Chapter 1: Welcome to Troll Circle, Arrendale

It was a quiet Arrendale night. The night was long, winter was advancing its invasion through fall, a chill being the soldier of choice, and the stars peeked down through interspersed clouds.

By all accounts, the trolls should have be soundly sleeping.

Except, Grand Pabbie was nervous.

"Why is the throne so loud?" The elderly troll paced back and forth, glancing up through the clouds. "It has been quiet for so many millennia. What is going on for that doddering ghost to wake up? Didn't everything turn to ash and cinders? What could the One-Eyed be trying for by making a move now, when his body is in the gullet?"

Like audience watching a tennis match, the trolls' heads swiveled as Grand Pabbie patrolled across one end of the valley and back again, his muttering never ceasing.

"What is being seen?" The elder troll wondered. "What is going to happen?"

"Grand Pabbie?" A troll hesitantly ventured to ask. "What's the matter?"

"We have no more quarrel with the dead sons of Bor. The wrong has been righted," Grand Pabbie didn't hear the question. "But will he accept that? He was the murderer, he could do it again. But without a body, he is much weaker. But the ancient one was never a fool."

The elder troll's monologue was broken by a burst of light lighting up the sky, a star popping into the earth's atmosphere, deciding it was too cold, then running back up into the night sky.

The trolls cried out in pain as their night vision got pummeled. Several trolls reflexively turned into stone to escape.

The trolls blinked the stars in their vision out of their eyes, a few younger trolls crying at the pain of suddenly staring into a bright light, while others rubbed their eyes.

Bulda the female troll frowned.

"Why is there one more of us than there was a minute ago?" She asked.

"Huh?"

The trolls looked around.

"One, two, three, four, five, uh, six, uh, what comes after six?"

"Hey, when did the human get here?" Bulda pointed to a boy on the ground.

The trolls turned to look at the red-headed boy, shaking on the ground like a power cord was connected to every muscle in his body. And with twenty-seven glowing green lines on his body, it really did look like he was connected to a generator.

"Are humans supposed to do that?" a troll got close to the spasming boy.

"He looks like Jungie when the bees were swarming him." Another troll laughed.

The human boy's arm hit the troll.

"Ow," The troll commented with a blink. The blow didn't have nearly enough force behind it to be more than a light pat to the rock-hard troll. "Boy is he unfriendly."

"Cool! I didn't know that human arms can bend in three places!" a child troll exclaimed. She shook her arm. "I wish mine could."

"Bend in three-that is not good!" Grand Pabbie frowned and got closer to the boy jerking about uncontrollably. "Someone hold him down, don't let him jerk all over the place. He'll hurt himself more."

The trolls obeyed their leader, dogpiling the boy, sitting on his legs and arms.

"No, don't sit on his chest, you'll crush his lungs," Grand Pabbie scolded an over-eager troll as he made his way to the human's head. "Let's see, what is going on here…"

The troll pulled the human's eyelids open, peering into the boy's wild and big brown eyes.

"Ah, a seizure. But what caused it…" Grand Pabbie mumbled as the boy got more and more restrained. "And the manner of arrival. Hmm. Did you try to get to where the wise one's throne used to be back when the nine worlds existed? Bad move that. That is outside the human world, you would need to be a lot more influential and stronger to survive that. Maybe if you weren't a pure human or were empowered by humanity's collective, you could have tried."

The boy's head spasmed.

"Ah, you probably bounced off the defenses. Even with Valhalla long destroyed these few millennia, those runes still have some power to them," Grand Pabbie concluded. "The Wanderer set up some defenses to prevent another incident where someone else sat on his throne. You are lucky that you got turned away when you did. A thousand years earlier and you wouldn't even be alive from that accident."

The troll suddenly jammed his hand into the boy's mouth, stopping the human's teeth from snapping shut on his own tongue.

"But even so, you need help now if you don't want to die," Grand Pabbie nodded as he ignored the chipping of teeth on his fingers. "So let's get you to calm down."

With only one hand, the troll brushed the red hair out of the boy's forehead. A swirl of light came with it.

"Hmm, chaotic," Grand Pabbie mused as images flickered faster than most could even blink. "He hasn't processed what he saw yet. And it would take time for any child, especially a human one, to process what is left of the last ashes of Valhalla. Odd that he made so many details out though. I thought humans weren't sensitive enough.

"Let's…" The troll frowned as the lights drifted back to the boy's head. "What is going on? No, why are you holding onto the new memories so tightly? No, not all of them, just some of those memories. But humans don't do that. Your head must be harder than our own."

"So he's a hard-head?" A troll clutching Shirou's spasming leg asked as the last of the lights either flickered and died in the open air or sank into the skull they came from.

"A troll-head human?" Bulda asked.

"That's one way to put it," Grand Pabbie chuckled before getting serious again. "I can't change these. Rather, changing would only make the problem worse. Maybe if I hid them instead?"

Grand Pabbie brushed the boys' head again. Light once again came out but Grand Pabbie flipped his wrist and rotated the memories before shepherding the memories into the boy's belly button instead of the head.

The boy stopped moving. The incessant twitching stilled as quickly as though he had been dropped into a grave, the 27 lines of lights on his body switching off.

For a long second, the trolls held their breaths.

Shirou breathed out.

The trolls all sighed as one.

"He'll be okay," Grand Pabbie gestured for the trolls to get off the human. "It may take him years to work through what he saw but it shouldn't occupy his mind as completely as it just did. He got off very lucky."

"But what about his arm?" Bulda asked.

Grand Pabbie glanced at the broken limb.

"As I said, if he was the one that made that throne act up like it just did, he got off very lucky that he even has a body," Grand Pabbie repeated. He took a step towards the injured limb and stumbled.

The elderly troll looked down.

"Who forgot to pick up their tree book and left it lying around?" He asked about the bound paper book he accidentally kicked.

Shirou eyes snapped open.

His left was cold but his right was slightly warmer than toasty. His mouth ached and his whole body was in pain. He could feel the wind. It didn't smell like home, neither before or after it collapsed, nor did it smell like the Phamrsolone house.

It could only mean that he wasn't where he was supposed to be.

He ignored the astonishingly bright stars overhead. He could hear the slow hiss of steam. He was lying on a bed of moss and grass.

He was lying beside a towering sheer cliff wall of grey stone. A thermal vent was slowly releasing the steam he could hear and was why his right half felt uncomfortably warm. A fair distance away was a sunk depreciation, which while natural, was both far too unbroken and circular to be anything other manmade. Also, there was a pair of upward inclines that looked like one could roll up one side, jump into the air, and land on the other.

More importantly, he could also see and smell something that he had never seen before.

"Heil." A small walking rock with magical energy enthusiastically waved at him.

Shirou stared.

He didn't know what it was. There was no doubt it was a Phantasmal. Only a masterpiece golem could this proficient in speech as well as fluid in movement. Further, the magical energy signature clearly stated that it couldn't be a robot. But it looked like it was made out of stone, which meant golem.

The small stone Phantasmal continued blabbering at him but Shirou couldn't understand anything it said. The sounds a bit like Old Norse, but Shirou didn't recognize a word or the accent was just that strange.

Wait, where was his translation charm?

Shirou looked down at the small amulet he wore underneath his shirt.

The polished piece of stone that had once borne a Modern Norse rune for communication was completely black and scorched, like it had been through a furnace, or had been completely overloaded with magical energy. Even Shirou could sense that it would do him no good as the mystic code was practically destroyed.

He couldn't understand the living rock.

But there was something more important.

"Where's Ophelia?" Shirou demanded.

He was her bodyguard, her protector. Her parents had made very sure that Shirou knew how important it was to always making sure she was safe.

And Shirou didn't know where she was.

The rock creature stopped talking to tilt its head.

"Where's Ophelia?" Shirou repeated.

The magical being started talking again. This time the sounds were different, like it was speaking a different language.

Shirou shook his head, jumping to his feet.

"Ophelia!" Shirou shouted out, looking for her, straining his ears for even the lightest sound of his name. How did he get here? Where was here? How could he get back to Ophelia?

"Ophelia!" The being pointed at Shirou. Then pointed at itself and said something else.

"What?" Shirou twisted around to look behind himself. But instead of his sister behind him, there was nothing but a grey wall of imposing stone.

What should Shirou do? He needed to return to Ophelia. And if the Phantasmal had said her name, that must mean they knew where she was!

"Show me Ophelia!" Shirou demanded, whirling back around to the troll. His heart was racing with fear. What if Ophelia was in danger? What if she was going to die? What if she was feeling lonely again!

"Ophelia," the being pointed to Shirou, then pointed to another approaching Phantasmal. This one had longer hair, a green cloak, and more decorations than the other Phantasmal along with yellow crystals tied into his beard rather than the first's green crystal necklace. "Grand Pabbie!"

The approaching being waved slowly and said something to the first.

"Where is Ophelia?" Shirou rudely interrupted their conversation. He had to know she was safe. He had to be there for Ophelia.

The new being, held up both hands and waved them down gently.

Shirou didn't want to be calm! He needed to keep Ophelia safe!

A wild thought burst into Shirou's mind. Should he threaten these beings? He didn't know what they were. But they kept on repeating Ophelia's name and pointing at him. Were they threatening Ophelia? Telling him that if he didn't behave, they would hurt her?

Shirou's eyes rocketed through the place. He couldn't see her but there was a light fog. Ophelia could be behind any one of the rocks or she could be far away. If these beings had her, then she could be a hostage.

Shirou hadn't covered hostage situations in his bodyguard training yet. The security guard said those were nasty things to deal with and were better left to the police.

But Shirou had to make sure Ophelia was safe. It was his purpose!

How could he persuade these Phantasmals to let Ophelia go unharmed? He had to persuade them, he couldn't afford not to!

Shirou recalled the cook once saying that negotiations were based on both sides having something the other wanted.

And Shirou had nothing with which to persuade these Phantasmals.

Shirou looked down at the new stone Phantasmal. The one that bore more ornaments than the one that greeted him. One clearly more important.

"I need to see Ophelia." Shirou demanded. Maybe there was some voice in the back of his head amidst the swirling chaos of his emotions that was saying something. But Shirou couldn't live with himself if Ophelia was in danger.

The new stone creature opened its mouth and said something to Shirou even as it sat down and patted the stone.

It wasn't going to show him to Ophelia. It didn't want to.

Shirou didn't want to do this. But he had to see Ophelia.

"Trace on." Shirou said, willing his 27 magical circuits to life. They groaned and ached, sends arcs of pain into his body like he had pushed himself too hard in training, but they woke.

"Weapon." It was only a single word, but the Old Low Saxon word worked as an invocation to summon two close semblances of a potent sword mystic code in the Pharmsolone armory. Strong enough to cleave steel in two, it might be able to do more than leave scratches on stone Phantasmals.

The two Phantasmals blinked. The less ornate one's jaw dropped.

Shirou pointed the swords at the higher ranked one.

"Give me Ophelia!" He threatened.

"Seidrmenn." Was all it said. Wasn't that the Norse word for magus? Then shook its head, a clear refusal along with another word that sounded like the word for no. Then it dropped a third word that Shirou did recognize. "No. Magus."

"Yes." Shirou agreed. He didn't care what he was called as long as Ophelia was safe. "Now lead me to Ophelia!"

The other creature squawked and started running towards Shirou.

An attack?

Shirou leaped forward towards the older being. His swords swung down and across the rather small neck.

"Agh!" Shirou cried in pain. His left arm suddenly screamed at him as the sword it held banged against the Phantasmal instead of joining its copy at the throat.

Glancing down, Shirou expected to see the worst. That his arm had been cut off or something was jammed into it. Perhaps the Phantasmals had deployed some kind of defense and it was attacking his arm.

Instead, there was strips of tree bark packed with moss and plucked grass tied against his arm. It looked like a primitive splint.

Were these Phantasmals taking care of him?

Shirou shook.

What was going on? Were these beings responsible for Ophelia's disappearance? Or had they found him after he was attacked?

Wait, had he been attacked?

Shirou tried to remember. What was his last memory? His brow furrowed as he tried to remember…

…world of snow and ash. A gigantic flaming sword lit up a battlefield barren of both sun and moon. Thousands if not millions of weapons and warriors arrayed with gods against armies of creatures out of myth…

…he couldn't remember a thing. Had someone interfered with his memory?

Shirou flushed his magical energy through his circuits. No memories returned nor did his mind feel any resistance beyond that of stressed circuits. So he cycled his magical energy again, focusing it on his mind, trying for his last memory. He had been-studying? Yes, he had been studying something in preparation for- what he been preparing for?

The second being impacted Shirou's left leg. Shirou stumbled and the Phantasmal took advantage of that to pull his shirt and bring him down to the ground.

Shirou swung up his sword to protect his torso and head.

But the Phantasmal that first greeted him didn't go for anything vital. Instead, it was fussing over the splint.

"Magus Ophelia." The already sitting Phantasmal said slowly. Then patted the ground in front of itself, set itself into a lotus position, and exhaled long and slowly before speaking a few words in the same slow, calm tone. Then it started to slowly breathe in.

Shirou stared at the two small beings of stone.

He still didn't know what was going on.

But he got the distinct impression that he had overreacted and been dreadfully rude in his panic.

Pabbie looked over at the magus boy who was doing some sort of odd bow towards himself. The boy was on both knees and his head pressed to the ground. His healthy arm was right beside his head while Jungie fussed over the splint.

At least the red-headed boy was calm now. He had been in a clear panic when he decided to start either defending himself or threatening him. As always, fear was the greatest danger to oneself as it drove men, giants, and gods to things they would never do otherwise.

The swords were some form of conjured magic weapon. He also wasn't using Odin's magic runes, or any other magic from before Ragnarok. Which meant he was probably one of those new magi, the ones that didn't rely on the gods but instead on that one Solomon guy's magic foundations.

Pabbie had seen one of them here, a magus who was Solomon's descendant, fleeing from some invasion that conquered most of their kingdom and then exiled the entire people from their homeland. But that had been long, long ago, even by troll standards. That man had wandered through before most of the trolls here had even been born and had been willing to trade information and history.

But he wasn't here now. Just Ophelia as the boy had introduced himself as. And Ophelia was a young boy, a boy whose most recent memories—come to think of it, him being a magus did explain why his memories were so hard to modify—had been sealed by Pabbie Only made sense that he panicked upon waking up in a place that he had never been before.

A little violent though. Ophelia would have to learn not to attack so quickly.

But the young boy Ophelia was still bowing towards him.

"Sit up." Pabbie gently pulled the boy up to a sitting position. "It is good that you have calmed down, Ophelia. A calm mind is useful not just for life but also vital for handling any form of power."

Once again, Pabbie entered a meditating pose. This time, Ophelia imitated him.

Pabbie breathed in with the universe. Life swirled through him. Then he breathed out, adding a bit of himself into the world.

Repeat. Continue. This was the way of a troll shaman, after the example of their great ancestor Ymir. Not only taking but donating to the world. Always giving more than you take. Even though it costs you bits of yourself. Low sacrifices over long periods of time might eventually stack up to equal a singular mighty sacrifice and then surpass it.

Eventually, Pabbie opened his eyes, tired from his endeavor.

Ophelia was looking much more put together now, less on the verge of a breakdown or crying or just attacking.

"Now, let's begin, Ophelia," Pabbie started. "What is it that you want so much that you tried to approach the throne in Valhalla?"

"Ophelia?" Ophelia perked up as he spouted out some more words in a tongue that Pabbie didn't know.

"Right," Pabbie commented. "The language barrier. Well, maybe the tree book could help. Jungie?"

"Yes, Grand Pabbie?" Jungie looked away from the splint.

"Could you go fetch the tree book for me please?" Pabbie asked.

"Okie, dokie," Jungie agreed, before curling into a ball and rolled away.

Pabbie waited patiently next to Ophelia who looked every bit his age. Young, fidgeting, nervous, and not meditating. Had he truly been like these young ones once? He must have been but that was so very long ago…

Jungie returned before Ophelia lost his patience, shaking Pabbie out of his memories.

"We found this when you appeared," Pabbie took the book from Jungie with a thanks and turned back to Ophelia. "None of us are missing a tree book like this one so we think it might be yours."

Ophelia's eyes widened and he quickly grabbed the book. He opened it, skimming through the pages, checking for any sign of damage.

Pabbie leveled a stare onto Jungie to stop peeking at Ophelia's book. They weren't savages, they respected people's privacy. Jungie didn't notice.

"As a magus, is there a way for you to figure out how to communicate with us?" Pabbie asked. "These conversations would be difficult enough even without a language barrier."

Ophelia glanced up at Pabbie then back down to his book. Jungie held up a hand towards the book, like he was asking for Ophelia to stop on a particular page.

Ophelia looked back and forth between the book, Pabbie, and a few times at Jungie before his face turned determined and he turned the book around and opening it for Pabbie to see.

Pabbie smiled and leaned forward.

The page was covered in an array of strange small pictures that Pabbie had never seen before. Not Odin's runes, or anything derived from them. In fact, it looked like the two pages had two entirely separate sets of miniature pictures. There was also a pair of identical large pictures smack in the middle of the page, some sort of diagram.

"I can't read either," Pabbie admitted, leaning back but making sure to smile harmlessly at the boy. He patted the boy's knee. "Thanks for the show of trust."

Ophelia snapped the book shut and hugged it to his chest. He looked relieved but also disappointed.

"Hmm, what can we do?" Pabbie wondered. "Without a way to communicate, there isn't much we can do to understand each other."

A disturbance echoed from the entrance to the Valley of Living Rock. Pabbie cocked his head as Ophelia's head snapped towards the sound.

"Let the other trolls handle it," Pabbie waved dismissively towards it. If the issue needed him, a troll would come tell him. But right now, there were very few people, humans or trolls, who knew how to handle magical energy. Having that in common would help him help Ophelia.

Ophelia said something. But Pabbie couldn't understand it.

Hmm, how to teach one a language when neither of you could understand the other? Was it like teaching a baby? Did they have to wait a few years?

Pabbie might be old, but he thought that humans were not quite patient enough to wait a few years for something like that. Much less a child.

But troll magic was not good for learning languages, especially if the boy's memories were resistant to meddling.

On the other hand, if you didn't start now, when would you start?

"My name is Pabbie," Pabbie introduced himself, enunciating himself closely. "Can you repeat after me? My name is Pabbie."

He pointed to Ophelia and slowly, carefully repeated himself. "My name is Pabbie. Your name is?"

Ophelia blinked.

"My name is Pabbie." Pabbie patiently repeated himself.

"Mi naimei iis Pabiiie." Ophelia mangled.

Pabbie smiled.

"Please help!" a shout echoed through the valley.

Pabbie and Ophelia turned to the new voice.

"My daughter." The voice repeated with a clear note of desperation.

"Looks like someone is here to ask for help," Pabbie stood up. He wasn't sure what was going on. But he could sense something. Something magically powerful here, in his valley. Something that was almost familiar but he couldn't remember what it could possibly be. "I will be back, Ophelia. Don't worry."

"Ophelia?" the boy repeated his name as he perked up.

But Pabbie hastened away. It would take time to teach Ophelia how to speak Midgard or Jotunn. And whoever the newcomers were, they were begging for help.

And Pabbie wasn't going to turn away any who needed help.