The Blight of Myrkvior

Dwarves.

Dokkalfar.

Dark elves.

It didn't matter what they were called as far as Havadalf was concerned; they had turned from the path of light and life that the Ljosalf, the forest elves, tread upon and sided with Surtur during Ragnarok.

That was enough.

Havadalf gripped his bow Skogburin, which was a single tree branch that had been magically molded into the perfect shape, tighter. Even in the thousands of years that had passed since the end of Ragnarok, Havadalf's hatred of the dark elves had not waned, and so he continued on through the forest of Myrkvior.

The bleak winter sun gave what little light it could, but almost none of it came through the thick canopy that had been formed by the enormous ancient trees that stood in silent majesty. That didn't bother Havadalf in the slightest; he had spent his whole life in forests, namely Alfheim, the endless forest where the Ljosalf had lived under the rule of the god Freyr.

At least until Ragnarok had started.

Havadalf still remembered it like it was only yesterday, and he tried to push the memories from his mind as he continued forward; it was not good to dwell on the memories now. Yesterday was already gone.

Yet, the trees soon parted to reveal a clearing of scorched earth where no plants grew and none ever would.

Havadalf's whole body turned rigid; it was all coming back to him now, everything that had happened here...

* * *

A howling scream tore through the quiet night. Havadalf turned around and looked at the other Ljosalf with him. All of them had raised their bows and were looking around for any signs of Dokkalfar; though it was difficult, the dwarves could still be found during the night. Havadalf motioned for them to continue forward, and they gave curt nods of acknowledgement.

The elves moved together as a cohesive unit, the result of having trained together for centuries. They soon moved into the clearing ahead. As they spread out, hails of arrows burst forth from the trees. Shouts of alarm were soon followed by screams of pain as the first wave of arrows tore into them.

Havadalf leaped out of the way of one of the arrows. A quick glance told him that it was of Dokkalfar make: all black with a jagged triple-pointed edge intended to make deep, bleeding wounds that were difficult, if not impossible, to heal. That alone meant that one arrow was almost always fatal, and Havadalf had no doubt that they had been coated in poison as well. Dark elf sadism knew no bounds.

Catching a glimpse of movement in the trees, Havadalf immediately raised Skogburin. A wooden arrow crowned by thorns grew out of his hand, and he nocked it on Skogburin's string. He saw a Dokkalfar emerge to loose an arrow, but he shot first. It hit home, striking the dark elf in the chest.

The arrows continued to fly from both Ljosalf and Dokkalfar bows, quickly turning the clearing into a killing field. Havadalf loosed arrow after arrow from Skogburin. Many of them found their marks, but it still wasn't enough. It seemed that for every dead dark elf, there were two dead forest elves.

And that left Havadalf no other option.

He had to run.

* * *

Even now, thousands of years later, the shame of what he had been forced to do that day still burned within him. He had known those elves from the day he was born. He had played with them, trained with them, and fought alongside them.

And he had abandoned them.

He tried not to think about the fact that his lover, Alva, had been among the ones slain that day, but he couldn't stop himself.

If only he could see her face, hold her hand...

Just one more time...

He would give anything for that.

Blinking the tears from his eyes, Havadalf took his first stride into the clearing, again reminding himself that dwelling on the past would do him no good. The only one who would have been able to bring Alva back was Freyr, and he had died to Surtur's blade during Ragnarok.

Suddenly, Havadalf felt the ground beneath his feet begin to rumble. He took a step back and willed an arrow to grow from his hand. A hole in the ground emerged in front of him as he nocked the arrow and pulled Skogburin's string back. He half-expected the thing that emerged from the hole to be a Dokkalfar; there were still far too many of them crawling around in Myrkvior.

Then again, even one dark elf was one too many.

The hole grew larger, and Havadalf could soon hear the screeching of metal and the grinding of gears. An enormous spider that wasn't truly alive emerged from the hole. In place of chitin and flesh, there were metal and gears that formed a gleaming construct of brass that perfectly captured all aspects of that which it had been designed to replicate.

Havadalf loosed his arrow; one well-placed shot was all he needed to end this fight. The arrow struck unerringly but bounced off the spider's metallic carapace.

"Freyr's light," Havadalf swore. He had fought many of these constructs during Ragnarok, but it seemed that the tireless effort that the dwarves had put in to improving them was paying off, unfortunately.

The mechanical spider let out two hisses, a grinding one from its mouth and a seething one from its engine, before leaping at Havadalf. The Ljosalf ducked, called forth another arrow, and fired it into the underside of his foe. This time, the arrow penetrated, but not nearly as deep as Havadalf would have preferred.

The spider landed in front of him and lashed out with two of its forelegs. Havadalf raised Skogburin to block. The bladed edges of the legs crashed into the bow, but it remained unyielding. Giving no reaction to the futility of its attack, the spider lunged forward to lash out at Havadalf with its mandibles.

He lunged back, narrowly avoiding the attack. The act of pulling back Skogburin and leaping away in a spiraling fashion came in one smooth motion, and he called forth an arrow and nocked it as he elegantly landed on his feet.

Leaping forward, the mechanical spider closed the distance between itself and Havadalf. The elf leaped back again as he loosed his arrow; he aimed for one of his foe's multifaceted eyes that had been fashioned from red crystal knowing that that would be the construct's most fragile part. The arrow flew true, tore through the eye, and forced the spider to fall. It let out a grinding hiss as it landed awkwardly on the ground and regained its balance. The few moments that it had spent on that act had given Havadalf enough time to create, nock, and loose anther arrow that was aimed at another one of the spider's eyes.

The arrow flew true and shattered the crystalline eye, though the spider still had six remaining. Suddenly, Havadalf could hear the grinding of gears and hissing of steam coming from within the spider, and its abdomen soon opened up. A metallic arm grasping a spear of bronze and iron emerged. Had he been a few thousand years younger, Havadalf might have been surprised; now, however, he would have been more surprised if the Dokkalfar hadn't used their construct as an opportunity to improve upon the viciousness of the giant spider.

Therefore, he simply created, nocked, and loosed another arrow.

The projectile skewered another one of the spider's eyes, but even that still left it with five more, and it needed only one to aim the spear that it had just lobbed at Havadalf. He leaped upward and caught the weapon in midair. A living foe might have been surprised at the feat of agility, but the spider continued to show no emotion as it skittered toward Havadalf. He threw Skogburin to the ground so that he could grasp the spear in both hands as he assumed a defensive stance. As much as he hated to admit it, the spear would be his key to victory.

The spider let out a hiss of steam as it leaped up at Havadalf. He ducked low, allowing him to drive his spear toward his foe's underbelly. He grinned as his spear hit home, causing the sound of screeching metal to fill the air. The spider fell limp not long after that. He shook the spider off his spear before retrieving Skogburin and slinging it over his shoulder by the string.

He preferred to carry the bow instead of wearing it so that it was always ready, but he knew that it was more practical to keep the spear readied. Skogburin's arrows normally tore through metal armor with no issue. However, Havadalf knew that the Dokkalfar put enchantments on their constructs to make them more resistant to Ljosalf weapons, thus rendering Skogburin all but useless.

Turning his attention back on his surroundings, Havadalf didn't think that any more mechanical monsters would emerge (they were uncommon in Myrkvior, especially this far from Dokkfjall where the dwarves who made the contraptions hailed from), but he could never be too sure. He walked up to where the spider had emerged, crouched down, and began looking for tracks.

They were scarce, but he eventually found them: a trail of small, barely visible footprints that only dark elves could have left. Havadalf followed them and stayed close to the ground as he did so. The dwarves were far better at stealth than the forest elves, and it was easy to lose a trail left by one; they had been forced to become better at hiding after Myrkvior itself had rejected them.

At least, the forest had rejected them in the old days, those before Ragnarok when Freyr had still ruled Alfheim.

Havadalf shook the thoughts from his mind and turned his attention back on the trail. He took a few moments to make sure that he hadn't lost it before continuing forward again.

The trail quickly led Havadalf out of the clearing and back into Myrkvior proper, which he was glad for. However, his knowledge of the forest told him that he was moving closer to Dokkfjall. That meant that he would be more likely to encounter the dark elves themselves; part of him looked forward to it with vengeful glee.

Havadalf continued to follow the footprints, though he eventually lost them. He cursed himself as he looked around at the nearby trees for any signs of them having been climbed on; the Dokkalfar were also surprisingly cunning climbers. Havadalf found a few indents in the bark, but they didn't seem fresh. However, it at least meant that the trail hadn't been lost entirely.

As he continued in the direction that he had already been going in, Havadalf began to notice more and more webs upon the branches around him.

"Great," he said to himself. "Real spiders." While they were creatures of the natural world, Havadalf, and most Ljosalf, had never taken a liking to them because the Dokkalfar had always had a strong bond with them, even before Ragnarok. As a result, the dark elves tended to enslave and corrupt the larger breeds for use as mounts.

Havadalf felt the air around him grow stale as he continued through Myrkvior. He also noticed that the sun seemed to be more distant than normal. The roots of the forest didn't receive much sunlight to begin with because of the thick canopy, but now the atmosphere itself was starting to feel cold like it would have been during the start of winter even though winter had given way to spring months ago.

The only explanation was that it was the work of the Dokkalfar; that was all that Havadalf could think of. He paused as he strapped his salvaged spear to his back and pulled Skogburin free. Having his bow out felt far more natural, and he didn't expect to face any more mechanical contraptions despite getting closer to their fell homeland. He created an arrow and nocked it, though the arrow seemed to have taken longer to grow. It also seemed like it was not as strong as normal.

But, there was only one way to find out. Havadalf pulled Skogburin's string back and loosed the arrow at a nearby tree. It struck true, but it shattered not long after its head became embedded into the bark. Havadalf frowned; that was not what he had wanted to see.

He could blame the stale air and the cold atmosphere on Dokkalfar corruption, but how was it that his arrows were now so weak? There was magic within him, and no one was draining it from him, at least that he was aware of... He went completely still as he closed his eyes and gathered his magic closer. From what he could tell, it hadn't weakened in the slightest, which left only one other explanation: the blight that the dark elves had put upon this part of Myrkvior was so strong that it actively worked against any other magics in the area.

Havadalf didn't want to believe that was the case, but he had to find out for sure. He reached out toward one of the nearby trees, one that was close to death, and willed new life to flow into it. It was something that he had done countless times before, such that it was now second nature to him, due to the fact that it was among the first spells that Freyr had taught all Ljosalf, even the ones who would eventually become Dokkalfar.

An invisible wave of life-giving magic flowed forth from Havadalf and worked its way into the tree, into every hole and every crack. It attacked every blight that was upon the tree and sought to knit the broken fibers of its being, both physical and spiritual, back together.

Havadalf smiled at the familiar feeling of the strong magic flowing forth from him. Yet, his smile quickly warped into a frown as he felt his magic nearly die out as it got closer to the core of the tree. He cut off the spell knowing that it would have been useless to continue it. What little healing it was bestowing was not nearly enough to counter the blight.

"So it is true..." Havadalf whispered as he gathered his magical might back into himself.

Again, he looked at his surroundings and now found them to be much more foreboding. It seemed like Myrkvior itself had taken note of his spell. Whether or not the forest was now rallying against him, he could not say for sure, but he had decided to create an arrow and nock it, though he wasn't sure how much good it would do.

Before continuing forward, he took a few moments to breathe deeply and steel himself for whatever might come next. He reminded himself that he had fought in Ragnarok and seen the worst evils that existed in the world; whatever came next would be nothing compared to seeing Surtur leading an army of his fiery kin on a warpath through forests that had grown in peace and harmony for millennia

Havadalf, with his will now renewed, took his first bold step forward. He looked at his surroundings and saw that nothing had changed, and so he took another step forward.

And another.

Soon enough, he was walking. He had Skogburin raised, and he was ready to loose his arrow at the first foe he saw.

A few more minutes passed uneventfully in silence, but Havadalf could feel the tension building all around him; it was palpable. He found his pace slowing to crawl without any conscious thought, and he also found himself half-crouching. Like his magic, that too was second nature to him. All Ljosalf trained for battle, and the bow was their primary weapon. They knew how to use them with effective lethality.

Suddenly, Havadalf heard a skittering sound from behind. He whirled around to face the tree that he had heard it coming from. It was another dying one, or perhaps it was already dead; he couldn't tell because of the sheer number of spider webs upon it. They might as well have been holding the tree together. He didn't have to reach out very far with his magic to feel the blight radiating off the tree. Yet, despite the webs and blight, he saw no spiders.

He heard the skittering sound from behind again. After turning to face the direction of the sound, he still saw nothing. Tension began building with in him; there was no way that giant spiders could hide so effectively. They towered over almost everything else.

Unless...

Unless they were able to make use of a magic that Havadalf hadn't yet encountered, one that could hide their physical forms. He didn't want to believe that, but he had to consider the possibility. It would be unwise to rule out anything until he knew exactly what was happening.

Each moment he spent in Myrkvior, he could feel the power of the blight building, and it had been that way since the days of Ragnarok. The only ones who kept it from overwhelming the forest completely were him and the other Ljosalf, but it had been quite some time since he had seen another forest elf. But, he still felt that not all of them had been slain...

Yet.

Havadalf didn't have to push that train of thought from his mind. Instead, it was torn from him as he heard the skittering sound for a third time. He immediately loosed an arrow in the direction that it had come from.

The arrow flew true, but the giant spider that had revealed itself managed to evade it as it leaped toward Havadalf. The spider looked like it had been molded from the essence of darkness, being blacker than the blackest night, and each of its malevolent eyes bore a hate-filled, blood-red glow.

Havadalf lunged back and ducked as the spider came down upon him, and he had had just enough time to create and nock another arrow before it landed. The monstrous creature lunged at him with two if its forelegs. Havadalf whirled out of the way as he loosed his arrow, which struck the spider's carapace and bounced off. The spider let out a hiss of glee.

"Your power wanes, Ljosalf," it said as its mandibles formed into a wicked grin. "Just as it was foretold by the Norns before Ragnarok. When the Fire waxes, the Forest shall wane, and all of the roots shall cry out in despair and their joy shall be no more."

"I know the prophecy," Havadalf snarled back. "I was there when the Norns had come to Alfheim to declare it to Freyr. It would be unwise for you to speak of it any further." He created another arrow and fired it, aiming for the spider's eyes and hoping that it would have the same effect that it had had on the mechanical one.

The spider leaped out of the way of the arrow and onto a tree. It aimed its abdomen at Havadalf, unleashing a stream of webbing as it let out a hiss. Havadalf whirled out of the way. In the same elegant motion, he both created an nocked an arrow.

"Yes, elf," the spider cried with glee. "Dance for me!"

Havadalf let out a feral growl as he loosed his arrow at the spider. Freyr had always cautioned against falling into a berserker rage, but Havadalf felt that his god would have made an exception for monsters such as this one, those that had been borne out of the hatred that was personified by Surtur himself.

The spider skittered further up the tree, evading the arrow entirely.

"You will have to do better than that," it hissed derisively.

Havadalf let out a roar of rage as he drew upon his magic and conjured a glowing green arrow that was made entirely of energy, the wrath of nature, of Myrkvior, given form.

"Die!" he cried out as he loosed the arrow upon his foe.

The spider skittered higher up into the tree, but the arrow continued to follow it, soon piercing its abdomen and leaving a crack in its carapace before disappearing.

"Bastard," the spider hissed.

Havadalf's mouth warped into a savage, wolf-like grin as he conjured another green arrow. He could already feel the mental strain of calling upon his magic so liberally, but any cost was worth it if it meant triumphing over this fell creature.

The spider hissed when it saw the arrow, and it began hissing and slurring its way through an incantation in a foul tongue that Havadalf had heard many times before but had not dared to learn; to speak it was to invite darkness into one's soul.

Havadalf aimed for the spider's mouth and loosed the arrow. It sped toward the spider, but it finished its incantation just in time. It vomited forth a wall of darkness that blocked the arrow, though it still left a sizable crack in the wall.

"Coward," Havadalf spat.

"Coward?" the spider laughed, "I am a coward for not wanting to die?"

"You are a coward for hiding behind a wall instead of coming forth to fight me."

The spider dismissed its wall so that Havadalf could see it shaking its head at him.

"Is that better, whiny elfling?" the spider hissed.

Havadalf only growled as he began gathering his magic once more to conjure another green arrow. The strain that he was already feeling intensified immensely. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and starting to run down his face. He could feel the vigor in his limbs draining rapidly, and he was starting to feel like a spectator in his own body; he had to force himself to loose his arrow.

And he only had that one shot. Trying to create another arrow at that strength would send him into unconsciousness at best. At worst, it would kill him.

He had already begun to wobble after taking the shot, and he had to fight to remain standing. The urge to sleep was quickly rising as well; his eyelids began to feel heavy.

The spider laughed as the arrow streaked toward it. It knew that Havadalf had expended the last of his strength.

"Again?" it hissed, "Your arrow was useless against me last time. What makes you believe that this time will be any different?"

Havadalf forced a crooked grin onto his tired face. "Because it is by Freyr's will that you shall die."

"Ha! By Freyr's will? You would swear by a god who was slain by Surtur, who also slew Odin? Pathetic. Your arrow will fail just as your gods did."

The spider wordless called forth a wall of darkness to block the path of Havadalf's arrow.

"Call me a coward if you must," the spider hissed, "but bravery is no good to a dead man. I am surprised that you did not learn from the examples set by your gods. Then again, you Ljosalf always were too arrogant; I will be glad to bring about your downfall."

Havadalf's arrow struck the spider's wall, and, rather than merely leaving a crack, it tore through the wall and continued until it had impaled the spider's head, leaving its monstrous face frozen in a macabre grin of triumph.

"Freyr may be dead," Havadalf whispered, "but his wrath still lives."

With a wan, but victorious, smile on his face, the elf staggered forward. He knew that he needed to find a place to rest, and soon.

But where?

Blight, rot, and death had completely engulfed the trees that were all around Havadalf, and he could tell that it had been that way for centuries, if not millennia; this part of Myrkvior had given up fighting long ago. It was a shame, really, but neither the elves nor the spirits inhabited Myrkvior in the numbers that they used to.

Suddenly, Havadalf's magic flared up a little. It wasn't much, but any movement was noticeable after having depleted his magic to the point where it was nearly gone entirely. He came to a stop; the only time his magic began rejuvenating was when it was in the presence of life...

And he had seen no life here, only death.

Havadalf began to contemplate whether or not he should reach out with his magic. All he could do at the time being was find out if there really was life nearby. He didn't believe that there was, and there was the possibility that what he had felt was nothing more than an illusion. After all, the spiders had learned to call forth and weave the darkness to their will; obfuscation was one of the major tools employed by the Dokkalfar and their ilk.

Yet, Havadalf couldn't think of anything else to do right now except for falling asleep where he stood and hoping that his magic recovered before another spider found him. He trusted the odds of that happening less than he did the ones of finding life in a place that had become so infused with death that even the very ground felt cursed, forgotten, and hollow.

That left him with no choice.

He gathered the last of his magic together before sending it outward in a thin tether that he could barely feel, but that was the only way that he was going to find any life in this place without killing himself. It took all of his concentration to continue the spell. The longer it went on, the fainter it became. Havadalf was just about to end it when he felt a tingling at the very edge of his magic.

Life?

Havadalf paused. Yes, what he felt at the edge of his magic was indeed life. He paused again. What if it wasn't real? What if it was another Dokkalfar trick? He shook his head as he forced the thoughts from his mind; it had to be real. If Freyr's wrath still lived, then shouldn't his love for his children still be alive as well? Regardless, Havadalf had already committed the last of his magic to the spell.

He had to follow it through.

The elf began walking toward the tingling that he felt. After forcing himself to take the first step, the next ones came easily, if only because he was already in motion. He didn't focus on the aching, the pain, and the weariness that pierced through him with every step. Instead, he focused on the life that he would find at the other end of the tether. He would survive... if only he could make it there.

He moved in silence. The darkness intensified, and he ignored it. Even when he started to hear the sound of spiders skittering, he didn't stop. He didn't increase his pace either, if only because he couldn't, but he made sure that he did not stop.

Slowly but surely, the trees around Havadalf began to appear less dead. They still didn't look alive; they merely looked like they had died more recently. Yet, that brought Havadalf a measure of hope. Even though there were only traces of life on a handful of the leaves upon the dozens of trees around him, he could tell that there was something good at work here.

Hours, at least it had felt like hours, passed as Havadalf continued on. He finally stopped when he saw a living tree. It was only a sapling, not even a full decade old yet from the looks of it, but it was alive in a forest that had been so consumed by death. Havadalf checked his spell to see if this was the life it had made known to him...

And it wasn't.

Still, Havadalf knelt down in front of the sapling and tenderly placed his hand upon it as if it were a newborn babe. He released his grip on his spell as he took in the pure majesty of the sapling and allowed a few moments to pass in calm silence. Finally, he rose and walked past the sapling with the hope, no, the knowledge, that there was more. He didn't need his spell to tell him that.

The trees continued to appear less dead, with a few of the older ones even appearing to be on the brink of life. More saplings could be seen as well; many of them were growing out of the roots of the older trees.

Havadalf smiled. This was how things were supposed to be.

This was natural.

The elf walked on for a few more moments in silence, and his eyes widened in overwhelming joy as he gazed upon a tree, not a sapling, that was truly living. It more than towered over him such that even its uppermost branches dominated the canopy. Green leaves and ripe fruit filled each of its thick limbs. Havadalf had not seen such a tree since the early days of Ragnarok, and this one rivaled the trees of Alfheim itself with its majesty. How Havadalf missed that blessed place where light had reigned.

Despite himself, tears began to form in his eyes as he knelt before the tree. He could feel the life within the tree reaching out to his magic; the two energies sang to each other before embracing like long-lost kin who had been separated by war, for truly, that was what had happened. New vigor rushed into Havadalf so quickly that his pain and weariness were merely distant memories.

Tears flowed down Havadalf's face liberally as he began to weep, and he couldn't help but smile and laugh.

"I will survive..." he whispered, "I will survive..."

The ground in front of him began to rumble and rise up. Within a few moments, it had formed into a creature that Havadalf immediately recognized as a gnome. It was a tiny thing that came up to just under Havadalf's kneecap, and it was made entirely out of earth and stone. The gleaming emeralds that served as its eyes looked up at Havadalf.

"An Eynttir..." he said.

The gnome came back with a melancholy smile that revealed its emerald teeth. "Yes, I am one of the spirits of the land, though I fear that there are not many of my kind left in Myrkvior."

And just like that, Havadalf felt his joy sucked away. He gave a grave nod. "You are the first of the Eynttir that I have seen in quite some time. Indeed, I barely remember the last Ljosalf I found."

The gnome returned Havadalf's nod, but its smile brightened soon after, both literally and figuratively. "Let us not think of these things. You are here now, Ljosalf, and that is a good thing. I can tell that you are weary and in need of both food and rest."

Havadalf gave a nod at that.

"Let us be merry then," the gnome said, "and remember the days of old when Myrkvior was filled with the song of life." It gestured toward one of the branches upon the tree.

The branch extended itself down toward Havadalf. He plucked an apple off and bit into it, moaning as he chewed on the crisp flesh and savored the sweet juices. He quickly devoured the fruit, core and all, and took another. The fruits were nearly identical to the ones from Alfheim. He and Alva had wasted away entire days eating apples and making love in that forest.

And just like that, the apple seemed to turn to ashes in Havadalf's mouth. He forced down the bite that he had taken, and he quickly finished the rest of the apple. But, he didn't take another.

"Something is troubling you," the gnome said.

Havadalf slowly nodded.

"What is it?" the gnome asked in a tone that was surprisingly soothing despite its rocky voice.

"My lover," Havadalf whispered, "Alva."

"She died, didn't she?"

Havadalf nodded again. "I just passed the clearing where she had been butchered by the Dokkalfar."

"Her soul might still be here. The souls of many dead Ljosalf still stalk these woods, unseen, unheard, and completely forgotten."

"How can we know for sure? There is nothing I can do; my magic is too weak." The apples had replenished Havadalf's magic somewhat but not enough that he was able to cast any spells.

"I will find out," the gnome said with finality. "I am as connected to the land as your soul is to your body, and I can easily feel everything and everyone within this forest, though I do not like to very much anymore. All of the death around me brings me great sadness."

"I understand. I still can scarcely believe that I found this tree. It is almost like the ones that Freyr himself tended to."

The gnome nodded and smiled but gave no reply. It sat down, closed its eyes, and put its hands on the ground. After chanting a few words in Laaneynir, the ancient language of the Eynttir that Havadalf recognized but neither understood nor spoke, the gnome opened its eyes.

"Alva's soul is still here," it whispered.

"Is there a way I can see her again?" Havadalf was already starting to tremble at the thought. To finally see her again, to tell her that he loved her one last time...

The gnome nodded. "There is, but it is not something that I can help you with; you must do it yourself."

"What must I do?"

The gnome's mouth twisted into a hopeful smile. "First, get rid of that spear on your back. A weapon of dwarven make has no place here."

"Of course," Havadalf replied quickly, stumbling over his words. "I only took it because Skogburin's arrows were proving to be ineffectual against a mechanical spider that I encountered recently." He could already feel the shame rising within him; he might as well have admitted that he had lost faith in Freyr.

The gnome merely laughed. "All is forgiven, Ljosalf, most blessed of Freyr's children. These are dark times, and we cannot be turning on each other over petty grievances. You need only take the weapon from your back and cast it upon the ground; I will do the rest."

Havadalf nodded and obeyed the Eynttir's command. The spear hit the ground, and the gnome pointed its finger at the weapon before speaking a word in Laaneynir. With mighty wrath, thorny tendrils lashed out from the tree and constricted the Dokkalfar spear until it had shattered. The thorns then began to drip acid onto the remains of the weapon, causing them to dissolve in a matter of moments.

"Much better," the gnome said.

"Now, what I must I do to see Alva again?" Havadalf whispered. It was all he could do to keep his voice from breaking; he couldn't believe that seeing her again was finally within his reach.

It was almost like Freyr hadn't really died.

"You must reach out to her with your soul that is beyond the well of magic within you," the gnome said, "You must go into the very essence of your being and call out to her."

Havadalf nodded. He closed his eyes as he went from a kneeling position to a sitting position. His magic responded eagerly despite the fact that it was still weak. He pushed past it and continued digging, just as the gnome had told him, and he soon encountered a force that was both far stronger and far more volatile; he knew from the moment he had made contact that he had touched his soul. Drawing it forth, he reached out with it in the same way that he would do so with his magic.

Alva... he whispered.

A few moments passed, and nothing came back. There was only darkness before Havadalf.

Alva... he said again, his voice trailing off.

Still, nothing came.

Alva! Havadalf cried out. Alva, I love you!

Despite the fact that he was far more focused on his soul, he could still faintly feel the tension building in his physical body.

A few more moments passed in silence. Finally, at the very edge of the darkness, Havadalf caught a glimpse of shining light that was greener than the most verdant of the Alfheim trees that had been blessed by Freyr himself. The light rapidly sped toward Havadalf, growing larger as it closed the distance. He soon recognized it as the soul of another Ljosalf, a female one...

Alva? Havadalf asked, daring to believe that the soul of his long-dead lover was now walking toward him. Is it really you?

The other Ljosalf smiled back at Havadalf with both knowledge and serenity upon her immaculate face. Like Havadalf, she was much taller than a human, though she was still a head shorter than him. Platinum blonde hair cascaded down from her head and over her shoulders. Her petite, svelte body was formed into a nearly perfect hourglass, though she was still lean and athletic, not weak by any stretch. Her rounded, gentle face had bright green eyes that Havadalf had found himself lost in many times as well as a small nose and mouth that complemented the rest of her form. She wore a flowing gown of purest white that had a liberal amount of lace on the chest and skirt.

Yes, Havadalf. she said gently. It is me.

Havadalf's soul leaped from his body and rushed toward her, his physical form be damned. His everything screamed for her; it had been too long.

Alva's smile widened as she spread her arms to receive Havadalf. The two elves embraced fiercely. Alva buried her face in Havadalf's chest, and both of them wept.

I'm sorry... Havadalf whispered. I'm so sorry...

There is nothing to apologize for. Alva whispered back. There was nothing you could do that day; there were too many Dokkalfar.

Yet, hearing those words of forgiveness did not make Havadalf feel any better, and it certainly did not change the fact that he had abandoned his mate.

I love you, Havadalf. Alva said fiercely as she looked up to meet his gaze. I will always love you, even in death.

I love you too, Alva. Havadalf replied, still whispering. He couldn't speak any louder than that.

Alva raised herself up onto the tips of her toes and kissed Havadalf. At first, he couldn't believe how real it felt. It was nearly like they were back in Alfheim again even with the darkness that was all around them. The kiss had all the tenderness and passion that Havadalf remembered. There was enough force that it felt real but enough distance that Havadalf was left wanting more. He kissed Alva again, causing her to let out a small moan of pleasure. She kissed him back and allowed her tongue to gently dance across his lips. He nearly melted at that. By the time he had pulled away, he was panting.

Already? Alva asked with a giggle and a grin.

It has been millennia... Havadalf replied hoarsely.

What, you haven't taken other women during that time?

Ljosalf mate for life, just as Freyr intended.

You know that I was only joking. Alva's tone became gentler. I know you would never do that; you were always too loyal for that.

I need you, Alva.

And you will have me, but-

But what?

Let me finish, Havadalf. It would be a desecration of Freyr's memory if I kept your soul here in this place when there is sitll more to be done.

The Dokkalfar menace will always be there, but we may not get a time like this again.

We vowed to serve Freyr, Havadalf. You cannot go back on that vow for my sake.

I already abandoned you once; I will not do so again, Alva. I can't. It will break me.

Alva tried to wriggle out of Havadalf's embrace, but he only held her tighter.

You have to let me go, Havadalf. Freyr's legacy demands it. Alva pleaded. Her voice had broken, and she was weeping. Please... I will still be here when you return. I promise. The fires of Surtur's wrath could not keep me from you; even the jagged arrows of the Dokkalfar only delayed our reunion. No matter what happens, Havadalf, I will come back to you. Always.

Havadalf began to weep as he finally let Alva go. I can't lose you again, Alva...

And you will not. Even if you pass into the next life, I will go to the forests of Alfheim, and I will wait for you on the banks of Deepwell where we first met. This I promise you, my mate.

Havadalf had no words; he could only nod.

Alva continued speaking: Now, Havadalf, you must go, for a dark elf more powerful than all the rest has already risen and he seeks to enslave Myrkvior to the will of Surtur once and for all. You must go forth to serve as Freyr's champion once more.

Havadalf nodded again, this time much more confident. I will find you again, Alva. I promise.

Alva gave a gleaming, joyful smile. I know you will. Now, I must return you to your body.

I am ready.

And just like that, Havadalf could see and feel the light and life around him once more. The gnome was still standing right where it had been before, and it wore a smile on its face.

"I assume you found her?" it asked.

Havadalf nodded slowly, almost longingly. "Yes... I found her."

"You seem troubled."

"How much time has passed?"

"Almost none; the sun has barely moved. Why do you ask?"

"She told me of a dwarven champion who is rising to finish what Surtur started."

The gnome gave a knowing nod. "Yes. She must have been speaking of Geirdagg."

"Geirdagg..." Havadalf said pensively. He had heard that name before during Ragnarok. "It sounds familiar."

"It should. He is known for twisting Ljosalf magic into a profane mockery of itself and hunting the forest elves with a vengeance not seen in any other Dokkalfar."

"I think I remember now... He was there the day Alva died..."

"Oh?"

"Yes... We were in a clearing when the dark elves came, and they did their best to slaughter us to the last elf. I remember one of them wearing a wolf pelt, and that was the one who killed Alva."

The gnome slowly nodded. "I see."

"Where can I find him?"

"You mean to kill him, don't you?"

"Why else would I ask where he is?"

"You have only just gotten here; you must rest and eat."

"I do not feel tired anymore, and I have already eaten." That was the truth. For reasons that Havadalf couldn't entirely explain, his encounter with Alva had left him feeling awake, energized, and rejuvenated. He felt like he could take on the whole of the Dokkalfar race, and maybe even Surtur himself, and still claim victory. To say that he was ready to fight was an understatement. He wanted to fight. "Do you know where Geirdagg is?"

"I do not know for sure. I can only tell you where he might be. It is easy for the Dokkalfar to hide in the shroud of fell magic that has fallen over Myrkvior."

"I will gladly take any information you can give me."

The gnome nodded. As it was about to start reciting a spell, the ground all around it, Havadalf, and the tree began shaking and rumbling. Havadalf immediately tore Skogburin from his back and created an arrow of wood and thorns. Unlike the last ones he had created, this one looked as vibrant and alive as the tree; the wood was richer and the thorns were both more finely honed and sturdier. Any Dokkalfar struck by the arrow was going to die.

The tremors in the ground intensified, causing leaves, fruit, and even whole branches to fall from the tree, and rot began to consume them as soon as they hit the ground.

The gnome sighed and shook its head in dismay. "I suppose that all good things must eventually come to an end."

"What is happening?" Havadalf snapped. He was already looking for the source of the fell happenings.

"I fear that the Dokkalfar have found us. I knew that it would eventually happen, for this tree was a sapling grown from the tree of life itself, Yggdrasil. I have devoted the past century of my life to growing and hiding this tree so that Myrkvior can become alive and verdant once more, but, like I have already said, I fear that that has come to an end."

Havadalf's expression hardened. "No."

"No?"

"No. This tree will live! For all of the Ljosalf and Eynttir that have died by the hands of Dokkalfar since the beginning of Ragnarok, for Freyr who died by Surtur and his wicked sword, I declare that the Child of Yggdrasil will stand this day and forever more!"

A chorus of dark, rasping laughter filled the air. "Is that so, Ljosalf? You declare that this tree shall live? You could not even save the soul of your mate."

"What do you know about that?" Havadalf growled savagely as he adopted a hunched posture.

"I know enough."

Suddenly, Havadalf heard Alva screaming in pain.

"What is this?" he roared.

"You know what it is," the voice rasped back. "You know exactly what this is."

"You are merely playing tricks on me!"

"Am I?"

"There can be no other explanation; I just saw her."

"If you say so."

"I demand you show yourself, foul minion of Surtur!"

The voice laughed. "You can demand that I show myself all you want; that does not mean that it is going to happen."

Havadalf snarled again. His foe's cowardice angered him, but he still had a way to find out where his foe was lurking. He reached for his magic and found that it had been replenished above its normal strength. Drawing forth a measure of it, he began to search for any Dokkalfar in the surrounding area. Despite the fact that they were bringers of death and blight, even Dokkalfar had life within them, and all dark elves were once forest elves, which made them children of Freyr.

It wasn't long before Havadalf felt a dark presence seeping into his magic, turning its shining purity into something that felt oily and blighted.

"I have found you," he growled.

He turned toward the direction of the dark feeling and loosed his nocked arrow. It stopped in midair after it had traveled a short distance, and a distinctly dwarven scream of pain followed.

"Bastard," the invisible dark elf snarled, "You will pay for that with your life, but you already knew that."

"I have already more than paid for the crimes of your kind," Havadalf retorted, "Now, I am taking what I am owed."

Suddenly, the base of the Child of Yggdrasil erupted in seething flames that quickly began crawling up the rest of the tree.

As much as Havadalf wanted to create another arrow and loose it at his foe, he knew that he had to save the Child of Yggdrasil; his devotion to Freyr demanded that he do so. He gathered his magic and infused the tree with it. The added resilience caused the flames to slow... but not by much.

"This tree will stand!" Havadalf cried as he continued to let his magic flow.

Letting out a cry of its own, the gnome drew upon its own power and began dousing the flames with clods of earth that seemed to throw themselves up from the ground itself. Yet, no matter how much earth was thrown to suffocate the flames, they remained.

"Pathetic," the Dokkalfar hissed around a cruel laugh. "Myrkvior was lost long ago."

The flames intensified and began crawling up the tree.

"Look upon my might and despair," the dark elf said.

Havadalf growled as he withdrew his magic and created another arrow. At least now, his path was clear: if he was to save the Child of Yggdrasil, he had to kill the dark elf first.

The air in front of Havadalf began shimmering, and he soon saw a dwarf standing at the base of the fiery tree before him. Like the other Dokkalfar, this one was quite short, and his skin was ash grey. Hatred consumed his deep red eyes while straight black hair cascaded down his shoulders. The dark elf wore dark brown leather robes that were heavily worn and frayed. The warped and rotted wolf pelt that he wore as a cloak served to accentuate his savage posture and his wide grin that prominently displayed his large canines. In his hands, he gripped an axe that ended in an enormous iron head with a jagged edge. Dark runes that matched the color of its wielder's eyes were engraved upon it.

"Geirdagg," Havadalf growled as he aimed his arrow at the Dokkalfar.

"I didn't even need to introduce myself," the dark elf replied, "That will allow me to hasten your death."

Havadalf fired his arrow at Geirdagg. The dwarf raised his axe and cut it down with surprising dexterity and control. Yet, by the time Geirdagg had re-assumed his fighting stance, Havadalf had already created and nocked his next arrow.

"I see such hatred in you, forest elf," Geirdagg hissed, "Perhaps this will change that."

The dwarf took one hand of his axe and raised it to the sky. The flames devouring the Child of Yggdrasil intensified, and the base of the tree split open and formed into a twisted oval that became filled with deep shadows and seething flames.

Havadalf fired his arrow, aiming for Geirdagg's neck. The arrow remained true, but the flames leaped forth from the Child of Yggdrasil to consume the arrow and turn it into ashes that quickly scattered. After that, Havadalf watched in horror as Alva's soul materialized at the center of the profane portal within the Child of Yggdrasil. Her screams of pain echoed forth from it.

"Let her go!" Havadalf demanded as he created and nocked another arrow before drawing Skogburin's string back.

Geirdagg's grin grew wider. "I wouldn't fire that arrow if I were you."

"If I kill you, I free Alva from the torment that you are putting her in. I was already going to kill you, but now you have given me another reason to do so."

Geirdagg gestured toward the Child of Yggdrasil, and Alva's screams intensified. Havadalf loosed his arrow without thinking. Geirdagg quickly put his free hand back on his axe and deflected the attack.

"I don't believe that you grasp the gravity of this situation, Ljosalf," Geirdagg said, "Right now, I hold the power to destroy the soul of your whore lover for all time."

"She is no whore!" Havadalf roared, "Cease this, cowardly dwarf, and face me elf to elf."

"Why should I when I hold the key to your submission?"

Havadalf felt Alva's tormented presence flood into his mind.

I will free you. Havadalf said with fierce conviction. We will be reunited again, my love.

I would love that, Havadalf, but we cannot. Alva replied, her voice choked by pain and tears. You must slay Geirdagg even if it causes the destruction of my soul.

No!

Yes. You made a vow to Freyr, and you cannot go back on it; take solace in the fact that I will know no more pain once this battle is done. I am prepared for whatever may come, oblivion or otherwise.

No! It cannot end like this! It will not end like this!

The only response Havadalf received was Alva's presence fading from his mind. As he turned his focus on Geirdagg once more, rage flooded into him. He drew upon his magic and created an arrow of green energy that glowed brighter than any of the others he had ever made.

Geirdagg sighed and shook his head. "You Ljosalf never learn."

"I seek to make a pact with you," Havadalf snarled.

Geirdagg immediately burst into a fit of laughter.

"Listen!" Havadalf demanded. He was sorely tempted to simply loose the arrow at his foe, but it had taken a mere moment for Geirdagg to intensify Alva's suffering; Havadalf doubted that it would take much longer to destroy her soul entirely.

"Fine," Geirdagg said as he regained his composure. "I will humor you. What pact would you see with me?"

"A duel. Fight me alone without increasing Alva's suffering. If I win, I will kill you, and you will release this place from the taint of your fell magic. If you win, I will willingly offer my soul to you and allow you to destroy the Child of Yggdrasil as long as you free Alva first."

Geirdagg grinned. "That was about what I expected. I accept your challenge on one condition."

"Name it."

"You are not allowed to use your now; you must face me in melee combat."

Don't do it, Havadalf! Alva cried. Just kill him now while you still have a chance. Your aim has never failed!

"I accept," Havadalf said grimly.

"The pact is sealed," Geirdagg said, "Throw down your bow, forest elf, for our duel begins now."

Geirdagg began advancing toward Havadalf with his axe readied. Havadalf threw down Skogburin but kept ahold of the arrow. In an instant, the arrow became an elegantly curved sword of pure energy that Havadalf gripped with both hands.

"Though I prefer to do so with a bow," Havadalf said, "I am happy to slay dark elves with any weapon."

"We shall see," Geirdagg hissed back. "I look forward to giving your soul to Surtur so that it might aid in his rebirth."

The Dokkalfar closed what little distance remained between him and Havadalf with frightening speed before hacking at the Ljosalf with his axe. Havadalf parried with just enough force to block Geirdagg's attack before bringing his blade back so that he could drive toward the dwarf's skull. Geirdagg crouched low, evading the attack entirely. He grinned as he felt the rush of air over his head. Letting out a growl, he cleaved at Havadalf's waist with his axe. The forest elf deftly whirled out of the way with a slight leap. By the time he had landed and dropped into a defensive stance, Geirdagg was already charging.

"You cannot evade my axe forever, forest elf," Geirdagg hissed, "for it is Alfrskalm, the Elfslayer, forged in the black pits of Muspelheim at the dawn of Ragnarok to bring about the destruction of Freyr, his children, and Alfheim itself."

"Whoever gifted you with that weapon made a poor choice in doing so," Havadalf shot back.

Geirdagg flashed a grin. "We shall see."

He hacked at Havadalf's chest, and the runes upon Alfrskalm's head glowed more intensely. Havadalf could feel the blighted hatred radiating from the foul weapon as he parried it. He had encountered it before on the battlefield, though not in the hands of Geirdagg. However, its other wielders had been equally powerful. The axe had nearly slain Freyr himself.

Havadalf pulled his sword back and assumed a defensive stance once more. Geirdagg leaped up, this time swinging Alfrskalm at Havadalf's throat. He lunged back as he swung his sword at his foe's legs. Geirdagg bit back a scream of pain as he felt Havadalf's blade tear through his robe and bite into his flesh. Before he could do anything else, he had already fallen to the ground.

"Bastard," he spat.

Havadalf only offered a grin as he followed up with another swing, this time aiming to decapitate his foe. Geirdagg rolled out of the way and began casting a spell. Havadalf plunged his sword downward, hoping to drive it through Geirdagg's heart. The dark elf parried with Alfrskalm as he finished casting his spell.

Four enormous, sleek spider legs exploded out of his waist, hoisting him upward with surprising agility. His feet no longer touched the ground, and he now towered over Havadalf.

"You never said anything about magic," Geirdagg said with a grin.

"I didn't want to make this fight too easy for me," Havadalf replied with equal bravado.

"Is that so?"

Geirdagg threw a kick at Havadalf with one of his spider legs. The limb moved faster than Havadalf had anticipated, slamming into his chest and throwing him to the ground while Geirdagg remained perfectly poised. The dark elf quickly skittered toward the fallen Havadalf.

"It ends now!" the dark elf declared, "For Surtur!" He brought Alfrskalm down upon Havadalf.

Havadalf fought to get his blade up to block the axe, but he managed. The two blades clashed with the same brutality that Havadalf and Geirdagg displayed toward each other. However, Alfrskalm slid past the edge of Havadalf's blade and continued on its path. Its edge soon tore through the forest elf's leathers, biting into his chest and leaving a gash that bled liberally. Havadalf let out a sharp hiss of pain as the runes upon Alfrskalm seemed to glow with glee

Geirdagg pulled his weapon back and readied it to strike once more. Havadalf leaped to his feet before driving his sword upward toward Geirdagg's torso. The dwarf skittered out of the way enough that he could parry with Alfrskalm. Havadalf let out a snarl of frustration, and Geirdagg flashed a grin of condescension.

"You may have struck the first blood," the dark elf said, "but your wound is far greater."

"I will change that," Havadalf growled, "for just as Freyr slew the giant spider Nyrackjar when he first claimed Alfheim in the name of the Aesir, so too shall I slay you so that I might remake the home of my kith and kin anew!"

Havadalf let out a furious roar as he leaped at Geirdagg and swung his sword with all the force he could muster. The blade moved far quicker than Geirdagg, soon inflicting a bleeding wound upon his torso. The dark elf staggered back as he let out a scream of pain. Havadalf's feet had barely touched the ground by the time he was leaping up again to inflict another wound upon Geirdagg. His sword sliced through the air, speeding toward the dark elf's throat. Geirdagg beat back the sword with Alfrskalm as he began casting a spell. Havadalf hurled his sword at Geirdagg after landing, aiming straight for the Dokkalfar's mouth.

Geirdagg took one hand off Alfrskalm as he finished casting his spell. He chanted the final, baleful words, and seething streams of blood burst from his wounds, quickly turning into torrents of fire that were blacker than the deepest pits of Hel. They all gathered in Geirdagg's hand before forming into a wailing sword that was as long as Alfrskalm with an edge so jagged that the axe's seemed smooth by comparison.

With a single stroke of the black sword, Geirdagg cut down Havadalf's green one. The flames lashed out at the life energy and consumed it entirely before letting out a wail of victory.

"Die!" Geirdagg hissed as he swung at Havadalf with both axe and sword.

Havadalf leaped out of the way and toward one of Geirdagg's spider legs. With both hands, he grabbed onto the limb and pulled it toward him. Geirdagg let out a snarl of annoyance as he staggered forward.

Havadalf pulled the leg toward himself again, this time managing to muster enough might that Geirdagg toppled to the ground. The dark elf let out a guttural snarl as he fell, and his descent gave Havadalf enough time to conjure another sword of green energy. The Ljosalf wasted no time in leaping at Geirdagg, landing squarely on the Dokkalfar's chest and pressing the edge of the sword into his throat.

"Well played, forest elf," Geirdagg rasped, wearing a grin on his face.

"Release your spells," Havadalf demanded, "for I have won our duel."

"Our duel is to the death, or do you not remember that?"

"I do, and that is why I am forcing you to unravel your fell magics before I slay you."

Geirdagg merely laughed as he shook his head.

"Did I say something that amuses you, dwarf?" Havadalf snapped.

"You forest elves have always amused me," Geirdagg replied in a patronizing tone. "Always self-righteous and prancing around, always believing that you are better than the rest of us." The Dokkalfar shook his head again. "We wanted to help you, Havadalf. We truly did. But, your kind had always treated us with disdain because you had received more of Freyr's blessings."

"We treated your kind fairly; we were never cruel to you, not in the same way your kind was to mine when Ragnarok broke out."

"That doesn't change the fact that you forest elves preferred to forget about the existence of us dwarves."

Havadalf's expression hardened. "I feel no sympathy for you now, Geirdagg, for we always treated your kind with dignity, and in return, your kind has blighted our forests and butchered our kin. In particular, you have tormented my mate, and it is for that that you must die."

"Then kill me, for though I may die, I will die a hero to my people, and you must live with the knowledge that the Ljosalf were always the truly evil ones, for it was your kind who sought to impose its rule upon everyone else. Farewell, forest elf. May Alfheim be burned to ashes when your time comes."

Geirdagg gestured toward the Child of Yggdrasil, causing both the flames and the shadows to disappear. Alva's soul walked free from the center of it all.

"It seems that you have some honor after all," Havadalf said.

Geirdagg gave no response. However, he was still grinning when Havadalf ran him through. Havadalf dismissed his blade and stood up once the Dokkalfar had breathed his last, and he turned to Alva, who had nearly finished walking over to him. The gnome was close behind, and it wore a gleaming smile on its face that fully showed its emerald teeth.

You did it. Alva said as she embraced Havadalf. Though she could not touch him physically, she was still able to embrace his soul, and that was just as intimate, if not more so. You actually did it.

"Myrkvior is saved," the gnome said.

Havadalf nodded slowly. "Yes," he replied, "Myrkvior is saved for now, but I know that the dark elves will be back. Geirdagg was far too ready to die."

Alva tenderly touched Havadalf's face. Let us not think about such things right now, my mate. You have done that which was thought to be impossible, and that is more than enough. Come with me so that we might celebrate in Alfheim where Freyr's power still sings.

"But Freyr is dead."

"That is where you are wrong," the gnome said.

Havadalf looked down at the Eynttir. "What do you mean? Surtur slew him during Ragnarok; I remember the day it happened."

The gnome laughed as it shook its head. Suddenly, its body began to shift and morph until it had become a male Ljosalf that towered over Havadalf. The former gnome still had piercing green eyes, but that was the only remaining resemblance.

"Freyr..." Havadalf whispered as he looked upon the immaculate form of his god, whose hair was as bright as the sun and whose skin was tan like the wood of Alfheim's mighty oak trees.

The Aesir wore simple green leathers adorned with leaves, and he held an ice-blue sword that was an example of the pinnacle of craftsmanship, bested by no mortals and few gods.

"Yes, my child," Freyr said. His voice had a power in it that was truly beyond mortal ken. "I live."

"But Surtur slew you..." Havadalf replied.

"That is what I wanted you and the others to think. Instead, I retrieved my sword and returned to Alfheim to ensure that it survived."

"So you never died?"

Freyr smiled as he shook his head. "No, my child. I never left you, and I commend you, Havadalf, for your valor in the slaying of Geirdagg. I commend you, Alva, for being willing to give everything for my cause even after death."

Of course, my lord. Alva replied.

"Now, let us return to Alfheim as Alva has already suggested and celebrate our victory and return of life in this place."

"Will Alva live once more?" Havadalf asked quickly. Desperation dripped from each of his words.

Freyr smiled. "If that is what she chooses once we have passed through the portal, then that is what shall be." The Aesir gestured toward the hole in the Child of Yggdrasil, and a swirling vortex of green energy, full of life, appeared in it. "Come. A feast worthy of Odin's hall awaits us." He said nothing more as he walked through the portal.

What are we waiting for? Alva asked with a smile. Let us return home and be reunited again. Let us do all of the things we couldn't do when Ragnarok started.

Havadalf liked that idea very, very much.

The End

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