and in tales of holidays on Midgard by our ancestors. Here, they cycled quickly—springtime and new growth happened twice in a given year, when the pull of the moons shifted the realm's position. The first harvest would come, followed by four weeks of rain which replenished the soil and washed away anything unused. For the second, warmer temperatures allowed for rapid development of starch crops and feed animals. Winter would settle shortly after the next harvest, which was set to begin in a handful of weeks.

It coincided with the same place on my calendar when Loki was predicted to awaken. With two things to look forward to, I cherished every time I could mark off another day.

Grid had little patience for dawdling with chores and kept me busy with more stimulating tasks than doing dishes. She often found me in the late afternoon when I dripped with sweat, ready to pounce on anything I hadn't yet mastered. "Did you take stock of the north stores like I asked?" She tapped her foot impatiently while I caught my breath.

"Yes. As expected, there's enough in the north for the seven family camps, so long as your winter doesn't linger." I greedily took the water she offered me and splashed the last bit over my head to cool down. "You know, for only walking from the inner ward to the north edge and back again, my lungs can't seem to catch enough air. One of the fathers moved the heavy platforms for me since I was already winded by the time I got there."

"Good. You shouldn't overexert yourself, but walking alone won't cause you any harm, I'm sure." She stiffened her jaw. "Tomorrow you'll do the same to the south."

I sighed. "Is there nothing closer for me to do? I'm not bad with livestock—you send me to count boxes of supplies when I could easily use my strength to lift grass cubes for the steeds instead of wasting time on my feet."

"No, Sigyn. You'll do as I ask." The way she eyed me said more than she dared let loose from her lips, and I wasn't yet ready to acknowledge what she implied.

It's been two weeks, and I haven't bled. The lack of lifting isn't for my benefit, is it?

I took a deep breath through my nose and looked up at the deepening purple sky of early evening. There were stars above that burned through the thick atmosphere, but they were completely unfamiliar, and now I didn't have a guide for them the way I used to. Staring at them made me homesick for the yellow nights trying to see past Asgard's torches.

"What are you looking at?" Grid asked, inviting me to sit beside her in front of the dim bonfire.

"Nothing and everything." I tipped my head, ready for another lesson in anything I could attach myself to. "What are the moons called?"

She pointed to them as she spoke, moving from right to left and ending with the smallest in the foreground. "They're named for the Fates of past, present, and future. Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld." Her hand dropped, but she remained focused on the final one. "Afraid Skuld's been getting smaller of late."

"As in...moving away?"

"As in shrinking," she said, without a hint of concern in her tone. "The future is uncertain. Not like the past, which is vast and always growing, taking the memories of all to fuel its ever-widening birth."

I chuckled. "Ah, yes. I see it now. My dark crater of memories on the eastern edge."

"Oh, shush. The Fates aren't bothered with the destiny of Gods and Goddesses alone. Such a focus would be too small. No...these three count down to the next rebirth of Yggdrasil. We may just see it in our lifetime."

Freyr approached before I could ask her more about it, which I was grateful for, since such rebirth implied the life we knew would reach a definitive, unstoppable end. "Lady Sigyn, Loki's dressings are retied. You're welcome to visit him now, if you wish."

The rush in my belly was no less excited than the first time I knew the False Odin was him, even though my daily visit had become routine. "Thank you for telling me." I stood with a slight bow, still unable to separate Freyr's authority and relation to Frigga from the decidedly casual nature of the fortress.

Before I entered Loki's tent, I turned to see Freyr sitting next to Grid on the bench with their backs toward me. He scratched his thick beard and extended his arm against the top rail afterward, chuckling about something, and her quiet yet cheerful voice joined him in the joke. Whenever their friendship began, it was likely far beyond when I was born. I smiled at their comfortable independence—like siblings, they loved each other, but it wasn't anything akin to what coursed through my veins for the man on the cot inside.

I sighed and passed through the fabric doorway, no longer frightened or even surprised by Loki's enclosed appearance. His shallow, steady breathing was a comfort in itself, and I sat on the ground and rubbed his exposed hand. It was no longer bent over his chest at all since his shoulder was doing better, so I had the luxury of trailing over his bare forearm as well.

Looking here never really crossed my mind before—with so much of him to admire, this was a small prize I took for granted. But if it was the only piece of him I could have until seeing his face again, I'd take it. He was hairless and smooth. Thick veins crisscrossed from his elbow to his thumb. I pecked him all over and breathed in the petrichor of his natural scent, refreshing and sweet.

But just below his wrist, the skin darkened slightly—as I turned his hand side to side in the light, I swore there was a faded handprint pressed into his skin.

Curious, I wrapped the same place and could barely fit my longest fingers around him. Whatever made this supposed scar had hands at least twice as large as my own, and much bigger than Loki's as well. It healed well enough, but I yearned to hear him tell the tale of when it happened.

I spoke out loud, not bothering to stay silent because there was a small chance his subconscious was still listening. "You're doing better, they say. I heard one of them say the pattern on your face is waning. It really was dreadful to look at...your skin wept and all that. It must've been terribly painful. But Freyr might even have another trick up his sleeve to restore your appearance completely..."—I gasped, too aware of what my words implied—"...not that you were worth any more before! You'll always be lovely. Not just to me. Something about your green eyes always caught my attention, long before we started to...when we met again...oh, never mind. I'm afraid my talent is still saying the wrong thing, isn't it?"

Of course, there wasn't a response. No squeeze from his hand or a change in his breath. Treating him like a diary was only a comfort to me, not to him.

But with nothing to stop me, I rambled. "This place is so different from home. I suppose I should start thinking of this as my home. At least you're here. Still alive. That's all I could ask for, really...even if you don't wake up." I tenderly touched where his forehead would be under the bandages. It wasn't near as sweet as it could've been. I wanted to caress his face in the way he liked me to before, always pressing my hand into his cheek. Perhaps he remembered me that way.

"I have something to tell you," I whispered, half afraid that the words would make them a reality and terrified of all it meant for us if it turned out to be true. But I choked—if the future wasn't absolutely certain, it wasn't worth saying at all.

Sweetness would have to be enough. "I hope you're dreaming about me, Lo. Goodness knows I hope every night to dream about you."

"That's the best way to see him," Freyr said, peeking in behind me.

I twisted toward him, careful not to startle and bump Loki on accident. "What do you mean?"

He knelt beside me, glancing over Loki while nodding his head. "He's got enough Vanir in him to know how to reach out. All you need to do is give an invitation."

"Impossible. I have no magic."

"Everyone has magic, Sigyn," he said with a raised brow. "Grid says you're ready to explore it. I agree. Loki wouldn't have chosen you if you had no potential."

I saw Frigga in his eyes—a caring honesty that gave me confidence. "Do you...do you really think I could see him? Speak with him before he wakes up officially?"

"It's worth a try. If you wish, I'd be happy to teach you. Grid wants to see how fast you pick things up."

My heart galloped at the prospect of seeing his smile—just that would be enough to sustain me for a lifetime. "Please do."