I shielded my eyes but couldn't escape the light. It was all-encompassing, painful, too bright. I buried my face in my arms, yet that made no difference. Pure white banished the omnipresent darkness that greeted me the last time I was conscious.

As uncomfortable as I was, it was a change. And change had to mean something. Good or bad, that didn't matter. The energy of something else—of someone else—was everywhere.

"Gods...it hurts," I muttered, reminding myself to breathe and adapt. "Hello out there? Can anyone hear me?"

This time, more than my own echo returned. Distant, sure, but a distinctly melodic voice carried through the empty space and mixed with mine.

"Hello?" I said again, standing with my hands still over my face. "Where am I?"

Almost as quickly as I'd registered it, the melody from far away stopped. Its absence made me itch all over.

"Please, I don't mean any harm." I peeled my hands away and found the light hadn't changed, like my fingers made no shadows. It was still too bright for comfort, but it wasn't getting worse.

Looking down over myself, my body was whole. I wore my black tunic the same way I always did: cutting off at the knee, bare legged, barefoot. Mum hated my loose style and gave me several belts to flatter my figure—not here. Without a mirror, I couldn't see my face, but I found nothing wrong with it by feel alone. It was a small comfort to know myself, even if I still needed to piece together everything that happened while on Asgard.

"How'd you get in here?" someone asked, startling me with his abrupt tone and volume.

I spun to find him. "Who is that?"

"No. You answer me first. How'd you get in here?"

"I...I don't know. Where is here?" I couldn't make sense of any direction and kept peering over my shoulder so no one could surprise me from behind.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, then whispered like I couldn't hear him, "Did I change something?"

"I don't have any answers for why things are like this...but if you're here, too, that must mean I'm alive somewhere, right?" I stretched my legs and ran toward my echo, baffled by the lack of walls in the clearly enclosed space. "Can you tell me anything about where we are?"

Without warning, the light all around went black, suspending me in nothingness like my last cognizant dream. Whatever it was, whoever he was, it might've been little more than the firing of my subconscious. After floating in the void long enough to count to twenty, I lost sense of myself again and fell back to empty sleep.

"Oh, this really is ridiculous," I said when the light woke me again. Covering my face was just as futile as it was before, even when I found the skirt of my tunic and tried to use that instead of my hands. Annoyance took over any sense of curiosity I might've had. "If someone's out there, I hope watching me suffer is quite a show."

It only took a minute or two for me to open my eyes, and again only white surrounded me. Unlike the black chasm, I had a solid body here—or, at least, one I was aware of.

"Hello?" I yelled, using my hands to shout it a second time. Nothing. Not even the faint whisper of a song on the other side of...whatever this was. The solitude was tangible.

Before too long, since I was as awake as I'd ever been, boredom set in. No one to talk to and nothing to do. The white space seemed eternal. I sang in a long note and ran in all directions, using my echo to map the space, but whenever I thought I drew closer to an invisible wall, the sound would change and come from behind me. It was almost as if I could only think in boxes, but the space itself was a bending loop. I'd never be able to fully grasp its shape, and after the phenomenon repeated several times, I gave up trying to understand it.

I sighed and plopped down with my legs crossed, grateful I wasn't uncomfortable beyond the brightness all around. I pulled a loose strand from my tunic, then another and another. I weaved the strings into a bracelet, then did it again. For some, I made a simple plait; others, I tied progressive knots that twisted the whole piece in a lovely spiral. If I was doomed to be trapped in emptiness forever, I'd fill the time remaking my clothes again and again.

It was better than an alternative of endless suffering. At least, that's what I told myself.

I sang as loud as I wanted to and rocked gently, reliving the last bits of my real life. Modi featured prominently, which made me shudder. Memories of him were torn in two: some pleasant, passionate, giving me a conscious feeling of excitement, while others were violent, twisted, incomplete.

The latter were also bathed in a hefty dose of fear. Fear that matched the excitement of the former. Maybe I didn't know the difference, or maybe they were truly the same thing, and I had to admit the weakness of my age wasn't simply a touted shortcoming by those who wanted me to stay put. Maybe, in fact, they wanted to protect me.

The thought of Mum's tears over me gave me some of my own. I didn't cry much, but I did feel sorry for doubting all the times she said her words were just for my protection. If I'd listened, I wouldn't be in this place.

Fifteen small bracelets stacked up both my wrists with a few on my left ankle, proving the many hours I spent musing and pondering and reliving my mistakes. I stretched my hands and relaxed on my back, closing my eyes as if I were lying flat on a field at home.

The air around me changed. My hair stood up on the top of my head. Not a tug in my gut of danger, but a more primal alertness.

"You're watching me," I whispered.

"Aye," he said, much closer than he was the last I'd heard him. "Keepin' yourself busy, I see."

I scoffed. "Not much else I can do, is there?"

"Guess not."

His voice stirred a cozy heat within my chest. Nothing like the sizzle of sex or the racing adrenaline of...whatever I felt with Modi. This was comfortable. Safe.

Still, I didn't bother getting up or opening my eyes. I wanted to preserve the sense of security. "What do you do in here?"

"Nothing." He chuckled softly and moved from my right to my left. "You really aren't a dream, are you?"

"A dream?" I furrowed my brow. "I've never had a dream this dull."

He laughed again, which made me smile without thinking. "I haven't had one at all in a really long time."

I resisted the urge to fire off questions. If what we had was time immaterial, there'd be no use in hurrying, would there? His peculiar accent suggested an unrefined upbringing, one of informality and even immaturity. Other than meeting here before, he didn't sound remotely familiar. He was right to ask if I was real; our surroundings certainly felt like a dream.

Fortunately, he broke the silent awkwardness first. "You said you weren't gonna hurt me. Did you mean it?"

"Yes, of course."

"You sure?"

I opened my eyes so he might see my sincerity, but I still couldn't find him in the light, even after standing and turning in circles. It was his voice alone. "I don't wish to hurt anyone. I never have."

"Hmm." A warm draft moved through my hair. "You smell like guilt. It's all over you."

You can sense it? I folded my arms tightly. "Like I said, I didn't want to hurt anyone. I was tricked."

"Into what?"

I shook my head as fast as I could without becoming too dizzy to stand. "Does it matter?"

"Not really."

In the pause after he spoke, I wondered if he expected me to volunteer something. What could I say? I hurt my family? I hurt myself? I didn't know Vali's status for sure and wasn't even certain where my body was. Asgard? Home? Dagheim with the mystics?

The stranger continued when I said nothing else. "I have guilt, too. It hurts to live. It hurts to see death. Hurts to help. Hurts not to. I'm sorry you're hurting. If you were here, I'd try to help you."

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean? I'm right here."

"This place isn't real." Another warm breeze sent tingles up my right arm. "You're not on Einheim with me."

"Einheim? Never heard of it."

"Not surprised. It barely exists. I'm not certain you actually exist, either. You could be a dream. You could be an enemy. You might be a memory I tried to get rid of. But I know you're not on Einheim, 'cause you're talkin' to me. Nobody else on Einheim can talk."

I rolled my eyes. Lunatic.

"Don't call me names," he whispered.

I startled. "You know, it would be much easier to have a conversation if I could see you. It's rude to know you can see me, and I can't."

He chuckled. "Okay, okay. If it'll make you feel better." With the sound of a snap, his voice changed yet again—this time less ethereal and now solidly behind me. "Turn around."

A new sense of caution made me hesitate. I peered over my shoulder before facing him fully.

Even at a distance, he was obviously young—a man, not a beast or a race I didn't know. Someone who might well be my same age after all. Clad head to toe in black, his slightly impish posture was imposing and bird-like thanks to the hooded cape that covered him. Unlike me, he had a proper seat and was perched atop it while leaning forward. Nothing about his presence said he was confused about the power of where we were; he manipulated it as he pleased. An expert of the white room, if that was possible.

A stiff black mask hid his face, leaving only his eyes visible. Other than leaving room for his nose, it was otherwise void of obvious features. Only the tops of his hands gave a clue about his pale complexion. Molded leather vambraces wrapped his wrists, and his boots were equally intricate. His ensemble was a lovely piece of craftsmanship, and even though I wore black, too, his was an entirely different shade that swallowed the light around us. If we were in the woods of home, he'd all but disappear.

"Here I am," he said with a shrug. "Do I frighten you?"

I tipped my face to the side as I walked closer, stopping a few strides away. "No. I'm curious, but not afraid."

"Good. I'll keep my face covered." He shifted in his seat, already squelching any potential ask for him to reveal more.

"Right." I turned and hoped I might find a comfortable place to sit as well. Nothing. Oh, well. "Now, you said people in your home don't speak. Are there only a few of you?"

He held a finger to his chin to mull it over. "I think a few hundred at most? I've never tried to count them all."

"And...none of them speak but you? How?"

"No need to." He finished with an intricate dance of his hands, as if I could interpret such choreography as language.

I let the pause between is gesture and my response speak for itself. "Hmm. I'm afraid that means nothing to me."

He laughed again, more heartily this time. "That's how we communicate, mostly. We start with our names—this one's mine." Slower this time, he splayed the fingers of his right hand behind his left, which was closed in a fist. Then he opened the left and tiptoed his right index and middle fingers across his opposite palm.

I cocked a brow. "Something about walking?"

"Aye, very good. Sunrise Walker. That's how you'd say it, anyway. To them, it's just the sign." He did it again, quick like the first time, [Sunrise Walker].

"Anything shorter?" I asked with a snicker.

He looked toward the ground and shrugged. "Well, someone calls me Yarta. I think that's how you say it."

"You're not sure?"

"How can I? I only know it from signs and writing. And my name's changed over the years. Sunrise Walker used to be a little different, but I can't remember how it started. The elders made my sign name so long ago, they're all dead now. But you can call me Yarta if you want to."

"That's fair." I bowed my head in solidarity. "I'm sorry for the loss you've seen. My name is Hela. Simply Hela. A proper name, not a title like yours."

"Hela. Huh." He raised his face again and tipped his head toward me. "Title, description, simple, complicated...all the same to me. It's nice to meet you, Hela."

"Yes. Nice to meet—" When I tried to reach forward for a handshake, I hit a stiff barrier instead. "That's strange. We're separated." I put my palms against it and felt for any breaks. "We weren't separated before you showed yourself, were we?"

"It's not that simple. I already told you, this place isn't real." Yarta came to the barricade. He was slightly taller than I was—not quite as imposing as Vali could be in full armor. "Your mind is here. Your energy's here. Our bodies are worlds apart."

"But I felt you before. You said you could smell guilt on me."

"I can." He waved his right hand and my hair moved along with it, controlling my surroundings with the gesture alone. "Can't you feel me the same way?"

Yarta effortlessly unsettled me, hid himself, changed my space, and goodness knew what else. Great magic, certainly, which I could admit. I felt challenged by his question—put down by the assumption that I would say no—and wasn't sure how to answer.

"I don't think your magic's less than mine," he said. "I wanna know what you can do here, too."

I glared. "Stop reading my thoughts."

"Sorry." He relaxed his posture. "I'm not tryin' to. Can't help it."

"Well, where I come from, you have to ask permission before you can do things like that. How would you feel if I took over your mind, hmm?"

"Like maybe somebody would know how it feels." His eyes shined within the mask. They were more truthful than his words, which already said so much. "I'm like a net that catches everything, but nobody can catch me. If somebody else took over my mind, maybe I'd get some rest."

My heart dropped for him. "Wait, please. I'm sorry. This is all so strange. I'm not—"

He turned and yelled, "Awake!"

A single instant and the room was black, Yarta was gone, and my consciousness dissolved. Whatever purpose the white space served, it belonged to him, not me.