Sköll

From the time he could lift a bow, there was no creature that could escape Ymir's aim. Hunting was his greatest, and perhaps only talent, often leaving his Hunt-Fellows feeling obsolete. Some wondered why they even formed hunting parties.

Despite that, Ymir was beloved by his countryside home. Although it was small for the kingdom of Gevalt — only a few generations old — the praise still swelled his chest with pride. He was their crown jewel.

Ymir's most profound compliment came one particularly harsh autumn, when food was scarce.

“Praise be Yulfrid!” A woman cried out as Ymir returned from the forest, the hunting party behind him carting back deer, quail, and rabbits. She rushed forward and pulled him into a tight hug, three small children following behind her. “You are truly a blessing to us all. Thank you… Thank you!”

“Please, Ingrid, I'm just happy to help," Ymir objected earnestly. Yet, his humility was drowned by the children's own mewls of gratitude.

“Haha! Don't be so modest, boy!” With a booming laugh, a rather large man clapped Ymir on the shoulder as Ingrid shuffled away with her children. His strong grip made Ymir stumble, yet it had all the warmth of a proud uncle.

“Ya d’serve the credit,” he continued. “At this rate, not even the mystical creatures in the Twisted Woods could outfox ya. Gods as my witness, I'd bet ya could even take down Svartrvargr!”

There it was.

The seed of hubris which quickly took root in Ymir's very being.

Svartrvargr was a name known by everyone in Gevalt. Ymir remembered hearing its legend as a child — a giant, ferocious beast that had terrorized the country for centuries. It was the reason all major cities existed behind sturdy walls, safe from the threat of violent attacks. No one unlucky enough to meet Svartrvargr ever lived to describe it, but every so often news would sweep across the land of another unprotected village or town being massacred overnight.

All of Gevalt lived in fear of Svartrvargr's terrible carnage.

It was for this very reason that Ymir couldn't chase the thought from his mind. No one had ever proven themselves capable of stopping Svartrvargr, not even the royal army! Yet Ymir stood upon a pedestal his countrymen crafted for him, offering him up to the task like a bastion of hope.

It was intoxicating.

Before long, Ymir began to truly believe that his talents placed him among the ranks of heroes. Surely it was his destiny to slay Svartrvargr. He was born to save Gevalt!

It was an obsession that existed within a vacuum, bouncing around Ymir's mind and growing louder. The villagers' encouragement only echoed his grandeur, enough that Ymir began to wish the beast really would attack them, eager to fulfill his destiny.

The Gods are always listening.

One night, Ymir was awoken by the sounds of screaming. Vigilance sprung him from his bed and into the darkness with only his bow and a fistful of arrows.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Ymir's beloved home had become a hellscape. Fires illuminated families as they fled from their ruined houses in horror. Carefully gathered sundries littered the village like waste as blood flowed through the streets.

At the helm of it all was a massive beast, blacker than the night that surrounded it, with eyes as red as the hottest coals. It resembled a great wolf, albeit one that was mutated into something ungodly. A convoluted monster.

Svartrvargr.

Ymir's heart thundered in his chest, ringing into his ears. The air in his lungs halted beside time as his mind struggled to process the reality before him. Revelation washed over the hunter in waves, clearer with every heartbeat pushing him forward like a marching drum.

This was his moment. As Svartrvargr’s burning gaze locked with his own, Ymir gripped his bow and readied an arrow. The beast responded with little more than disinterest, uttering the vicious snarl of a predator telling its prey to wait their turn.

“What are you doing, child?! Run!” Ingrid hesitated as she fled with her children. However, the talented boy she'd watched grow had become deaf to her pleas.

Ymir unleashed a small volley of arrows at Svartrvargr, but they were merely twigs against its fur. A nuisance at best.

Svartrvargr lashed his long, whip-like tail in response, sending heavy debris soaring towards Ymir. The impact knocked him off his feet, a smog of dirt clogging his lungs.

As it settled, Ymir desperately tried to get his bearings back. He was surrounded by complete chaos. The bodies of everyone he knew and loved littered the landscape, mutilated — Svartrvargr's half-finished meals.

Ingrid and her children were spared being eaten, instead a gruesome mess beneath the flung debris. The rough hands that once clapped Ymir's shoulders laid roasting in the spreading fires, chewed from their owner's body.

His heart wanted to break, but Ymir refused.

“You bastard!” Ymir screamed. “You should be facing me!"

Svartrvargr's ear twitched, shifting its attention from a newly shredded victim to the gnattish hunter. It was a small victory to finally be acknowledged, a victory that helped Ymir nock another arrow in his bow.

As Ymir aimed for Svartrvargr's eye, it uttered a demonic bark. In an instant its thick tail collided with the hunter’s chest. Several of his ribs cracked at once.

The impact turned Ymir’s vision into a blur. He was flying through the air, helpless against the immense velocity. Just as he started to lose himself, the flight was abruptly stopped by a sickening crack.

Ymir slid down a stone wall into a limp heap. His body numb from the blinding pain, he was unable to hear anything besides the blood rushing in his eardrums. He wanted to vomit, and his mouth tasted like blood.

Being so disoriented was remarkably sobering. The world around Ymir was both blurry and vivid, like a scene from a terrible nightmare that he couldn't wake from. This was all his fault, and all he did was make it worse. Crushed beneath his own powerlessness, nothing had ever made Ymir feel so insignificant…

He was a fool.

Like the harbinger of his folly, Svartrvargr approached Ymir with hunger. Despite himself, the hunter futilely tried to lift his bow in defense, but seeing the monstrous wolf up close robbed him of all the strength he had to react. All that remained was a petrifying fear.

Multiple rows of teeth like daggers bared at him with a tumultuous snarl, accompanied by the hot, putrid breath of a gluttonous predator. Its giant paws held claws as thick as tree branches, which curled into the soil like a fist clenched in anger. To Svartrvargr, Ymir was nothing more than a trembling rabbit caught in a snare.

As the beast opened its great maw, a haunting sense of irony washed over him. This was his destiny.

The lunging wolf.

A flash of red.

All at once, the world became an empty abyss.

Just as Ymir was about to let himself melt into the absence of everything, something turned on all of his senses.

Every nerve he possessed was screaming, and his ears rang with a din of high frequency static. Sulfur, iron, and tang filled his nose and drowned his tongue. Visions passed by faster than he could truly process them.

A flame that became a star, which fell from the sky with all the other stars in a shower — until the world flipped and the sky became the earth.

The streaks of the gravity-defying stars tangled together like thread… the fibers of flesh… gnarled, dead tree branches that grew like vines… or was it antler… or bone… It pulled him closer, shifting and knotting into a bizarre matrix.

A twisted smile.

Ymir suddenly gasped, like a breath of life, halting the sensations that threatened to break his mind. He was lying on the cold earth, staring up at the twinkling night sky, his body tingling like it was charged with energy. Deeply unnerved, his once empty mind flooded with questions.

Where was he? How did he get there? What happened to Svartrvargr and his burning home?

Sifting through the din of thoughts, Ymir tried to sit up. His body felt out of sync, like the flesh was slowly calibrating to his neural commands. It was a feeling so engrossing, he didn't even notice the figure sitting cross-legged beside him.

“Splendid! You've come ‘round already!”

Ymir jumped like a startled cat. Smiling over at him was a fair person in a black tunic, donning a crown of cobalt Nixie Blossoms upon their head. While oddly beautiful, Ymir was quite certain that despite their appearance, those thorny riverbank flowers were terribly poisonous to humans. But, considering the person's small stature, pointed ears, and fluorite colored eyes, they weren't human at all.

“A… an elf?” Ymir asked, bemused. While they weren't exactly rare to Gevalt, he couldn't remember ever seeing one near his countryside village before.

“Good, seems your eyes are working,” the elf responded, fiddling with one of the small green braids framing their face against otherwise obsidian hair — twisting it around their finger like a proud schoolchild.

“Now, can you move your arms and legs? Wiggle all your little toes? Does blinking hurt?”

Blinking was exactly what Ymir did several times before trying to speak.

“I— Sorry— What?” He felt like his brain was knotting. “I don't— Who are you? What happened to my village?”

The elf’s smile faltered to something a bit more solemn.

“It's gone,” they said. “Every single villager was mutilated and devoured by Svartrvargr…”

“No!” Ymir protested desperately, despite the vivid memories of carnage surfacing in his mind. “No, no, that can't… How… H-how can you know?!”

“I saw it for myself. It was like a scene from the End Times Oracle…” a hopeful light suddenly returned to the elf's alluring eyes, and their somber expression brightened. “How lucky I was to find you in the rubble! Please, call me Vél. Might I have the honor of knowing your name?”

“Honor…” Ymir tried to wipe away the sandy hair plastered against his forehead by blood and sweat, hands shaking with grief. Everything he held dear… Erased.

This was his fault.

“It's no honor to know Ymir the Fool. I merely survived by dumb luck while others suffered for my arrogance…”

Contrary to Ymir's self-disgust, Vél looked at him like he was some rare treasure.

“You know not your worth,” they mused. “You are special. Chosen. Prophesized!”

“Tch. Liar,” Ymir accused bitterly. In response, Vél smirked with mirth, producing an ornate wand from somewhere in their tunic. The elf then waved it in the air and from its tip came streams of light, dancing and twirling until they formed looping letters.

The Black Wolf’s demise follows a swallowed sun.

Only fangs of the fallen could taste its ruin as it tastes the world's.

Although Vél presented the prophecy as something grand, such things were for the scholars and arcanists of the city, not a peasant hunter like Ymir.

“Swallowed suns? Fallen?” Ymir shook his head. “You lot from the Twisted Woods don't make sense. How is any of that pointing to me?”

Vél rolled their eyes dismissively, unperturbed.

“Because, Ymir, you are fallen!” The elf flipped their wand around, dispelling the prophecy words with its fluorite-orbed butt. “A person who has nothing and is nothing, and a man who became that way thanks to the infernal hound plaguing us all. Is that easier for your simple, country boy brain to understand?”

The nerve of this elf… Ymir must have been making quite the grimace because after a moment, all Vél could do was chuckle at him.

“Look, you don't have to believe me. But you really are without a home now. What more could you lose from playing along?”

Something about the foxish look on Vél's face made Ymir want to punch it. Yet, it was a hard statement to argue against. More damning was the pride in hope's clothing spurring him forward.

With a heavy sigh, Ymir sealed his fate.

“Fine. I'll accept this… burden. But I haven't the slightest idea how to fight Svartrvargr, or even find it.”

Vél winked, chuckling. “Luckily, I'm here for that part.”

“You?”

“Precisely!” The elf eagerly sprung to their feet, offering a hand and helping Ymir off the ground. “I'm an arcanist, after all. I've been using dark sorcery to track Svartrvargr for quite some time. Scheming is my specialty, and no one in this realm knows more about the monster than I. Together, we'll finally end this!”

Ymir raised an eyebrow at the bold claim. It was naively ambitious at best, and a thinly veiled ticket to Hel at worst. Nevertheless, it was his only option forward, so he obliged Vél's lunacy.

Since the sun had not yet risen, the two decided to rest before continuing their plans. They set up camp at a clearing just within the forest where Ymir used to hunt — Vél had apparently dragged him there from the village.

“We can't let the royal army know you survived,” they explained. “They wouldn't understand.”

As suspicious as that was, Ymir found comfort in being somewhere familiar. The scent of the trees and dirt felt like home. A welcome departure from the stench of blood.

“Here, eat this,” Vél handed him a squishy, palm-sized lump. It was an odd color of white, but smelled light and sweet like jasmine. “It's Moondrop Cake. You'll feel better eating it.”

Intrigued, Ymir took a bite and nearly cried.

It felt divine.

Indescribably delicious and refreshing — every muscle in his body relaxed. While his stress melted away with the last morsels, Ymir fell fast asleep.

In his slumber, he experienced a strange dream. Walking through an unfamiliar forest in the dawn light, he was surrounded by uncanny plants. Ymir was certain he'd never seen any of them before, yet each time he looked at one he knew exactly what it was.

Dew Fruit. Luscious. Nice for later.

Feathervine. Pretty. Poisonous. Do not lick.

Howling Nettle. Yeowch! Stay away!

Ymir whimpered in a foreign voice, keeping his distance from the spikey plant. His body moved bizarrely in the process. Was he on all fours…? It felt like every finger and toe was awkwardly digging into the ground. It was almost as irritating as the hard, sharp slivers of… something… stabbing between his teeth.

So many teeth…

At last, Ymir happened upon a hollow of gnarled trees. It was a perfect place to rest before moving on to the next hunt. After all, the hunger was already growing. Always growing…

Ignore the pain. Now is time for rest.

Still uneasy, Ymir curled up in the hollow, wrapping his tail around himself.

…Tail?

Wait—

“Bless, you humans certainly sleep a lot.”

Ymir's eyes fluttered open to find Vél sitting nearby again. The dappled sunlight on his face told him it was mid morning, and the delight in Vél's eyes told him they'd been waiting a while.

“Ugh, my head hurts…” Ymir tried sitting up. “I had a weird dream—”

“Behold!”

Vél trampled his words with their own enthusiasm.

“I've enhanced your weapon!”

The elf shoved Ymir’s own bow and a single arrow into his face. Except, they were remodeled. The bow was now made of a gnarled branch and snaked with a vine, and the delicate arrow was tipped with a fluorite head.

“Enhanced?” Ymir questioned. “They look more like art than a weapon. That arrowhead will shatter! I couldn't kill a rabbit with this, let alone Svartrvargr.”

“Try it,” Vél insisted. “See that big tree over there? Shoot it~”

Ymir's doubt shrank slightly in the shadow of Vél's confidence, but he remained unconvinced. Skeptically, he drew the bow and aimed for the heart of the tree, several feet away.

Pwunk!

Bullseye.

To Ymir's surprise, the bow was springy, with a strong waxed string, and the seemingly fragile arrow flew with remarkable efficiency. It buried itself into the tree with ease, proving to hold its integrity.

Impressive, albeit anticlimactic.

“So you improved it,” Ymir admitted, “But won't I need more than one arrow to—”

Crrrrk…

Craaaaacckkkk…

CRRRRRASHHH—!

Ymir couldn't believe his eyes. The tree he shot had completely bisected, its inner fibers exploding outward like a bloom of torturous splinters.

“You should see your face,” Vél giggled.

“Hey! Stop laughing, you fiend!”

“Yes, alright… Perhaps I should be asking about your dream instead.”

“Oh. That…” The topic made Ymir quickly forget his annoyance. “Yes, I dreamt that… I… Well, I believe I was Svartrvargr.”

He relayed to Vél every detail of the dream, his memory surprisingly clear. By the end of his story, Vèl's expression was without the confusion Ymir had expected. Instead, they looked thrilled.

“This is marvelous, Ymir!” They cried. “You were able to see where Svartrvargr was last. And I happen to know exactly where that is!”

“You do?” Ymir questioned skeptically.

“Yes, of course! We'd best hurry, too. The sooner we catch up to the beast, the sooner we can lay it to rest.”

Once again, Vél retrieved their wand from their tunic. Skipping over to a sort of archway between two trees. They then traced the archway in the air with their wand, and the space within the archway shimmered before revealing an eerily familiar scene to Ymir.

“Come now, Ymir. We're traversing the Twisted Woods!”

“What?!”

The Twisted Woods was a very esoteric place. According to legend, all of the fae and mystical creatures in Gevalt — and even the concept of magic — originally came from it. Knowing this, Ymir remained wary, cautiously nocking his arrow.

“Wait, Vél…” Ymir stopped abruptly, looking down at the weapon curiously. “I don't remember retrieving the arrow before… How'd it get in my hand?”

Vél turned to face him, a playful smirk forming on their fair lips.

“Never seen magic, dear?” They teased. “You really should pay more attention to what you hold. Come now, keep up!”

They turned on a heel to continue their stride, leaving Ymir flustered. By the time he regained composure, the elf was already several paces ahead.

Fortunately, the enigmatic scenery became more alluring than intimidating over time. Plants and animals that Ymir had only read about were surrounding him, some glowing in broad daylight while others defied all logic.

“Amazing… How is a monster like Svartrvargr in a place like this?” He asked absentmindedly as they searched for the hollow.

“Careful,” Vél warned. “Even the loveliest roses hold bitter thorns. Do you happen to know the entire legend of Svartrvargr's creation?”

Ymir shook his head sheepishly and Vél sighed.

“Svartrvargr wasn't always a monster. Remember the Direwolves that lived long ago? Surely a country boy like you has heard of them.”

“Of course. They tormented Gevalt centuries ago, before hunters finally wiped them out.”

Vél nodded.

“Correct. Legend goes that when the Direwolves grew too strong, the Goddess of Peace, Yulfrid, agreed to let them be vanquished. Her husband, the God of War, Ulftyr, bestowed upon humans the power needed to do the job, and one by one there were all killed.”

Suddenly, their expression shifted to something somber. Almost…remorseful.

“But their son Skelmir, the God of Trickery, felt that Direwolves didn't deserve to be erased. So, he resurrected one.

“Unfortunately, his magic corrupts everything it touches, so the Direwolf he chose ended up mutating into a terrible monster. This monster, christened Svartrvargr by the people, then terrorized the land for centuries, unstoppable even by the god who created it… As punishment for his sins, Skelmir was struck down by his parents and banished to the world we now call the Twisted Woods.”

“I see… How tragic…” Ymir acknowledged the tale solemnly, daydreaming a glorious battle against the fallen god.

Then he had the horrid thought of simultaneously fighting Svartrvargr. Certainly less glorious. Before he could ponder it further, the hunter's attention was drawn by strikingly familiar surroundings.

“We're close…” Ymir alerted Vél, lowering his voice. ”The Dew Fruit, the Howling Nettle… I saw this all in my dream. That means the hollow is just up ahead!”

Cautiously, the two crept forward, hoping to catch the beast by surprise, but to their disappointment the hollow was completely empty. Ymir supposed he should have expected this — after all, it was dawn in his dream, but by the time they'd reached the hollow it was early afternoon.

As the weight of their folly settled in, Vél suggested they take a break and regroup. Since they needed privacy to do some “divinations”, Ymir was left alone in the hollow. Thus, like any young man left to his own devices, he had entirely too much time to think.

So much had happened in such little time. Just yesterday he was enjoying autumn equinox with his friends and family, and now he stood in the middle of the Twisted Woods, accompanying a strange elf on a suicide wolf hunt.

It was dizzying.

Maddening.

Suspicious.

The more Ymir thought about his current situation, the more it felt entirely too… convenient. His miraculous survival, Vél's opportune intervention and skill set, The cryptic prophecy naming him a chosen hero… Everything was going too smoothly. It felt off, and all of the dubious details started with Vél.

But, why be dishonest? Defeating Svartrvargr seemed to be mutually beneficial.

Lost in thought, Ymir absentmindedly bit the inside of his cheek. Immediately, a smart pain made him recoil, spitting out a small amount of blood.

Since when were his teeth that sharp?!

Looking around urgently, Ymir caught sight of a crystalline pond near the hollow and decided to check his reflection. There, he could clearly see that not only had his teeth grown unusually pointed, but he also gained several white streaks through his sandy hair.

“What the… White? No, no, that's ridiculous! I'm no elder!”

Thinking his eyes must be deceiving him, Ymir reached his hands into the water to wash his face. As soon as his fingers began to submerge, however, the water itself rose and clutched his wrist like a hand.

“You dare touch my water, foul fiend?!”

An ethereal voice from beyond the pond’s surface rebuked, startling Ymir. He cried in shock and pulled back, but the watery hand held him like a vice, soon becoming an entire figure rising from the pond. As their liquid visage dripped away, the figure appeared to be a naked maiden as beautiful as she was wicked. She might have been quite alluring if her face wasn't contorted in vile disgust.

“What the hell?!” Ymir cried. “Get off!”

Alarmed by the terrible woman, he desperately tried to wrench her off with his other hand. Unexpectedly, his nails effortlessly slashed through her wrist, creating deep wounds that poured water like blood. The maiden shrieked in pain and relinquished Ymir, allowing him to scramble away as she sank back into the pond.

As he caught his breath and calmed his mind, the hunter examined his nails to find they'd grown sharp like claws. How? When? Why?

Nothing made sense. Surely he was going mad—

“Ymir!”

Vél rushed toward where the hunter was slumped on the ground, pulling him farther away from the pond before checking for any injuries.

“What are you doing at a Nixie Pool? You should know that everything you eat or drink here has a price. Are you hurt?”

Ymir swatted Vél's doting hands away.

“Why is my hair white?” he questioned angrily. “My teeth are getting sharp. My nails just ripped through a—a Nixie?! You owe me answers, Vél!”

The elf's expression of genuine concern morphed into something fakely sweet, an emotional lacquer. The shift tugged something in Ymir's heartstrings.

“I suppose I do,” they said. “I should have told you there'd be some side effects from the healing, but it was the only way. I'm sorry for keeping it from you… Can we move forward with hunting Svartrvargr?”

Ymir was nothing if not virtuous. His desire to protect others overshadowed all other personal motives, leaving him no choice but to trudge forward past his doubts. Disputes could wait.

In light of the day's events, the two decided to rest and resume hunting the next day. They established a camp outside the Twisted Woods, using Vél's divinations to prepare. The lack of other focuses was for the best.

Despite telling himself that, Ymir couldn't sleep when night fell. His body felt strange and tumultuous, like it wasn't his own. It was a horrifying feeling — trying to suppress it only made it grow stronger, like a gluttonous hunger, consuming his very being.

How could Vél be so nonchalant about it all?

Ymir shifted his gaze to where Vél slept, the object of his woes. In the midst of his swirling thoughts, he noticed something on the elf’s small body, glistening in the moonlight. A sickly grey color, from their right shoulder it stretched like a matrix down their back and arm. Grotesque and eerie, it made Ymir's nerves tingle sympathetically.

A scar…

Ymir realized he couldn't even begin to understand what Vél was or how they thought. In that moment they felt like a creature unreachable by humanity, for reasons Ymir's mind couldn't fathom.

Between their existences lay an intangible chasm, and within its depths was Svartrvargr.

Everything returns to Svartrvargr…

The thought lulled Ymir to sleep, dropping him into an unusual nightmare. Again, he walked as the terrible beast, this time approaching a sleeping village. So many people laid peacefully in their cottages, unaware of the danger beyond their doors.

He felt sorrow for them. He regretted what was about to happen.

But the swelling hunger demanded more.

The scene quickly became filthy. Blood and debris flashed before his eyes in a frenzy, as if his mind couldn't allow him to process it all. Lives were devoured in instants. He mourned them. He engraved their screams into his memory.

He wished he could stop.

Please let the hunger stop!

“Ymir, STOP!”

The hunter’s eyes tore open to find his newfound fangs sunk deep into Vél's arm. Their flesh against his tongue… the blood sliding down his throat… It felt like eating Moondrop Cake…

It made him revolted.

Ymir violently retreated, ripping a chunk of flesh off and swallowing it in the process. He wanted to vomit, yet he could feel the hunger inside him shrink.

“Vél, I—! Oh Gods—hrk! What did I just do?!”

Ymir retched in horror, trying to spit the taste from his mouth.

“It's alright,” Vél's voice replied with soothing melancholy — not a hint of the fear Ymir expected from them. “This was bound to happen eventually. Though, I didn't think you'd have progressed this far already. Hehe, looks like we're both fools.”

Confused, Ymir looked up at the elf, only to see that their blood had slowed to a stop. The flesh wound quickly repaired itself in a matrix pattern, leaving the arm completely unscathed in barely a moment. Nothing was quite so haunting to watch.

“You… healed…” Ymir breathed in awe. “But how…? Elves can't do— No, no one can do that. Only the Gods—”

He paused, choked by the weight of his words.

“...Only the Gods can…”

Suddenly it felt like pieces to a puzzle were slowly falling into place in Ymir's mind. Everything that he'd questioned and doubted came together with a resounding click.

“You're… Skelmir.”

“Guilty as charged,” Vél didn't deny it, honoring the declaration with a solemn smirk. “Seems I've lost my edge. I suppose you had another dream as Svartrvargr?”

“What?” Ymir felt like his chest was caving in. “Who the hell cares about dreams right now?! You should be explaining yourself! My body… What did you do to me? Am I just some toy for you to throw to your mutt?! What sort of evil, pathetic god would play with people's lives like—”

“You were dead, Ymir.”

The truth froze the air like a winter breeze. As shock blanketed Ymir like snow, Skelmir continued.

“I resurrected you with my magic just as I resurrected Svartrvargr. Your body feels foreign because it's corrupting into a Draugr — the undead who devour the living. Soon, all the worlds will reject you, and that hunger you feel will become an abyss. I'm sorry…”

As reality sank in, Ymir knew only rage. It boiled and erupted, until his hands were tightening around Skelmir’s neck, holding him to the ground.

“YOU MONSTER! You ruined me— Everything is your fault!”

Skelmir didn't fight back. He merely stared into Ymir's eyes, quietly accepting death behind fluorite orbs of regret.

“I…know…” he said with a strangled voice. “But I… I just wanted it all to stop…”

The words struck a nerve within Ymir. It was the same wish Svartrvargr felt as it devoured innocent people. They never wanted any of this, and now that it had started, they didn't know how to stop it. Like a scared boy and his dog chasing a ball down a hill…

Ymir released his grip, letting Skelmir sit up and cough until his lungs refilled.

“So what about the prophecy?” He asked the god. “Were you lying to me?”

Skelmir shook his head. “N-no… Not entirely. The damned thing was a mockery given to me by a Seer… It means that defeating Svartrvargr is impossible…”

“Yet you thought you could use your tricks to manipulate it into being real…”

He nodded. Ymir felt disgusted by all of it. Seething, he retrieved his bow and arrow before marching away from the camp.

“Wait— Ymir!” Skelmir called desperately. “Where are you going?”

“I'm not your puppet, Vél. I won't follow your lead anymore.”

Ymir trudged off into the night, aimlessly distancing himself from the fallen god. He was an inferno of anger, but with each step forward the blazes grew weaker. Mulling over the situation, his emotions became more and more complicated.

Skelmir's actions were selfish and cruel. But did he know any better? At his core, did he actually mean to hurt anyone?

“GODS, HELP!”

“SOMEONE HELP US!”

Screams echoed into the night, calling Ymir's attention. Without thinking, he ran towards the danger, instinctively driven to protect. However, he wasn't prepared for what he'd encounter when he descended from the forest edge.

Fate had brought Ymir to Svartrvargr.

It was attacking a small village nestled in the valley — the very same village from his nightmare. With no way to easily flee, most of the population had already been turned to mincemeat, leaving the initial survivors to be picked off. Some tried to hide while others scurried like mice, but Ymir knew all of it was futile.

As expected, the undead Direwolf stood amongst the chaos, growling and yelping at its prey. Ymir felt his chest tighten at the sight of Svartrvargr's whip-tail lashing and the many rows of vicious teeth it bared. Nothing could be more truly described as a monster — Ymir's horrid kin.

But then, he remembered how much pain Svartrvargr felt. It resonated in his own heart, the desire for demise. Looking at the bow and arrow in his hands, Ymir realized the heavy burden upon his shoulders.

He had the means to stop it.

At the very least, he had the means to try.

Ymir readied his shot. Steeling himself for whatever may come next, he bellowed at the beast as loud as possible.

“Oy, Svartrvargr! Won't you greet your brother?!”

Brother?

The beast's ear swiveled towards Ymir, its voice echoing in his head. As soon as it faced him, tilting its head curiously, the hunter let loose his arrow. Unsurprisingly, Svartrvargr's tail flicked the shot away, sending it whizzing into the darkness before reforming in Ymir's hand.

You… Hunter became Draugr?

Ymir nodded, readying another shot. Just as he was about to let loose the string, however, a familiar voice called his name like a bolt of lightning down his spine.

“Ymir, please wait!” Skelmir was running so fast into the valley that he practically slid down the grass. “It’s too dangerous alone — don't be foolish!”

“Stay back!” Ymir scolded him. “Just get out of my way, Vél—”

YOU!

Upon spotting Skelmir, Svartrvargr bellowed an anguished roar. Its red eyes burned with rage as it lashed out, swiping at him with its massive paw. Without hesitation, Ymir threw himself in front of the attack, letting his durable undead body be violently thrown aside.

“YMIR!”

The hunter laid on the ground, feeling as if he'd been hit by a mountain. His eyesight threatened to go black, but through pure willpower he refused. No matter the pain, he had to keep fighting…

Now uninhibited, Svartrvargr bared down on Skelmir, making the god look as insignificant as an insect. Utterly powerless against his own creation.

But from the sidelines, Ymir could finally see it — Svartrvargr's underbelly. With the beast distracted, he could actually stand a chance. All he had to do was steady his aim, and…

Pwunk!

This time, the arrow effortlessly sank into Svartrvargr's flesh. The monster immediately dropped to the ground, howling and thrashing in pain. With a final yelp, the violent dance abruptly halted as Svartrvargr's bones contorted with squelching creaks. Within moments they ripped through its skin, splitting apart its ribcage and bisecting Svartrvargr into a gruesome heap.

A sudden, surreal silence swept over them.

Ymir staggered over to the corpse, only to be repulsed by what he found.

Svartrvargr's organs looked…wrong. Convoluted structures, twisted in ways that shouldn't be functional. Yet, each still throbbed with agonizing life.

All except the heart, which was replaced by a shining orb.

A corrupted star.

A collapsing sun.

Ymir became awash with a final revelation. Laughing in grim irony, he reached down and scooped out the magic heart, holding it up to the sky beside the moon.

“Ymir, you…” Skelmir’s elation clouded with concern. “What's wrong…?”

“It isn't dead,” Ymir stated gently. “But I understand now. This is how we fulfill your prophecy.”

Gazing back at the god's worried face, Ymir tipped the heart into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

After the heart slid down his throat, a lot of things happened at once. Overflowing thoughts… emotions… memories… synapses… The overwhelm shut Ymir down into a black void.

Although, this void was unlike dying. Instead, he was cradled by the murmur of life, lulled into rejuvenating rest.

Ymir couldn't tell how long he’d spent floating in the ether. But when his eyes finally fluttered open, he found himself lying on a makeshift pillow. Beside him, a familiar voice hummed a gentle lullaby, making Ymir's nerves tingle.

“Vél…?”

“Ymir! You're awake!” The god stopped his lullaby, moving closer in his excitement. “You really are a fool, acting so recklessly. For a moment, I—”

Skelmir reached towards Ymir, only to hesitate awkwardly.

“I mean… It's finally over. For that, I suppose I owe you…”

As the god's hand retreated, Ymir grasped it firmly, pulling himself up.

“Don’t stress it,” he grinned.

“But—” Skelmir's puzzled expression was rather charming.

“Hush,” Ymir dismissed him with a teasing groan. “Petty grudges aren't worth holding onto.”

The sunrise bathed the battlefield in a rich orange light. For a moment, the two basked in it beside the corpse of Svartrvargr, quietly admiring their solemn victory.

“You know… The royal army will be here soon,” Skelmir eventually said. “I'm sure they'll create some new holiday in your name.”

“We better hurry then,” Ymir stretched, preparing to stand.

“We?”

“You and me,” the hunter gathered his bow and arrow nonchalantly. “You said all worlds will reject me, right? Sounds pretty lonely. If you really want to make amends, then let's stay together.”

No words were worthy of being Vél's answer. He shot his arms around Ymir in a tight embrace, tears staining the hunter's chest. Taken aback at first, Ymir soon returned the affection.

Gevalt was saved, and so were the two outcasts.