Standing in the middle of the battleground, Lìfa felt the warmth of the flames licking her skin and the smell of death and dread lingering in the air. Above the violent drumming of her heart, the sound of metal against metal was ringing in her ear, followed by many battle cries and deadly screams.

All around, she saw the desperate groups of humans fighting till their last breaths against fiery creatures she had never seen before. Terror shined in her eyes as she recognised the Fire giants from the childhood tales she had heard many times before. Their skin was black as coal with eyes glowing red, setting everything and everyone on fire they touched.

Above the crowd of fighting people, Lìfa saw something coming from the distance. Through the thick smoke, she saw its orange flames moving closer, and its steps thundered through the dead land.

The army of the Firefolk opened up, as another giant marched ahead. He rose several heads above the crowd, his skin glowing deep red with yellow and orange cracks running across it. His two horns sat on his head like a royal crown forged from the same flames as the burning sword held in his hand.

His yellow eyes burned with hatred piercing his gaze into Lìfa's. As she watched the giant approaching step by step, her chest felt too tight for her racing heart, and it became hard to breathe in the burning heat. She tried to back away, looking for a place to hide, but there was nothing in sight but the piles of burning bodies.

"There's nowhere to hide, Champion of the Liar! The time has come for the sons of Muspelheim* to rise." His voice thundered across the land like the sound of a volcano. "Your gods are dying, Ragnarok is here."

Suddenly, Lìfa felt something cold and heavy appearing in her grasp. Looking down at her hand, she found a longsword she recognised immediately. The magical runes carved all over its blade shined and pulsated with strong seidr, sending shivers down her spine. The otherworldly force radiating from it melted all her fear away as she raised her weapon, standing against the Fire giant.

"You can't stop what has been decided long ago. Your world's going to burn."

With this, he clashed his fiery sword against Lìfa's. The two collided with the roar of thunder, bathing everything in a blinding white light. Suddenly, the world around her started to fall apart and fade away into the abyss with one last picture she saw. The form of Surtur melting away, being replaced by a man wearing a red cross painted over his clothes...

Lìfa woke up in cold sweat, still panting from the dream she just had. The first thing hitting her senses was the queasiness in her stomach. Instantly regretting last night's reckless drinking, she didn't open her eyes just yet, knowing that the sly ache in the back of her head would soon get her. Instead, trying to escape from the light sneaking in, she turned around in her lover's protecting arms and snuggled up closer to him.

Burying her face into his bare chest to feel the warmth of his body, she listened to his heart beating, waiting for her own to slow down as well. She breathed in his scent, waiting for it to wrap her around in a comforting hug, but instead of the scent of sweet rosin, the strong, putrid odour of alcohol infiltrated her nostrils. Blurred fragments of last night flashed into her mind, slowly merging into one piece.

Scared by the realisation, Lìfa pushed herself away from him to get a better look. Her eyes met no sharp cheekbones, nor strong jawline, but an oval, slightly long face with more subtle features, framed by dark brown locks. Suddenly, Lìfa felt like the walls were caving in, squeezing all air from her lungs. As she stood from the bed, the room spun around, pulling the floor from under her feet. With every minute spent in there, the storm awakening in her mind got louder and louder, making her thirsty for fresh air. Fighting against the urge to vomit, with trembling hands she pulled up her clothes and stumbled out of the cottage.

Wincing from the throbbing pain in her head, she fell over something soft and landed in the melting snow. Climbing back to four, the urge to clean her inside out washed all over her again, making her whole body shaking, giving in to the ache flooding her senses. As she knelt on the ground, trying to heave up anything that wanted to come out, the soft pile slowly walked up to her and licked her pale face. After a painfully long moment of staring down at the ground trying to recompose herself, Lìfa's eyes met a pair of glowing yellow ones. Fenrir sat beside her, his head tilted to the side, watching his companion's agony.

During the last few weeks, the wolf stayed in the town by Lìfa's side. Slowly, he got used to the townsfolk, but always kept great distance with never-fading mistrust in his eyes. The feeling must have been mutual as they never approached the wild animal either. Seeing the wolf only obeying Lìfa, whispers of being cursed by the liar god flew off again, coloured by some new ones about them bringing the end of times.

After a few minutes of burying her head into Fenrir's soft fur, Lìfa gathered enough strength to stand and walk to the cliffside. Followed by the wolf watching her every step, she crawled behind a huge rock, to her favourite hiding place. Sitting there, the rock hid her from the curious eyes and vicious tongues of Thornvik, while on the other side the cliff provided her a perfect view over the awakening sea beneath.

Resting her back against the cold stone, Lìfa took a few deep breaths to calm her shaking soul and to ease the sharp pain still making her head dizzy. Hugging her knees, her eyes got caught up on the orange disk of the sun peeking over the horizon, bathing everything in its golden light. Letting the warm rays of light caressing her face, they opened a secret passage through her heart, down to her core. They tore down the last remaining bits of her guard, surfacing all the sorrow she tried to forget and hide.

The tide of painful thoughts washed over Lìfa under the golden blanket of sunshine, breaking her into a hundred pieces.

With every wave, it brought up all the questions she didn't dare to ask. All the thoughts she was running from.

What if she had stayed in Heilaholm? What if she had stayed and spent more time with him? What if they had escaped together? If he had come along with them? If he would be there with her? What if Valhalla was the only place they could be together?

With tears streaming down her face, Lìfa's fingers involuntarily trailed up to the small braid behind her ear. She played around with it, thinking of all the missed opportunities. Things that all felt so distant, unreal and impossible to reach. The love she could never experience. The time they could never have. The family she would never have. The loneliness the gods had forced her into. Driven by something new, her hand wandered down to the amulet hanging from her neck, grabbing it with such force, her knuckles whitened.

The touch of cold metal under her fingers took Lìfa back to the roaring storm, to the suffocating moment under the sea when she chose between the gods. When she decided to accept her so-called legacy and follow the liar god on his mysterious path...

"The last time I found you here crying was ten years ago, when you decided to run away from home with a piece of bread."

Surprised by her friend's voice, Lìfa quickly wiped her tears away, trying to lock all her feelings back in her mind again. Without saying anything else, Sveinn settled beside her, letting Lìfa leaning her head against his shoulder. The boy's presence chased all the darkness away, making her feel safe by his side. For a few minutes, they just sat there staring at the rising sun, letting the silence do the talking for them.

"Why was I crying?" the question suddenly slipped out of Lìfa.

"The boys were playing, practising how to fight. You know, forming a shield wall and how to use the sword and stuff. Of course, you wanted to join them, but they sent you away because girls are gross," he chuckled at the memory. "You got so upset; you decided to run away from town. So, this became your newfound home, behind this rock. I found you here crying and munching on a piece of bread you took for the big journey."

The silly memory of her childhood made Lìfa's lips pull into a small smile too. It took her back to the carefree old days when sailing out to see the world was only a dream. When her biggest concern was that the boys didn't allow her to play with them.

"That was when you decided to teach me how to fight, wasn't it? Anyway..." Her smile faded as she continued. "How did you know I'd be here again?"

"Well, I found Eirìk naked in your house, so..." Sveinn scratched his neck, followed by a nervous chuckle. "Do you still miss him?" He lifted the small braid hiding in the girl's hair, curiosity shining in his blue eyes.

"I don't know... I mean, I shouldn't! I barely know him, but still, I feel like we just didn't have enough time and..." Red blush spread across her face and suddenly, she got too busy scratching Fenrir's ear instead of finishing the sentence. After a ragged sigh, she continued. "Am I a bad person if I just want to have someone?"

"How about Eirìk? It's not the first time you end up in each other's bed." Sveinn pushed her shoulder with a playful smile.

"Oh, come on! By the way, why are you here? Shouldn't you be with your new wife?" Lìfa tilted her head to the side, looking at her friend expectantly.

"Nowadays Runa doesn't feel well in the morning, so..." A small smile hiding in the corner of his mouth, Sveinn just leaned back against the stone playing around with his hands nervously.

Confusion sat on Lìfa's face as she searched for the meaning behind her friend's words. After a brief moment, her mouth hung open and her eyes lit up with happy, surprised fire.

"Sveinn! You bastard! Now I see why you couldn't wait until springtime with the wedding!" she punched his shoulder with a happy laugh, making Sveinn's face shine up too. "I'm so happy for you!"

"I'm going to be a father! Lìfa, I can't believe it!" he burst out laughing, wrapping Lìfa in a bone-wrecking hug. "I wanted to tell you earlier, but I couldn't find you at the feast and– "

A shadow hovering over their heads broke the two friends apart, scaring their moment of joy away. Looking up, they found an old man standing in front of them, his arms crossed, impatiently tapping his feet on the ground. From behind his grey beard, a serious, emotionless face stared down at them. It felt like his strict grey eyes saw down into their souls, reading each one of their secrets out. Even Fenrir didn't dare to bark at him; instead, he just sat still, carefully watching his smallest move.

"I'm sure the kid will be a great warrior, just like his father. Now, if you're finished here, I need both of you at the hall. We have some important issues to discuss."

With this, the godi walked away just as soundlessly as he came. Sharing some confused, questioning looks Lìfa and Sveinn decided to follow him. Not daring to say a word behind Frode's back, they communicated through their eyes, trying to figure out what it could be all about. On their short way from the cliff to the mead-hall, Lìfa quickly ran through all the different possibilities. Thornvik wasn't running low on food supplies. No serious damages, no losses, no accidents during wintertime. There was only one thing left, which made her heart quickening up the pace immediately.

Lìfa stepped into the building with her palms sweating and the growing tension in her stomach. The place still bared the scars of last night. The chairs and tables sticky and smelly from mead, the floor covered with dirt and food, the air thick from the odour of sweat, making her queasiness coming back again.

Around one of the tables, she saw the remaining members of the Glorious Thirteen already engaged in a heated conversation. Only Frode clearing his throat could make them stop and turn their heads toward the new arrivals.

"Thank you all for coming! As you may already know, today I want to discuss something important with you–"

"Cut the shit, old man!" Vidar smashed his fist impatiently on the table, shooting a deadly glare towards the godi. "We all know what you want! You want to fool us into following Egil's dream!"

Frode stood his words without the slightest change in his mood. His glare showed nothing, but pity as he locked eyes with the man. The only thing giving his real thoughts away for Lìfa was the way his grip tightened around his staff. Words slipped off his tongue like ice water while he spoke with a broad smile.

"Forcing you? I would never do such thing. We're here to discuss if you're willing to continue what the Glorious Thirteen have begun and to finish the job or not." He carried his gaze upon the men before him, looking deeply in their eyes, one by one.

For a mere second, they all stood there like scared children staring at the godi, and then they all erupted at once. In a blink of time, their thundering voices filled the air, making Lìfa's headache strike like a lightning again. Their voices merged together into one mess, their words losing the meaning on the way to her mind. Wincing from pain, she stumbled behind Sveinn, trying to hide from the torchlight and the forming battle they got into.

"Frode," Halfdan finally stepped ahead, winning over his companions. "Y'know that Egil was like a brother to me and I don't want to speak against him, but the Glorious Thirteen is no more. It ended with him and we have nothing to follow now. What on Midgard do you want to do?"

Another storm of heated shouts greeted his words, separating the group into two parties. Vidar, Halfdan and Olaf wanted the quest to be over and forgotten, while the others wanted to finish what their old leader had begun. Their arguments and thoughts were flashing back and forth, bouncing between the parties. Only fragments reaching her mind, Lìfa felt like she got stuck between the two, unable to leave or to concentrate with her head still pounding with pain.

Suddenly, she felt a bony hand on her shoulder, tearing her from the safety of Sveinn's shadow. Before she could say anything, she found herself in the middle with all eyes pinned on her. Even though Lìfa knew this moment would come, she felt her stomach shrinking to the size of an apple.

Frode had prepared her for this day long ago; they'd been talking her dreams and their chances through a hundred times and the conclusions were always the same. She just didn't expect him to push her forward under these circumstances.

"We do have something to follow. The girl is special." The way Frode's words made Vidar spit on the ground and Halfdan shake his head disapprovingly made Lìfa's palm sweat and the ball in her throat grow. "Tell them!"

After a big breath, she slowly pulled her sleeve up, uncovering the pink lines running across her forearm. The air so heated up before now turned ice cold in a heartbeat as everyone took a step back, reaching for their amulets and murmuring prayers. Using the momentary silence, she held her arm out in the middle for everyone to see and spoke the words she's been waiting for all winter.

"We have this to follow. Before the crystal got destroyed I made a copy of the constellations it kept inside." She tried to sound confident, hoping the others wouldn't notice the slight shake in her voice. "With this and the runes of the map, which I learned to read, we can reach its final destination."

The air filled up with excitement as the men around the table still stared at Lìfa's arm, whispering to each other. The news amazed both sides, she could see it in the way they placed their weight from one leg to another and the way they scratched their beards deep in thought.

"Alright. Let's say we have everything to set sail and go. But why? Tell me one good reason we should leave our wives," Olaf leaned against the table, shooting a meaningful look at Sveinn, "and leave our home for the unknown again?"

"Because I had a dream. A vision. I– I saw something..." Uncertain how to tell them, Lìfa lifted her eyes at the godi, asking for help or any reassurance, but he only gave her a small nod. Swallowing the ball in her throat, she straightened herself and continued. "Our lands in flames from the South up to the North. An army so big our people have never witnessed before. Whatever lies by the mark of this map, we need it more than ever."

Slow clapping cut her speech as Vidar walked around the table with a sarcastic smile on his face. He stepped between Frode and Lìfa, putting his arms around them. He pulled Lìfa so close, she could feel him still stinking from last night's drinks. The presence of the scout and the hatred shining from his eyes made her stomach turn again, making her want to get as far from him as possible.

"How noble! I guess it's no question then that we are going! Look, how touched and determined they are!" he nodded towards the others. No one moved just yet, waiting for him to finally spit out what he wanted, but Lìfa saw their faces slowly hardening, giving cold glares to the scout. Finally, he let her go, turning his attention to the godi with a smug smile.

"And of course, if we're setting sail again, we'll need a new jarl."

Notes:
Muspelheim - One of the Nine Realms the world builds up of in Norse Mythology. The land of fire and lava is the home of the Firefolk and their ruler, Surtur.