Thrúd's jaw dropped, hoping against hope that she misheard Sindri. Or that the dwarf had misspoke.

"S-Say that again, please?"

"I think you heard me loud and clear."

Thrúd looked left, then right. Her eyes searched all over the room as if a preferrable alternate option was written on the outside walls of his home. Or written in the sky of this realm. When she found none, she looked back at Sindri. "Well, how do you know? You've never met him before, so how do you know he even has it?"

Sindri pointed a finger at her. "Your tales about him from before. You said he used whetstones to enhance his sword's abilities."

"That's right."

"I need one of them. For this to work, I can't just use any whetstone. It needs to be enchanted."

The thought of purposefully going out into the realms to find Grámtrist made her heart pump so fast and loudly she could've sworn that Sindri was able to hear it too. Since she found Mjolnir in Niflheim, she swore to improve not only her father's public image, but the hammer's too. She can't do that if it's reduced to a pile of pebbles.

Each time she's run into the Traveler, he's demonstrated his ability to withstand the hammer's powers and damage it too. The only logical conclusion that she could come to was to avoid him at all costs. At least until she had gotten in enough practice and experience to fend him off herself.

However, his skill of being able to teleport himself to any realm he pleases until he finds her gives him an undeniable advantage. He could pop in whenever she wasn't expecting it and shatter not only the hammer, but her dreams as well.

He could do anything whether she was prepared for his arrival or not.

"The other thing," Sindri continued, "is that they aren't anywhere else in the realms."

"You mean he has every single enchanted whetstone in that bag of his?"

"All the ones still in existence, it seems," he corrected.

"But how could you possibly know that?"

Sindri appeared thoughtful for a moment, as if he was thinking of the best way to put this. Or rather, put it in a way that she'd be able to understand. "A long time ago, dwarves discovered the whetstones in Svartalfheim. Don't ask me where they were, I have no idea. I obviously wasn't born yet, and no one recorded its location. Anyway, they found out very quickly how useful they were in crafting new weapons. And almost just as quickly, they found out how dangerous it was to use them.

"Those who weren't careful with them got obliterated by their power after constant misuse or neglecting maintenance. Or they accidentally fell victim to the very weapons they crafted. Long story short, they were too moronic to handle the responsibility of using them."

Thrúd wasn't expecting a story to be told. But seeing as how she had just been pestering the dwarf for some background knowledge, she was in no position to complain. "So, what did they do with them?"

"Those remaining dwarves got together and had a meeting."

"Oh. How exciting."

"Hey, their lives were on the line depending on what kind of decision was reached. Unlike some people, we dwarves pride ourselves on our abilities to problem solve."

"Is that before or after you guys get shitfaced at the local tavern?"

"Watch it," he warned. "Anyway, they agreed that the best thing to do was to destroy them. After using one of their weapons to destroy one of them, five more dwarves were killed in the process. There was nothing left to do but scatter them across the realms to avoid anybody else getting killed."

"How did they do that?"

To answer her question, Sindri vanished before her eyes and reappeared at her side. "Stepping through the realm between realms is an ancient technique." He seemed smug at the idea of reminding her of this trick. "The remaining dwarves collected their share of the whetstones and hid them across the realms without telling the others where they placed them to ensure they'd stay hidden for as long as possible."

"How did that work out?"

"Surprisingly well, all things considered. Nobody stumbled on them for a very long time. Fafnir, an old acquaintance of mine, is the first person I know of to have found one and put it in his personal collection of treasure and junk." He huffed, his eyes trailing to the ground as if he really didn't want to explain this next part.

"Fast forward to just a few years ago. I sent Kratos and his brat over to Fafnir's storeroom to find a regular whetstone that I'd be able to use myself. They came back and said that there were no whetstones to be found. That was my first clue that something was wrong."

The flames in the kiln continued to roar inside, reminding both of them of its presence. The light from them escaped the grated door and cast a wavy pattern on the ground.

"After even more journeying, they never came back with one. They never even mentioned anything identical to one. True, they were very well hidden, but with how thorough that asshole is at graverobbing and treasure hunting, especially when it will benefit himself," he rolled his eyes, "I was becoming curious of their whereabouts. Brok was too."

Thrúd quickly grew tired of the dwarf's biased views of Kratos and Loki slipping into his bits of conversation, but she knew better than to challenge him on it. They'd be standing here forever if she gave him the bait.

Instead, she focused on the topic at hand.

"So, you're saying Grámtrist learned about these whetstones and went out and found them all," Thrúd pieced together. "But I thought you said you know other dwarves who have used them? Shouldn't we talk with them first?"

"Those who were lucky enough to survive using one after using it put it back right where they found it without telling anybody. And the most recent case I can think of was so long ago, Mjolnir was merely a concept. Plenty of time for an obsessed Traveler to collect them and use them as he pleases."

"Yeah, like supposedly freeing his dead wife from inside Mjolnir." Hugin cawed unhelpfully.

"Shut it," Thrúd snapped at the bird. Sindri ignored their bickering and walked back over to the kiln as if he were inspecting its functionality.

"Sorry to say," he began without sounding sorry in the slightest. "But you're going to have to get up close and personal with the one person you don't want to." He rubbed his unkempt beard. "Could be quite a scuffle. Maybe let him come find you in one of the primordial realms. Like Muspelheim. Nobody there to accidentally kill."

Thrúd hadn't considered the importance of their next meetup, but Sindri had a point. This inevitable meetup with Grámtrist could only result in a fight, and while Thrúd prided herself on her ever-growing skills in battle, she knew for a fact that her goal of preserving Mjolnir would take the forefront of her mind and cloud her judgement.

That could prove dangerous for the locals of whatever realm she happened to be in at the time, if not deadly.

After mulling it over for a moment, Thrúd nodded her agreement. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. Haven't been to Muspelheim yet, anyway." Another thought popped into her head. "Oh, Sindri, would it be ok for me to leave Mjolnir here with you while I'm out?"

Sindri did his best to act like he hadn't just heard the dumbest thing he's ever heard. "And why in the name of Thrym would you want to do that?"

"Well," Thrúd started, "it would keep the hammer out of his reach. And with it safe here, that'd be one less thing I have to worry about while we fight," she reasoned.

Sindri merely shook his head. "You conceited little girl." He ignored Thrúd's offended facial expression. "Grámtrist isn't hunting you. He's hunting Mjolnir," he explained as slowly and condescendingly as he could. "Everywhere he's shown up, Mjolnir was there with you. I don't know how he's able to track it, mind you. It could have something to do with the whetstones," he mused, "but who knows?"

Thrúd was silent from sheer embarrassment. She hadn't even considered the possibility that he was merely searching for the hammer itself instead of her. That said, another question formed in her head.

"But my dad has never mentioned him. If he's been after the hammer for this long, he's had to have sought out my dad first?"

Hugin flapped over and landed on her shoulder. After a few chirps and squawks in Thrúd's ear, Thrúd's face became a mixture of resigned understanding and frustration.

Sindri crossed his arms. "Let me guess. He said that your dad was the more formidable target and waited until the hammer was passed down to one of his less experience children to make his move?"

The goddess winced. "You heard all that?"

"Nah," Sindri shook his head. "Context clues. But that was also my guess." He raised his hands in resignation as he began speaking this next part. "Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure that you're quite the warrior yourself with and without the use of that hammer there. But let's face it, you're not your dad. You don't have his aura or presence. Your legacy is yet to be made while he solidified his with one swing at a giant's wedding shortly after he got Mjolnir. Grámtrist more than likely bided his time and waited for the right moment to come out of hiding."

Thrúd huffed. "I suppose that makes sense."

As he spoke, Sindri walked inside his house and collected an armful of tools that looked as though they had been stoking a fire earlier. He ignored the soot that rubbed off on his arms and leaned them against the kiln before grabbing a table from inside as well and spreading them out on it, prepared for future use.

Once he was done, he made his way back to Thrúd. The girl was sitting cross-legged and holding Mjolnir with one hand while propping her chin on her palm in the other. The light from the fire danced around her, making it seem as though she were patiently waiting for a pastry to get done.

She twisted Mjolnir one way, then another, wanting to get a look at it from all angles like she was trying to find some hidden message within the intricate markings.

Sindri had prepared another witty remark but found he didn't have the heart to voice it once he saw how lost the girl looked. He knew there was at least one other thing that was on her mind.

"The answer is no."

Thrúd blinked and looked up at the dwarf, not having heard him approach.

"No what?"

"Brok and I didn't use any soul pieces to create the hammer. That's the answer to your question that you weren't asking earlier."

Looking between the hammer and the dwarf, Thrúd internally chastised herself for being so easy to read but was also thankful that she didn't have to ask the awkward question.

"Then, why does, or, I mean, how does he-" She stammered, trying to vocalize her next inquiry.

"Why does this Grámtrist fellow seem so convinced that there is one? Let alone the supposed one of his dear lover? I have no clue." He didn't sit with Thrúd, but he stood by her, feeling the warmth from the fire of the kiln. "But I do know one thing." He pointed a finger at Mjolnir. "That hammer right there has had one Hel of a career. Thanks to its previous owner, obviously. Anything is possible when you have been on as many, for lack of a more . . . sensitive word, adventures as he has."

"So," she set the hammer down with the hilt facing her, "do you think that there is a soul in it now?"

"I have no clue. With or without a soul, Mjolnir is a special case altogether."

Thrúd had more questions but bit her tongue. She felt as though she had pressed her luck on Sindri's patience enough as it was. Though on the surface, her inquiries didn't seem to grate his nerves or try his patience. Now that he had work to do for a customer who was depending on him, she could see his defenses slowly crumbling, exposing more of the dwarf he used to be.

Not enough to fully get over what happened to him at Ragnarok, but Thrúd felt grateful for the progress all the same.

She looked back at the hammer, resting her elbows on her knees. "How many do you need? Whetstones I mean."

Sindri looked spooked for a moment as he considered the prospect of his home being used to house every enchanted whetstone in Grámtrist's arsenal. "Just one. Just one will do. Wouldn't want to accidentally blow up a portion of the world tree, would we?"

Thrúd wasn't sure how that would be possible with just a few magic slabs of rock, but she took his word for it. She rose to her feet. "Does it matter which one?"

"It shouldn't," the dwarf shook his head. "A whetstone is a whetstone, enchanted or otherwise. But just to be on the safe side . . ." He tapped his chin in deep thought. "The white one should do."

Nodding, Thrúd steeled herself for her upcoming mission.

"Alright, then." With a snap of her fingers, Mjolnir zipped into her hand before she holstered it at her hip. "Let's get this over with."

Nodding at Hugin, the raven cawed and swarmed the young goddess. Before she was completely enveloped in feathers and glowing eyes, she could hear Sindri say, "And try not to get your boots too covered in ash and soot? It's a bitch to remove from the floors."

Thrúd didn't even bother responding to the request. The ravens dissipated and left her in another realm. Whenever she travels to a new realm, a word immediately pops into her head that describes her first impressions of it.

The first word that she thought of was hot.

She was surrounded by falling ash and floating embers that came from a multitude of volcanoes that all but encompassed the entire realm. Thrúd found that she couldn't turn in any direction without finding another volcano off in the distance.

Looking to her left, she saw a charming yet slow moving lavafall with a volcano in the distance. To her right, a plateau that revealed a sightly view to a few other volcanoes some kilometers away. Daring to look behind her, Thrúd wasn't surprised in the least to discover it was a wall for yet another volcano.

The smoke emanating from their mouths blanketed the sky entirely, giving her unwelcome flashbacks to Ragnarok. Turning her head to another side, she found herself genuinely surprised to find something other than molten rock akin to the surface she was standing on or volcanoes spewing hundreds of gallons of lava per second.

An assortment of rusty and unusable swords were plunged into the ground along a shallow incline, leading to a shabby looking structure. Avoiding the swords, Thrúd made her way up a path that led her to an abandoned workshop. Tools remained scattered about atop the tables, identical to the mess that she found Sindri's house in when she first arrived.

The workspace was spacious, clearly built with someone fairly tall in mind.

Surtr's workshop. This is where he stayed, she deduced. This is where he spent his time away from Sinmara, toiling away and creating useless weapon after useless weapon to distract himself from the absence of the love of his life.

A mallet rested on top of an anvil, its head dented and blackened from constant use and no maintenance. The very same one used to create all these swords, no doubt.

The longer she stood there, the more she could feel a surreal weight pressing down on her. This was the home of the giant that destroyed her home. She wasn't sure how, but this place was the birth of Ragnarok itself.

Just to be safe, Thrúd took another look around to ensure the place was truly uninhabited. Like Sindri said, what was going to come surely wouldn't be safe for any bystanders.

After confirming that she was the only one present, Thrúd stepped out of the workshop and took out Mjolnir. Upon their arrival, Hugin placed himself atop the hilt of a sword that stuck out from the ground, eyeing Thrúd curiously as she wandered about.

Arms swaying lazily at her side with each step, Thrúd did her best to appear calm on the outside despite her heart pounding on the inside as if trying to trick herself into being calm.

Coming to the conclusion that pacing wouldn't get Grámtrist over here any faster, Thrúd took three steadying breaths and sat down cross-legged on the ground. With her adversary not here, there was little else to do but wait.

A/N: Shorter chapter, I know. But I'm VERY excited for the next handful of chapters! Thanks for everyone who's reading this thing!