《Huld's tree wishes》


 Prologue: Huld鈥檚 tree

    It was getting dark. The winter day was inexorably coming to an end, signaling the end of the hunt. And it had been a very unsuccessful day for Ulv ¨C wandering through the mountains all day, he hadn''t managed to shoot anything and was thoroughly frozen.


    The hapless hunter was about to head back to the village when, suddenly, he stopped and listened intently. From somewhere nearby, unless it was just his mind playing tricks with echoes, came muffled sounds of rattling.


    Ulv looked around ¨C the sun had already disappeared behind the neighboring peak, but the thin blanket of white snow still preserved fragments of reflected light. Ulv decided he could still take a look at the source of the mysterious sounds and then make his way down the mountain in the daylight, unburdened.


    Navigating between jagged boulders and leaning pines, he ascended higher, following the increasing sound of numerous dull claps. Until against the backdrop of the purple sky, the massive crown of a gigantic tree began to outline itself. Its bare branches were adorned with numerous wooden planks resembling foliage in the twilight. It was these planks that produced the sounds of hundreds of rattles in the wind.


    Finding himself under the shade of the eccentric tree, Ulv couldn''t help but marvel once again, fully grasping its size. Curiosity got the better of him, and he reached for the nearest wooden plaque, spotting a crudely written inscription on it.


    - Don''t touch that! - a worried maiden''s voice carried over.


    The hunter quickly turned around and saw a lovely maiden in beautiful festive attire, adorned with colorful amber beads and a wreath of white mistletoe in her platinum hair, sitting on a rock.


    - Why not? - Ulv asked, overcoming his initial unease at the sudden encounter.


    - You shouldn''t remove them; they are someone else''s wishes, - the maiden explained kindly, realizing that the young man was listening to her.


    - Wishes? - Ulv didn''t quite understand.


    - Yes, the Forest God can grant any wish, - the maiden nodded and smiled, - but only one!


    Do you want to make a wish? - she inquired, studying the guest with warm green eyes.


    - But her warmth only multiplied the feeling of unease in the young man''s heart. He stepped back a few paces and asked:


    - And who are you?


    - Huld, - the maiden introduced herself eagerly, - I''m the priestess of the sacred tree.


    - If you want to make a wish, take a clean plank from the roots and carve it... - she suggested.


    - What if I hang several plaques on the tree? - Ulv jokingly asked, mistaking the maiden for an oracle.


    - Only the one that the deity reads first will come true, - she replied.


    - Look, - she pointed to the distant treetop, - many believe that the higher they tie the wish, the sooner it will come true.


    - Is that so? - the hunter smirked.


    - Only if the god starts reading from top to bottom, - Huld replied with seriousness but still smiling.


    Ulv chuckled, but a dull needle pricked his heart ¨C an unattainable dream that had been carefully kept deep inside, but now suddenly awakened with greed. He fell silent for a while, gathering his thoughts, and then asked:


    - Has your wish been granted?


    Huld was surprised ¨C her beautiful eyes squinted for a moment, but the smile remained on her lips:


    - No, not yet...


    - Has at least one wish come true? - the young man shouted mockingly into the air, filled with other people''s trembling aspirations.


    - Of course, countless wishes have been fulfilled, - the girl confirmed.


    - Look - if the plank cracks, it means the wish has been granted.


    Ulv followed her advice and glanced once again at the nearby plaques ¨C they were all darkened with age and barely legible, but none of them were intact.


    The young man said nothing but looked at the handful of clean planks. A cautious hope stirred inside him, giving him resolve ¨C Ulv took out a dagger from his boot and began to carve messy letters.


    - I want to marry Inga, the daughter of the village elder, - he shouted as if for reassurance, hanging up the finished plaque.


    He thought Hulda would laugh at him and his absurd wish, but that didn''t happen. Instead, when Ulv turned his gaze to the girl, he found only emptiness ¨C between the tall rocks echoed ominous rattles, and the winter gloom thickened.


    Ulv looked around, searching for his newfound acquaintance, but standing there in complete solitude, he felt truly scared. Panic quickly set in ¨C he turned around and ran away. He didn''t know exactly why ¨C perhaps it was his own fear.


    Night caught up with him on the outskirts of the forest, but ahead, the lights of humble houses beckoned. Entering the village, Ulv was firmly convinced that everything that had happened was just a dream... And if not, he would never admit it to himself.


    However, no matter what Ulv thought, his life soon took a sharp turn. He became a much luckier hunter, and as a result, gained respect among the villagers. Even the village elder started trusting him with small tasks.


    Once or twice, crossing paths near her house with Inga, Ulv secretly remembered his cherished plaque. But the wish carved on it had no chance of coming true ¨C after all, the girl had long had another betrothed.


    But at some point, the young man stopped caring about all of that. For the first time, venturing out of the village and accompanying a cart of furs to the city, Ulv suddenly realized how vast the world around him was. He saw that it was full of things he had never even heard of before.Stolen novel; please report.


    Arriving in a tiny provincial town, completely unlike his distant village, he firmly decided that he must leave, break free from his corner, and explore the wider world. The dream of someday becoming the village elder seemed suddenly foolish and mundane to him. And Inga, compared to the city girls, seemed just ordinary.


    On the way back, the young man dreamt of becoming an assistant to a wandering merchant and venturing into uncharted lands. But as soon as he returned home, reality quickly sobered him up with news ¨C while he was away, Inga''s betrothed died during a hunt.


    Upon hearing this, something stirred in Ulv''s chest, but it was far from joyful. A slippery feeling twisted his insides into a knot of anxiety and fear, pushing right up to his throat.


    - Ulv... Ulv! - his father''s voice interrupted him.


    - It''s too early to announce it, but I talked to the village elder, - the man proudly declared, patting his son''s shoulder warmly.


    - About what? - Ulv, confused and worried, didn''t understand.


    - The village elder agreed to marry Inga to you, - the father announced with pleasure in his voice.


    - Yes, - he corrected himself, - we''ll have to wait a bit for appearances'' sake, but...


    - But I don''t want to... - Ulv replied colorlessly, as if against his own will, still bewildered.


    - What do you mean, you don''t want to? - the man''s voice rose in anger.


    - For whom do you think I did all this? - he asked.


    - You wanted this - I fulfilled your wish! - the father replied with reproach.


    These words were like a knife cutting through the young man''s heart - he vividly pictured the dark branches adorned with countless plaques. He could almost hear their trembling in the wind. His heart broke and sank somewhere cold and tight.


    For the next few weeks, Ulv poorly grasped what was happening - on one hand, everything was unfolding as he had wished, but on the other hand, he no longer felt the desire he had made. This ambivalence tore his soul apart, causing doubts.


    But in reality, the young man had no choice. To refuse the marriage proposed by themselves would mean disgrace for the family in all neighboring villages. And his father would not allow that...


    The day before the wedding ceremony, relatives from neighboring villages started to gather. Men warmly greeted each other, gathering in a large, bustling company where the celebration was already beginning.


    Ulv listened to them, surrounded by the haze of alcohol, hearing their exaggerated stories of distant cities and unseen adventures, and he felt sick at heart.


    - I''ll run away! Yes, I''ll definitely run away! - he impulsively decided after the second jug of ale.


    But in his suddenly cleared mind, the unfortunate plaque with the wish emerged once again.


    - But it hasn''t come true yet! - the young man marveled at the simplicity of this truth, recalling Huld''s words that the plaques crack when wishes are fulfilled.


    - I just need to remove it from the tree while it''s still intact! - he rejoiced.


    And then he slumped, realizing that all of this: running away, returning the plaque ¨C should have happened much earlier. It was already getting dark outside, and tomorrow''s ceremony seemed closer and more inevitable than ever.


    He sat in a corner, looking lost for a few more minutes, and then something changed in his expression. Blind determination took hold of him, and he willingly succumbed to flawed logic.


    A few hours later, armed with a smoky torch, Ulv climbed the mountain. Without fully discerning the path, he stubbornly marched upward as if his feet knew the right way on their own. Soon enough, he was convinced of this when he heard the characteristic sound of rattles from afar, a sound that had pursued him in his dreams more than once.


    However, upon reaching his destination, he froze, struck by an unprecedented sight. The snow at the base of the sacred tree had melted away, revealing not earth and stones but actual amber boulders. They shimmered with dancing reflections of the flame under the torchlight. Tiny sparkling droplets of resin, falling from the dense branches, created the effect of a golden rain.


    - Hulda! - the young man shouted, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the unprecedented beauty and searching for the priestess.


    - No. Of course, she''s not here at this time! - Ulv scolded himself.


    He began to search for his plaque among the others, but they all looked exactly the same in the uneven torchlight. Impatience and haste quickly turned into anger in Ulv, and grabbing his dagger, he began to cut the cords on all the plaques within his reach.


    After some time, the amber was strewn with shredded yellowish leaves and detestable plaques. Without the reflected shimmer, it became noticeably darker, or so it seemed to Ulv. He stood there, panting, amidst the chaos he had created, trying to make out his own wish at his feet, but he couldn''t.


    The wind calmed down, and silence settled in the narrow space between the rocks. Only the drops of resin, as they fell into the fire, disappeared with a characteristic bubbling sound, drowning out Ulv''s heavy breathing.


    The young man looked into the fire, and a new plan was born in his mind and immediately put into action. He brought the torch closer to the resin-covered branches, and they burst into crimson flames, quickly spreading throughout the canopy.


    - No more wishes, nothing left to fulfill! - Ulv exclaimed triumphantly, stepping back from the hot, fragrant tongues of flame.


    Overjoyed, he hurried back to the village, now feeling completely free - he could leave everything behind and embark on an exciting new future. All that was left was to take his father''s horse and disappear before dawn.


    He was already halfway to his intended escape when he stumbled on the mossy slope and tumbled down head over heels. The naive childish joy had barely mixed with fear within him when Ulv landed on a sharp protrusion, ending his life.


    In the morning, they searched for the groom-to-be for a long time, but in vain. Quietly, his father checked the family treasure, suspecting his careless son of running away, but fortunately found nothing missing. He was so relieved that he was ready to endure all the shameful reproaches from the village elder.


    Inga blushed with shame behind her father''s back, unable to hide from the mocking gazes of the numerous guests. This was already her second failed wedding.


    - He just got drunk and passed out somewhere! - yesterday''s companions of Ulv laughed heartily.


    - That''s right, - the unfortunate father echoed them, cursing his son inwardly.


    - What should we do next? - the village elder exclaimed indignantly.


    - Just hold the ceremony without the groom, - suggested an elderly relative of Inga.


    - That''s only done for those who have gone off to war, - the village elder protested, - not for someone who got drunk somewhere.


    - Well, how long should we wait then? - voices chimed in from all sides.


    The matchmakers began to doubt - the ceremony was supposed to be held at dawn under the young moon, and gathering the guests again would be an unnecessary expense.


    So, at the wedding, the place of the groom was marked by his festive coat, as was customary in the old days for young men going off to war. And Inga''s eyes, wet with tears from bitter mockery, remained fixed on the floor¡­


    ***


    At the top of the golden-leaved tree sat a light-haired deity with green eyes, fiddling with a well-known wish on a wooden tablet. It was difficult to say for sure which gender the deity belonged to, as everyone saw it differently. But the absence of lavish amber beads gave it a decidedly boyish appearance.


    As tying the cracked tablet to a branch, Huld''s beautiful eyes were filled with sadness. Their depth was so profound that it seemed tears would spill forth any moment.


    A gust of wind stirred the unyielding crown of the sacred tree, causing it to sway like Huld''s soul. The centuries-old hopes, awakened from their slumber, quivered in the leaves. Among them, at the very top, appeared an amber tablet, almost indistinguishable from the golden foliage. It caught Huld''s gaze, making the owner even more melancholic. On the sparkling smooth surface, untouched by time, the words were clearly visible:


    - May the wishes I grant make people happy.

 Story 1. Weavers of destinies

    Under the great Tree of Existence, Idras sat the old Norn, a six-armed weaver of human destinies, spinning the fabric of the cosmos from her silken platinum hair. Her eyes, clouded with time, were blind, but her hands were skilled and precise - the fabric beneath them was smooth and weightless.


    At the roots of the golden-leaved tree, three fair-haired children watched over her tireless work. Their amber eyes were clear and attentive, their gazes too focused for their young age.


    Despite their outward resemblance, Norn was not their mother - the triplets were born from the singular fruit of Idras, the tree of life. They were meant to grow and learn the craft of weaving. However, to the teacher''s dismay, the children had vastly different characters.


    Urdr was attentive to Norn''s teachings, eagerly absorbing every word. Verdandi was marked by excessive zeal, at times hindering her from fully grasping the mentor''s doctrines. And Skuld was plagued by excessive doubts, sometimes even about Norn''s fundamental tenets.


    - What if people don''t like how their destinies are woven together? - inquired the curious Skuld, and Norn sighed heavily.


    - Their happiness is not your concern, - the mentor replied displeased, tired of such heresy.


    - But we could easily fix it, couldn''t we? - Skuld naively remarked.


    Norn became visibly angry - her blind gaze gave away her frustration as she looked at the careless student.


    - By weaving an extra thread into the fabric, you leave its end clumsily hanging, - Norn explained.


    - Pull on it, and the thread will unravel, leaving an unsightly mark on the fabric...


    The mentor fell silent. Her unquestionable tone indicated that the discussion was over.


    - All of you, go and practice weaving destinies: war and sea are the most intricate patterns, - commanded the mentor.


    - But you, stay behind, Urdr, - she stopped one of the girls. - I have something to tell you...


    Verde complied, but her expression was discontented. She cast a curious glance towards her sister who remained, then obediently followed Skuld.


    - Do you think Mistress Norn teaches Urdr separately from us, right? - the girl spoke up anxiously.


    - Why would she? - Skuld genuinely wondered.


    - I don''t know, - Verde shrugged. - It''s just that she seems to weave better than anyone else.


    - I wish I had another pair of hands soon, so I can weave patterns as quickly as our mistress does, - Verde admitted shyly.


    - Mistress Norn said it will happen when we reach the right age, don''t worry, - Skuld reassured her friend, who was particularly troubled by such matters.


    - I know, - sighed Verde, - but I wish it would happen sooner...


    - Are you skipping practice again? - she asked Skuld when she saw the girl veering off the path.


    - I don''t want to weave those patterns, - confessed Skuld.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    - Mistress will be upset with you again... - Verde warned half-heartedly as Skuld walked away.


    Skuld indeed often neglected the instructions of Mistress Norn. Instead, she would go to the Source of Change to watch the river serpent Nidhe gnaw at the roots of Idhras. And on clear days, from the edge of the world, she would peer down at the human realm, separated by a veil of clouds.


    Today''s weather was unusually overcast, and Skuld, venturing to study the mortal world, quickly despaired of seeing anything. Walking back along the winding path, she pondered the words of the ancient Norn, inventing all sorts of new crazy ideas.


    But they all flew out of her head when she spotted Verde lying in the tall grass. Her eyes, unblinking, gazed at the sky, and were as clouded as the blind eyes of their mistress.


    - Verde, - Skuld called out to her sister, clearly concerned. But Verde didn''t respond, didn''t even stir at the sound of her voice. Only the wind rustled through Verde''s platinum locks, swaying the whispering blades of the drooping grass at her brow.


    - What''s wrong with you? - Skuld asked again, unaware of what death was like.


    - She stopped seeing, like Mistress Norn, and now she''s upset that she won''t be able to learn from her anymore, - Skuld decided, mistaking her sister''s silence for distress.


    Her heart filled with pity and compassion for Verde, who desired so strongly to master the great mystery but was doomed to lose this opportunity at such a young age.


    Skuld found it unfair:


    - Don''t be sad, Verde, - she soothingly stroked her sister''s light curls.


    - I will fetch the fruit of Idras for you - it''s the source of life and surely can restore your sight.


    Filled with this thought, Skuld hurried to the Tree of Existence. She knew that this plan, like others, was not destined to gain the approval of their mentor, Norn. And so, to bypass her, she decided to climb the vast tree from the side of the Source.


    This turned out to be much more difficult than it seemed at first - the bark of Idras was smooth, and the nearest branches were very high. But the girl didn''t give up, slipping down time after time, and trying again until she finally grabbed hold of the lower branch.


    - What are you doing? - a familiar voice sounded from behind her.


    Skuld turned around and saw Urd, who was watching her efforts. The girl looked much older than before - her amber eyes had darkened, almost turning coppery, and in the wide sleeves of her shirt, another pair of hands could be seen. But Skuld''s fleeting glance didn''t immediately notice these changes.


    - I want to get the fruit of Idras for Verde, - the girl explained, sitting precariously on a thin branch.


    - She has gone blind, like Lady Norn, - Skuld continued, catching her breath, - and she was deeply saddened that she could no longer learn to weave...


    - Come down, - demanded the girl from below.


    - I want to help her - please don''t tell Lady Norn, - Skuld begged, knowing how Urd zealously followed Lady Norn''s instructions.


    - The fruit of life won''t help her, Skuld, - Urd replied indifferently, - Verde is dead.


    - Dead? - Skuld asked, puzzled.


    - That''s your fate - Verde''s and yours, - Urd confirmed just as coldly.


    - When it''s time to die, the weavers of fate go blind.


    - But why? - Skuld wondered.


    The cruel words of her sister about death didn''t so much frighten Skuld as they sparked a new wave of curiosity in her. After all, the only death she had witnessed before was the cutting of threads by Norns during the weaving of human lives.


    - That''s because there''s always only one weaver of destinies, Skuld - explained Urd.


    - From the fruit of Yggdrasil, three are born, but the previous weaver chooses only the most worthy.


    - And that''s you, Urd?


    - Yes, Lady Norn chose me, just as she was chosen before among three sisters.


    - But I don''t even want to be a weaver - confessed Skuld - why do I have to die?


    - Because as long as you''re alive, you still have one part of the fruit of life from which we were born.


    - And without it, I won''t attain my true form - shrugged Urd.


    - But don''t worry, sister, the time is almost here: look - your eyes have already lost their amber glow - noted Urd, whose appearance was continuously changing.


    Skuld, driven by her own curiosity, leaned forward thoughtlessly to see her reflection in the crystalline waters of the Well of Change. However, the branch of Yggdrasil beneath her proved too thin - it trembled and bent, ultimately breaking off.


    In Urd''s astonished ruby eyes, there was reflected both Skuld''s fall into the churning waters and the way her delicate form was caught in the whirlpool, spiraling and then sinking into the abyss.


    The serene countenance of the beautiful maiden Urd did not darken with sorrow at this sight. However, a hint of confusion shone through when she looked at her hands and realized that there were now only four of them...

 Story 2. From Heaven to Earth

    A crowd had gathered in the square in front of King Harold¡¯s palace. An old priest was performing a ceremony to praise Odin at the fortress gates, with the noisy crowd cheering him on. Behind him, on a raised platform, the king himself stood watching the proceedings gloomily.


    Harold honored the gods, as his ancestors¡¯ traditions demanded, but in matters of war and governance, he relied only on his own wits and strength. And as such, the will of the gods often seemed to be in his favor.


    But on this day, even Harold could not shake the uneasy feeling that gnawed at him. This was because the weather for the ceremony was particularly unfavorable¡ªheavy, leaden clouds swirled and writhed in agony under fierce gusts of wind, while lightning flashed somewhere in the sky. Such foul weather was always interpreted by the priests as a bad omen, and it was usually the king who had to deal with the consequences.


    But then, a lightning bolt struck, splitting the sky in two, and a torrential downpour began. Cold raindrops drummed against the fortress walls and the gathered crowd, drowning out the chanting of the frail old priest in his robes.


    Something small, almost weightless, like a piece of silk fabric, slipped through the rain and fell to the ground at the priest¡¯s feet, splashing sticky mud. The thunderclap deafened the onlookers for a moment, gifting a fleeting silence that lent the scene a sense of sacredness.


    The old man laboriously bent down to examine the strange object, leaning on his staff, and then straightened up, holding a fair-haired child in his arms. Despite the dark mess beneath his feet, the child¡¯s platinum curls and snow-white clothes remained pristine, as though the dirt repelled from him.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The child¡¯s eyes were green and so clear that those watching felt as though his gaze pierced through them. In his hands, he held a long branch, adorned with shimmering golden leaves.


    - Who are you, child of the heavens? - croaked the priest, as the crowd waited in silent anticipation.


    King Harold, standing behind him, nervously rose from his seat - for the first time in a long while, he was genuinely confused and unsure of what to do.


    The child¡¯s gaze finally turned to the old man. He blinked, as though considering an answer, or perhaps not understanding the question at all.


    - I am Skuld - the weaver of fates... - the child quietly and uncertainly whispered into the priest¡¯s ear.


    - What?.. What?! - murmured the crowd, their voices filled with anxious confusion.


    In response, the priest struck his staff, calling for silence, and said:


    - Odin has sent us His messenger, - the old man grumbled in a solemn voice, - Huld, the one who knows the fates!


    The fair-haired child was surprised by such a spectacle, but the crowd gasped loudly and pressed forward to get a better look at the divine messenger. Skuld was frightened, both by the strangers and their sudden obsession, so the words that the old man had distorted her name were lost, as if by themselves.


    The confusion was caused by the simple fact that the elderly priest was nearly deaf and had simply not heard Skuld properly. But among the common folk, thanks to his words, the rumor spread quickly, glorifying her new name.

 Story 3. One wish

    Bersi considered himself quite lucky¡ªsince childhood, he had been known as a clever lad, and so he passed the selection for work in the royal fortress on his very first attempt. It couldn''t be said that his service had been easy and carefree, especially during those first few months he had spent as a kitchen assistant. But, in the end, he had no real reason to complain about his fate.


    Walking the familiar path to the chambers of Odin''s Great Messenger once again, Bersi quietly hummed a mournful tune from a heroic ballad he had heard in town the day before. But as he turned the corner, he was met with a rather unpleasant sight¡ªthough by now, it had become routine. Two guards were dragging yet another high priest of Odin out of the fortress. Lately, they had been changing with alarming frequency.


    Bersi fell silent and stepped back behind the wall, wanting no part in anything even remotely compromising. He understood nothing about palace intrigues or politics, but his intuition had always warned him to keep a safe distance from such matters.


    The guards continued down the corridor, but Bersi didn¡¯t move until they had completely disappeared down the stairs. Only then did his spirits lift again, and he stepped out of his hiding spot, striding forward with renewed confidence, balancing a tray of food in his hands.


    The entrances to the palace¡¯s inner garden were sealed with wrought iron gates, but through the bars, one could glimpse dense honeysuckle and heather bushes. Sometimes, Bersi was tempted to take a closer look, but, of course, entry to the garden was strictly forbidden to him.


    Approaching the massive gate, the young man knocked his knuckles against the wooden beam and whispered softly:


    - Lais... Laaaais! It''s me¡ªBersi!"


    He waited for a couple of minutes, but no response came. What¡¯s more, after carefully scanning the garden through the bars, Bersi saw no sign of anyone hurrying to meet him. However, he did notice the golden crown of the Sacred Tree standing tall in the center of the courtyard.


    Bersi knew that Lais wasn¡¯t particularly bright, but she was always quick on her feet¡ªthere was no way she would forget to fetch her master¡¯s meal. But he had been delayed while hiding from the guards, and perhaps Lais had given up waiting for him.


    - Could I really be punished for this?! - Bersi shuddered at the thought, having maintained a spotless reputation until now.


    But blind luck¡ªor perhaps it was Huld¡¯s sister, Urd¡ªdecided otherwise. Something stirred behind the honeysuckle bush, and before Bersi¡¯s eyes appeared the very messenger of Odin. The boy was nearly two heads shorter than the servant, yet his demeanor and gaze did not seem childlike to Bersi in the slightest.


    Huld stepped up to the delicate wrought-iron bars and looked directly into the face of the frozen visitor. Only then did Bersi realize how terribly rude it was to look down upon the messenger¡ªhe dropped to his knees at once and bowed deeply. But Huld paid no heed to his behavior.


    - Lais is not here, - Huld said, addressing Bersi.


    To be completely honest, Bersi had no desire to respond to the boy¡ªnor did he wish to meet him face to face. But to remain silent would be just as disrespectful.


    - I beg your pardon for disturbing you, my lord, - the servant stammered.


    - I have brought your meal and am waiting for your attendant...


    - There is no one else here, - Huld interrupted.


    This news surprised Bersi, but he did not let it show.


    - Then, with your permission, I will leave the tray here,- he said, carefully setting his burden on the floor, near the designated opening in the bars.


    - Harald ordered the priest to be taken away again?- Huld asked, as if he hadn''t heard the servant¡¯s words at all.


    - I wouldn¡¯t know, forgive me, - Bersi lied, silently noting how casually the messenger spoke of their ruler.


    - Everyone I asked never came back¡­- Huld exhaled sorrowfully.


    A chill ran down the servant¡¯s spine at those words¡ªhe realized in an instant what had become of Lais and the rest of Huld¡¯s attendants. His mind raced, desperately searching for a way to escape, but the divine messenger stunned him with another unexpected question:


    - Are you happy?Stolen story; please report.


    Bersi was so taken aback that he lifted his eyes from the floor and met Huld¡¯s gaze¡ªthose green eyes sent a shiver of reverent awe through him.


    - Yes, my lord... I think so, - Bersi stammered.


    Huld smiled¡ªa smile so warm and gentle that Bersi unwittingly let his guard down.


    - Harald says that the wishes I grant make people happy¡ªso it must be true, - Huld said, genuinely delighted.


    - Wishes?..- the servant echoed thoughtlessly, captivated by the joy on the messenger¡¯s face.


    - Yes, - Huld nodded, - Harald has many wishes, though I don¡¯t understand all of them¡­


    - He wants mountains of precious gems and gold, wants to rule ever more lands, and for his enemies to be utterly defeated...


    - But I just want everyone to be happy, - Huld smiled.


    - You grant wishes, my lord?.. - Bersi asked, both astonished and horrified in equal measure.


    - Well, yes. Harald says that as long as I am by his side, I can bring happiness to all.


    - And you... have you ever tried granting anyone else¡¯s wish?- the servant asked, almost against his own will.


    Bersi understood all too well that the na?ve, benevolent deity had been deceived by King Harald, known among the people as "the Conqueror." He was horrified by his newfound knowledge, but he couldn¡¯t remain silent while looking into Huld¡¯s green eyes.


    The little god¡¯s eyes widened in surprise - he hesitated for a moment, then asked:


    - And what do you want?


    - Well, I¡¯d like to work as a palace cook until the end of my days - there¡¯s good food and a warm place to sleep here, - the servant blurted out without thinking.


    - You have a simple wish, - Huld said with a warm smile.


    - Most people do, I think, - Bersi murmured, feeling awkward.


    - Harald¡­ has complicated wishes, - Huld countered, suddenly frowning.


    - Wishes like yours - I could grant so many more, and much faster, - he noted.


    - If you waste time, you won¡¯t be able to fulfill all of Lord Harald¡¯s wishes, - Bersi quickly objected, terrified of what he had inadvertently encouraged the messenger to do.


    Huld fell into serious thought over Bersi¡¯s hasty words.


    - But what if just one¡­? - he murmured uncertainly.


    - What if I grant everyone a single wish?! - Huld said, suddenly filled with enthusiasm.


    Bersi¡¯s heart plummeted into a chasm of horror. He hurriedly tried to dissuade the young god, but his words only seemed to make things worse:


    - Oh, no, my lord!


    - You reside in the halls of the royal stronghold¡­ Meeting you is the greatest honor for a humble servant like me, and¡­


    Bersi realized, even as he spoke, that he had made an even greater mistake. But it was far too late to fix it¡ªat least, not on his own.


    - You''re right, - Huld agreed eagerly, - there were so many people beyond the fortress walls!


    - If I go outside, I¡¯ll be able to hear their wishes! - he exclaimed in delight.


    Huld turned and disappeared into the honeysuckle thickets.


    For a moment, Bersi dared to hope that the little god wouldn¡¯t be able to leave his beautiful prison. But then, he realized his mistake.


    The crown of the Sacred Tree shuddered, as if caught in a gust of wind - then faded into the air like a mirage.


    The terrified servant was smart enough to realize exactly who would bear the wrath of King Harold if he ever discovered that it was Bersi who had played a hand in Huld¡¯s escape. Or perhaps¡­ he would be punished regardless.


    Rushing down into the castle¡¯s half-basement kitchen, Bersi skipped several steps at a time. The suffocating sense of doom and inevitable punishment spurred him forward, though he knew full well that his frantic behavior would only give him away.


    As he entered the kitchen, he froze in place - his master stood waiting for him. Desperately, Bersi tried to steady his breath after the long run.


    - Bersi, -  the cook greeted him, - I have excellent news for you.


    - Truly, sir? - the boy asked nervously.


    - Yes. You¡¯re a clever lad, and I¡¯ve decided to take you on as my apprentice now that a spot has opened up¡­


    Bersi barely listened. His face went even paler as he realized that the kind-hearted Huld had not forgotten, before leaving, to fulfill his cherished wish.


    Mumbling an excuse to his puzzled master, Bersi slipped away to the common sleeping quarters. There, he reached into the gap in the stone wall behind the bunks and pulled out all his savings.


    He was going to run.


    ***


    King Harold sat in his high-backed chair, staring blankly from the terrace as the ravens pecked at the remains of the wretched servant who had dared to speak with his god.


    The first waves of madness that had gripped him after Huld¡¯s disappearance had now subsided, but his courtiers still feared to approach their ruler. And so, Harold was left to his thoughts in complete solitude.


    Now, for what must have been the hundredth time, he sifted through the wishes he had made, searching them over and over for flaws. And what troubled him most was that he had never told Huld that he intended to rule his lands forever.


    Harold vividly imagined the shadows writhing at the edges of his domain, greedy hands reaching toward his wealth, and once again, he felt the hot rush of impotent rage.


    Darkness thickened. The ravens cawed wickedly over Beresi¡¯s corpse, mocking Harold¡¯s misfortune. And autumn was fading.

 Story 4. Someones wish

    The sun had just begun to rise above the horizon, but poor Atli was already dragging his cart toward the market square. Dark circles lay under his eyes, and echoes of last night''s drinking still pounded in his head. He would have gladly slept in until noon, but he had squandered his last coins at the tavern.


    His foul mood was fueled by every little thing he encountered along the way: the bumpy road, a striped cat that darted under his wheels from around the corner, the low-hanging sun blinding his swollen eyes¡­ But the final straw was the massive tree blocking his path to the right row.


    Atli looked around, glancing at the still-closed stalls, sluggishly trying to figure out if he had taken the right way. The road was correct, his old cart hadn¡¯t changed, and yet¡ªsomehow¡ªthis enormous tree had appeared where it had no place being.


    He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them hard, desperately trying to recall how exactly he had passed through here before, reasonably thinking that trees didn¡¯t just sprout overnight. But he was interrupted by a concerned child''s voice:


    ¨C Does it bother you? ¨C someone asked, and to Atli, it seemed as though the voice came from above.


    The man squinted his swollen eyelids and stared intently into the golden canopy. There, perched on a branch in a colorful outfit, sat a fair-haired child with green eyes. His gaze was so expressive that it outshone the overly expensive attire.


    ¨C What are you¡­ ¨C Atli hesitated, suspecting the boy¡¯s high status.


    ¨C What are you doing alone¡­ at this hour¡­ up in a tree?


    ¨C I wanted to pick a place where there would be many people, ¨C the child explained vaguely.


    ¨C So, you got lost then? ¨C the man guessed, finally letting go of his cart¡¯s shafts.


    ¨C No, I don¡¯t think so, ¨C the boy hesitated, pondering the question.


    He looked westward, as if verifying something, and then said:


    ¨C Yes, look, there''s Harold¡¯s castle.


    Atli obediently glanced in the direction of the fortress, and his suspicions only grew stronger.


    ¨C Ah, so you¡¯re waiting for someone to come for you, my lord? ¨C he swiftly changed his tone, making an effort to sound respectfully servile.


    ¨C I wouldn¡¯t say that, ¨C Huld replied.


    ¨C Then let me take you there, ¨C Atli offered eagerly, already greedily anticipating the coins he¡¯d be rewarded with for returning a noble child.


    ¨C Where? ¨C the boy asked.


    ¨C To the castle, ¨C the man clarified, his voice dripping with flattery.


    ¨C Why? ¨C Huld didn¡¯t understand.


    ¨C To return you to your family, of course, ¨C Atli began losing patience.


    ¨C I don¡¯t think that¡¯s within your power, ¨C Huld noted reasonably, misinterpreting Atli¡¯s words.


    The man was truly angered now¡ªthe sun was rising higher and higher, and with each passing minute, the risk grew that someone else might notice the noble child. In the best case, Atli would have to share his reward, and in the worst, he¡¯d lose it entirely. But the drunkard had already caught the scent of easy money and wasn¡¯t about to let some brat¡¯s whims stand in his way. He pondered how best to get the little rascal down without earning the wrath of his noble parents.


    But while Atli was deep in thought¡ªsomething that didn¡¯t happen to him often¡ªHuld repeated his initial question:


    ¨C The tree¡­ does it block your way?


    ¨C Huh? Oh, to Hel* with it! ¨C the man waved him off, glancing at his old cart.


    ¨C I¡¯d forgotten it was even there.


    ¨C What I really need is a horse, so I don¡¯t have to drag this junk myself¡­ ¨C Atli sighed wistfully, momentarily distracted from his scheme.


    He hadn¡¯t even finished his thought when Huld reached up and plucked a golden leaf from above. Twisting it between his fingers, he wrapped a pale thread around its stem and then tossed it down at Atli¡¯s feet.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¨C Here, take it, ¨C Huld said.


    Atli almost decided then and there that the boy must be mad, but before he could scoff, the leaf trembled, twitched, and began to grow before his astonished eyes. Its shape twisted and expanded in an instant, and there, right in the middle of the marketplace, between him and the tree, a tall, stately palomino horse had grown¡ªthere was no other word for it.


    Atli, who once, in a drunken stupor, had mistaken a rat for a puppy, was completely dumbfounded. He stumbled backward from the marvel before him, lost his footing, and collapsed onto the edge of his cart, exhaling so loudly it was as if he had given up the ghost.


    ¡ª Are you happy? ¡ª the boy asked with a smile.


    ¡ª I granted your wish.


    ¡ª A wish? ¡ª Atli croaked hoarsely, barely able to tear his eyes away from the horse.


    ¡ª Uh-huh, ¡ª Huld confirmed from the tree, swinging his legs in the air like any carefree child.


    Something stirred unexpectedly in Atli¡¯s fevered mind¡ªonce, long ago, when he was still a youth, he had witnessed a priest of Odin summon a divine messenger to earth, and it had appeared in the form of a fair-haired child.


    Atli swallowed hard, staring at Huld with reverent terror. In his miserable, long-derailed life, a bolt of lightning had suddenly struck, illuminating an entire world of unimaginable possibilities. And the sheer scale of them left him gasping for air.


    ¡ª I¡­ I¡­ ¡ª he stammered, like a spoiled child before a stall bursting with colorful trinkets.


    ¡ª I only grant one wish, ¡ª Huld cut him off, having understood all too well where this was going.


    ¡ª But¡­ but this¡­ ¡ª Atli¡¯s excitement instantly faded as he glanced at the palomino marvel before him.


    ¡ª This isn¡¯t it! ¡ª he protested with conviction.


    ¡ª Isn¡¯t it? ¡ª Huld asked, surprised and visibly saddened by his mistake.


    ¡ª Then what is it that you truly want?


    Atli¡¯s eyes darted frantically as he started reconsidering, now with far greater caution¡ªhe doubted the deity would let him make another mistake. His head quickly began to overheat from the frantic back-and-forth of his thoughts, though all traces of his drunken stupor had long since vanished.


    ¡ª Gold! ¡ª he finally declared, unable to fully articulate his vision of a luxurious life.


    ¡ª Yes, gold¡­ and plenty of it¡ªa whole cart full! ¡ª Atli nodded fervently.


    ¡ª Alright, ¡ª Huld readily agreed.


    The child plucked another golden leaf and tossed it onto the pile of firewood Atli had been hauling to the bakery. In an instant, every log transformed into gleaming gold. But before Atli could fully revel in his newfound fortune, the rotting planks of his cart groaned in protest. They creaked, bent under the weight, and with a harsh crack, gave way¡ªdumping the entire load onto the ground.


    The noise roused sluggish movement from the drowsy shopfronts lining the street. Groggy shopkeepers began to emerge, drawn by the commotion, their gazes quickly sharpening as they took in the scene.


    ¡ª Mine! ¡ª Atli bellowed, his voice ringing through half the street in desperate fury. But who would listen to a ragged drunkard?


    ***


    The marketplace was in utter chaos, though not due to the usual bustle of trading hours. No one was buying or selling¡ªon the contrary, finding a merchant at their own stall was nearly impossible. Small thieves scurried between the stands, quietly sneaking off with goods or, at times, brazenly snatching whatever they pleased. Yet even they were the exception rather than the rule.


    No, all life in the square now pulsed around the colossal tree, where the messenger of Odin himself¡ªHuld¡ªsat among the branches, patiently listening to the endless wishes of the townsfolk. He smiled warmly and silently fulfilled the countless, yet monotonous, greedy requests.


    But even those whose desires had already been granted showed no intention of leaving. Instead, they lingered, hoping to profit from the wishes of others¡ªjust as they had scavenged the golden logs of Atli, many of which had yet to be dragged into alleyways due to their sheer weight and the thickening crowd.


    The sight of such disorder deeply dismayed King Harald, who had rushed to the scene upon receiving word that a golden-haired child was granting the desires of commoners in the heart of his city.


    The ruler cast a calculating gaze over the mountains of treasure¡ªplundered from their newfound owners by cunning cutthroats just out of Huld¡¯s sight. And over the corpses of those who had refused to part with their riches peacefully.


    But as soon as he caught a few dark looks from his own retinue (unless paranoia had merely whispered it to him), he snapped out of his stupor and issued a commanding order to his guards¡ªbefore they slipped beyond his control.


    - Kill everyone in the square!


    - The gold will be yours!


    - But anyone who dares speak to Huld will face immediate execution! - Harald thundered, his voice rising above the tumult of the crowd.


    Yet instead of obedience, he felt the sharp bite of a blade in his back.


    The king turned, but the riders had already spurred into motion, carrying out his final command. Among his own retinue, chaos erupted.


    - Who?! - he snarled low, feeling himself slide helplessly from the saddle.


    But even as his strength failed him, Harald¡¯s furious gaze remained fixed on Huld.


    - Whose wish are you fulfilling?! - he exhaled, barely above a whisper, staring through dimming eyes at the bewildered face of the only god he had ever truly believed in.

 Story 5. Mommy

    Beneath the heavy canopy of the autumn forest, it was dark and bitterly cold. Kaeya tucked her small hands into the chilly sleeves of her linen shirt, bringing them to her face every few moments to warm them with her breath.


    Had her mother seen her now, she would surely have scolded her for such an improper appearance in this weather¡ªor, more likely, for running off into the woods at dusk without permission. But Kaeya¡¯s mother rested beneath a fresh burial mound, and her father had enough worries with the younger children, so the girl was left to her own devices.


    Pushing deeper and deeper into the thicket out of sheer stubbornness, Kaeya felt despair creeping in, the thought gnawing at her that this escapade would change nothing. Tears welled up in her eyes¡ªnow she had to wipe her face with her sleeves.


    Struggling her way out of a tangle of blackberry bushes, she stepped into a tiny clearing where a single colossal tree stood, surrounded by yellowing maples. Its branches were dark and smooth, and its leaves remained a fresh, springlike shade of green and gold.


    At its roots, nestled among the withered grass, sat a little girl, almost Kaeya¡¯s age, weaving something from pale threads.


    Kaeya was so delighted to see another child that she never stopped to wonder why she had never seen this girl in the village before. She simply ran up to her and froze, caught off guard by the deep emerald gaze that met her own.


    - I... I got lost! - Kaeya admitted at once, suddenly losing her composure and bursting into tears.


    - The village is that way, - the girl said without a hint of doubt, pointing south.


    Kaeya looked in the direction she indicated but made no move to head home.


    - And you? Why are you here? - she asked the fair-haired child.


    - I''m waiting for someone to make a wish,- the girl sighed, sounding dejected.


    - But why?..- Kaeya asked, so surprised that she forgot to cry.


    The lost girl¡¯s question puzzled Huld for a moment¡ªfor, in truth, she had no real reason to grant anyone¡¯s wishes. And according to her mentor, the Norn, human happiness was not the concern of the weavers of fate. But Huld was no longer a weaver¡­ A flicker of uncertainty settled in the young deity¡¯s heart.


    - Because, - Huld finally answered hesitantly, - making people happy is something I can do¡­


    She quickly changed the subject, unwilling to dwell on the meaning of her existence.


    - So, what do you wish for?


    Kaeya had first thought of a warm cloak, but the thought of it inevitably brought her back to memories of her mother, and silent tears once again streamed down the child''s cheeks.


    - I want mommy to come back, - she sobbed, - to take care of me,.. like before...


    Huld looked at the child somewhat distantly, almost indifferently ¨C it seemed that the deity was clearly not in the best of moods. And, most likely, that was true. Huld¡¯s last good-hearted endeavor, granting wishes in the marketplace, had ended terribly, and the young god had begun to doubt both their methods and the very idea itself.


    - And is this truly your most cherished wish? - Huld asked again.


    - ¡°Cherished¡±? - the child didn¡¯t understand.


    - The most important, the biggest, the main one,.. - the sorrowful deity clarified.


    - Well, yes, - Kaeya admitted, growing just as sad as her companion.


    - Then hurry home, - Huld advised, - she will be back soon, too.


    - Really, really? - the naive child immediately believed.


    - Uh-huh, - the stranger nodded, finishing braiding her string.


    Kaeya hurried home, pushing her way straight through the dense bushes, paying no mind to how her shirt caught and tore in her haste. She emerged from the forest so quickly that she even outran the setting sun and had no reason to fear scolding for being late¡ªperhaps only for her disheveled appearance.


    The girl practically burst into the house, the creaky door slamming loudly against the frame, waking her younger brothers. Her blue eyes, shining with hope, swept across the room, but her mother was nowhere to be seen. Nor was her father¡ªonly the frightened, drowsy children squirming in a heap of sheepskins.


    Kaeya quieted down, grew somber, even felt bitter at the cruel joke of her new friend, but she did not cry, for first, she had to soothe the whimpering little ones. After all, now she was their mother.


    The usual chores made time pass unnoticed. By sunset, her father returned from the hunt. He carried a large, speckled pheasant and tossed it onto the floor by the fire. And once again, it was Kaeya who had to deal with the bird.


    The sun set, and darkness fell in an instant. The autumn mist, as always, drifted in from the river, wrapping the village houses in a soft, fluffy shroud. Only the crackling of logs in the fire disturbed the sleepy stillness after a satisfying supper.


    Then, there was a knock at the locked door¡ªquiet, hesitant, like a faint rustling, so soft no one even noticed. And then again, louder, clearer.


    - Who¡¯s there in the middle of the night? - the head of the family called out loudly, rising to his feet and gripping the axe handle.


    - Dahlia¡­- whispered from behind the door, like a gust of wind.


    - Let me in, Jorgen,- came a woman''s voice.


    Another knock followed, for the man had not answered, and the pause stretched too long. Terror was written across Jorgen¡¯s face as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, unable to move. And yet, every fiber of his being strained toward the door at the sound of the familiar voice of the departed.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    - Mommy! - Kaeya cried out joyfully and rushed to slide back the bolt.


    The door swung open before the man could stop his daughter.


    A tall, red-haired woman appeared on the threshold, dressed in a long white linen shirt and an ornate crimson sarafan. Her skin was paler than cloth, and her eyes and cheeks were sunken.


    The woman stepped inside and ran an icy hand over Kaeya¡¯s red curls, completely ignoring her husband. The girl was overjoyed despite the cold touch¡ªshe grasped the woman¡¯s hands and pressed against her with all her might.


    - Kaeya! - Jorgen called out, watching his wife warily.


    Dahlia turned her sunken, dark eyes to him, her stern gaze cutting off any thought of taking the child away from her. She glanced around the room and noticed the sleeping boys. Without hesitation, she moved toward them, pulling her daughter along.


    And so, Dahlia took up residence in her home once more.


    Cold and emotionless, she roamed the house at night, her predatory stares keeping Jorgen from closing his eyes. And during the day, she was sluggish, hiding in a dark corner as she cradled her boys in her arms.


    All this time, she neither slept, nor drank, nor ate. Her entire attention was devoted to her children, who, in their youth, found nothing frightening in the change that had overtaken her.


    But Jorgen was afraid. And he waited for the inevitable moment when he would have to return Dahlia to the grave with his own hands.


    Yet he delayed it, again and again¡ªseeing the genuine care with which she watched over the children¡­


    ***


    Kaeya was immensely pleased with herself¡ªshe had managed to slip out of the house despite her father¡¯s forbiddance and even sneak a bit of honey from the barrel. Now, she hurried through the forest, heading strictly north, carefully avoiding any chance encounters with the neighbors prowling through the undergrowth.


    She had begun to doubt whether she had chosen the right path when, suddenly, the bushes parted, revealing a small, snow-covered clearing with a massive tree standing at its center. Its crown was bare, but a few golden leaves still clung stubbornly to the highest branches.


    Kaeya glanced around, wanting to call out for her friend, only to realize - too late - that she had never even asked her name. Pouting in disappointment, she sat by the tree¡¯s roots - perhaps to wait, or perhaps just to ponder whether she was even allowed to.


    A gust of wind blew, shaking the branches, and heavy clumps of packed snow tumbled down onto the girl. Instinctively, she looked up¡ªand there, perched on a branch, sat the fair-haired girl.


    - You¡¯re here! - Kaeya exclaimed happily, slightly surprised that she hadn¡¯t noticed her friend from afar.


    - Well, yes, - the girl nodded cautiously.


    Her emerald eyes watched Kaeya warily, as if expecting some kind of trick.


    - And what¡¯s your name, sister? - Kaeya asked, a little shyly.


    - Huld, - the girl exhaled.


    - Sister Huld, - Kaeya chirped, - I wanted to come thank you earlier, but ever since Mother came back home, Father won¡¯t let us go outside¡­


    - Thank me? - Huld repeated in surprise, a careful smile flickering across her face.


    - Uh-huh, - Kaeya nodded eagerly.


    - Oh, look! - she lifted a small dish of honey above her head? - I brought you some sweets¡­


    Without a second''s hesitation, Huld fluttered down from the branch and landed softly in the snow beside Kaeya. The sudden movement took Kaeya¡¯s breath away, though mostly out of excitement.


    - Here, take it,- she said, pushing the small dish into Huld¡¯s hands.


    But at that moment, distant, indistinct voices carried through the trees. Kaeya glanced toward the sound warily and shrank back.


    - Sorry, but I have to go home now,- she admitted to her friend.


    - If they see me, they¡¯ll tell my father¡­


    Judging by the look on Huld¡¯s face, she wasn¡¯t happy about the unexpected visitors either. She stared into the wall of trees, listening intently to the approaching shouts.


    - What is it?.. - she exhaled softly.


    - Uncle Asgrim¡¯s gone missing,- Kaeya explained, worried.


    - So the whole village is out looking for him¡­


    - The whole village? - Huld asked cautiously, glancing at Kaeya.


    - Uh-huh. I only managed to sneak out because my father left too¡­


    - Alright, I really have to go,- Kaeya said, throwing her arms around Huld in a quick hug.


    - Thank you so much! - she whispered into the god¡¯s ear, then ran toward the trees.


    Suddenly uplifted, Huld watched Kaeya disappear into the trees for a few more moments. But then, the voices of the villagers searching for Asgrim pulled her back to the present.


    She hesitated for a split second, vividly recalling the fresh memory of the chaos at the market, where she had foolishly granted the crowd¡¯s wishes. Shaking her head, she pushed the unpleasant image from her mind.


    Her gaze fell on Kaeya¡¯s gift, and she silently decided that everything worked out as it should¡ªso long as she listened to people one at a time.


    Not wanting to be seen, Huld leapt up onto the tree and darted barefoot along its branches, climbing higher and higher until she reached the very top. She grasped the last branch still holding onto its golden leaves and snapped it off with a sharp tug.


    A shadow rippled down the trunk from the treetop to the roots¡ªthe branches cracked like charred wood, crumbling into ash as they fell to the ground. Only the broken branch in Huld¡¯s hand remained unchanged.


    She swung it through the air, tracing a circle around herself, and vanished before the support beneath her feet could disintegrate.


    ***


    Kaeya had been consumed by anxiety ever since her father left to search for Asgrim the day before and hadn¡¯t returned. She had tried to share her worries with her mother, but Dalia wasn¡¯t particularly expressive or talkative. She simply stroked the boys'' hair while stirring the thick stew in the pot.


    Then, a commotion stirred outside the door. Kaeya let out a breath of relief, thinking her father had finally come home. But her relief was short-lived. As the door swung open, an entire crowd of furious villagers stood at the threshold. They, too, had been searching for Jorgen¡ªbut not out of concern for his safety. They had followed a trail of blood leading straight to his barn.


    The moment their eyes fell on Dalia, silence rippled through the crowd. The villagers stared at the dead woman in stunned silence, holding their breath, as if uncertain what to do next.


    - Draugr*! ¨C exclaimed the village elder, finally managing to push through the crowd.


    And then everything around Kaeya blurred into chaos¡ªsome of the more faint-hearted villagers bolted out of the house, while others, mostly seasoned hunters, drew their weapons. The men closed in on Dalia like a pack of wolves, backing her into a corner as she clutched her small sons against her chest.


    - The head! Cut off the head! ¨C the elder barked from behind the doorframe, careful not to step too close.


    One of the hunters lunged forward at once, following the order, but Dalia twisted away, slashing at him with long, razor-sharp claws. Blood gushed from his throat as he collapsed. In that moment, two more men threw themselves at her from behind, tackling her to the ground.


    The boys tumbled down with their mother and began wailing. The men ruthlessly shoved them aside like ragdolls, then, before the terrified children¡¯s eyes, began hacking at their mother¡¯s neck.


    It wasn¡¯t an easy task¡ªher body was unnaturally tough, and she felt no pain. The creature thrashed beneath the heavy blows, writhing and shrieking with rage. But only when her head was finally severed from her body did she fall still. Not a single drop of blood stained the floor.


    ***


    Night was approaching. Kaeya huddled with her brothers beneath a sheep¡¯s pelt in a dark corner¡ªtheir aunt, who had taken them in with great reluctance after their father¡¯s death, disliked having the children in sight.


    The girl wept in secret, muffling her sobs so as not to wake the boys. In the village, people now watched them with wary, uneasy glances¡ªchildren who had spent days under the same roof as a draugr.


    It had been the draugr who had torn their neighbor, Asgrim, to pieces. And then their father, Jorgen.


    Kaeya¡¯s little brothers didn¡¯t understand why the villagers were so angry with them. But she did. And worse¡ªdeep down, she was certain that it was all her fault. Yet shame and terror kept her from confessing the truth to anyone, making her sobs only more desperate.


    And then¡ªa knock at the door.


    Soft. Hesitant. Like a whisper¡­

 Story 6. (Not)wish

    The sky swelled with an unyielding mass of heavy clouds, threatening to turn into a snowstorm at any moment. Sparse snowflakes were already swirling above Alv''s head, twisting into tight spirals, echoing the gusts of wind.


    The man trudged through the trees with difficulty, fighting against the deep snowdrifts. His breath had long since turned ragged, and sweat poured down his neck in three streams, but Alv was ready to crawl forward on all fours if he had to. Somewhere out there, beyond the endless white veil, salvation awaited him. But the trail of crimson droplets following in his wake told of the futility of that hope.


    Alv stumbled once more and collapsed into a deep snowdrift. For a moment of weakness, both his strength and his hopes abandoned him, and he surrendered to anxious thoughts.


    Before his eyes arose the throne hall and the regal profile of his father, Harold, etched into Alv''s heart since childhood. A boisterous feast, the ruler''s commanding speeches. His throne, left empty in the heat of discussions¡ªback then, the boy had liked to secretly imagine himself sitting there, though he had never dared to take the seat. But as he grew, Alv understood that one day, that childhood dream would become reality, inevitably...


    Only now, it never would¡ªfor after Harold''s overthrow, his son''s greatest ambition had shrunk to mere survival. And he was failing even at that, with his exhausted horse, his bleeding wound, and the approaching storm.


    But Alv refused to surrender, unwilling to cast away his grand ambitions, even on the very brink of death. He could scarcely believe in their fulfillment now, yet their mere existence gave him the strength to move forward.


    With a heavy sigh, the fugitive rose and staggered on, without truly knowing where he was going. But after only a few steps, an arrow struck him in the back. Alv swayed and fell face-first into the snow.


    His fevered mind reeled through childhood memories and now-impossible dreams. And between them, a single desperate thought stretched like a crimson thread:


    - I don''t want to die... - he whispered in delirium, lying motionless upon the ground.


    From behind the trees, a trio of pursuers emerged¡ªthey, too, were breathing heavily, but now that their prey was down, they descended the hill at a leisurely pace. One of the men came to an exhausted stop, bending over and taking deep breaths. The other two, however, trudged on along the path Alv had carved through the snow, as if, unlike their companion, they had no choice.


    - Cut off his head, - ordered the man who had fallen behind, though his companions hardly needed the command.


    At last, he straightened up, inhaling deeply, and lifted his face to the sky. The weather had taken a hopeless turn for the worse, and he merely wished to gauge the scale of the approaching catastrophe. But against the backdrop of heavy gray clouds, Morten, to his great surprise, spotted an unexpected observer.


    Perched on a snow-covered treetop ahead was a small childlike figure dressed in lavish festive garments. The child''s keen, attentive gaze followed the scene below¡ªyet in those eyes, there was no fear, no disgust, no pity.


    Morten met the piercing stare of the fair-haired child, and a shiver ran down his spine, one that had nothing to do with the cold. No, he was not afraid of an unexpected witness to their execution of Alv. But in an instant, he knew exactly who stood before him, even though he had never encountered the divine messenger in person before.


    Something stirred within his soul for a fleeting second before anyone else noticed Huld.


    - A wish... - the thought flickered through his mind.


    And Morten felt it in his very skin¡ªhe had to be the first to make his wish, or he would be deprived of the chance entirely. His thoughts nearly tumbled into a feverish chase after his deepest desire. But then, in his mind''s eye, flashed the image of the massacre on the capital''s marketplace, and he cautiously pushed the idea away.


    Time¡ªhe needed time to weigh everything, to think it through. But he had only as much of it as it would take his less fortunate companions to notice Huld.


    Morten pulled the bow from behind his back and silently drew the string. The first of his accomplices took an arrow in the back, letting out a pained gasp before sinking into the snow. The second managed to turn toward the sound¡ªonly to take the next shot straight to the chest.


    Between the trees, the blizzard howled over the fallen, while the murderer stood on the hill, gazing in silence into the emerald eyes of the young god.


    - My lord, it is you who grants wishes, is it not? - Morten asked tensely.


    - Only one, - Huld replied, unperturbed.


    - What do you wish for?


    The cutthroat hesitated¡ªthere was no one left to stop him from considering his wish, yet the very possibility stirred an uneasy feeling within him. But he did not dare voice his doubts to the god directly.


    - Such mercy is too great a gift for a mere man, - Morten spoke obsequiously, long accustomed to fawning over his lords.


    - I need time to think it over carefully... - the mercenary treaded cautiously, watching the child''s reaction intently.


    - Huld nodded, his keen gaze shifting toward the bodies sprawled across the ground¡ªthere was only a trace of curiosity in his expression.


    - May I return here later? - Morten asked.


    - Yes, - the god replied.


    - Will you wait for me here? - the man pressed, already shaping a plan in his mind.


    - I will wait... - Huld agreed.


    Morten began retreating slowly, never once turning away, as if afraid to let the god slip from his sight. Trapped in thoughts of new opportunities, he had nearly walked away when his gaze fell upon the corpses, and he snapped back to reality.


    Under Huld''s unwavering watch, the killer returned to Alv''s body and took from his companion''s hands the sack containing the prince''s severed head. Calculating as ever, Morten feared that an elusive wish might slip through his grasp¡ªbut the bounty for the fugitive would be his alone, no matter what came next.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ***


    The blind youth walked among the trees, following a narrow, well-trodden path in the snow. He moved slowly, stretching his hands forward, taking careful, tentative steps. Behind him, with a hand resting on the boy''s shoulder, followed Morten¡ªguiding him, warning him of obstacles.


    The guide''s face showed a hint of impatience, but any irritation caused by his companion''s sluggishness was more than outweighed by the payment jingling merrily in gold coins at his belt.


    The path came to an end, and the travelers found themselves beneath a large, sprawling tree. From its crown, a fair-haired child nimbly descended along the bare branches, eyeing the guests with curiosity.


    - Do you have a wish? - Huld asked, addressing either Morten or the blind youth.


    - Yes, yes, Lord Huld! - the boy fell to his knees.


    The blind youth pulled a wooden tablet from his tunic, the writing upon it crude and uneven, and held it out before him, unaware that the god was speaking from the tree''s lower branch.


    - I was born blind, my lord, - the boy spoke, - but your priest says that you have the power to grant any request, to heal any affliction...


    - Priest? - Huld repeated.


    - Yes, Lord Morten, - the blind boy clarified.


    The child remained silent, but the look he cast at the man was anything but childlike. In Harald''s castle, Huld had seen many priests of Odin, but hardly any of them bore even the slightest resemblance to Morten. And yet, it was difficult for the young god to deny the greed and cunning that united them. So he chose not to dispute the boy''s words.


    - And what is it that you wish for? - the god simply asked.


    - I want... to see, to be able to look upon the world... like other people do, - the youth stammered, his voice filled with barely contained excitement.


    - That is easy, - Huld nodded confidently.


    The boy deftly wove a thin cord from his silver hair and reached for the tablet in the blind youth''s hands. As of late, following Morten''s advice, Huld had made it a rule to have his supplicants write down their wishes.


    All because several of Morten''s dissatisfied "clients" had already returned to him more than once, demanding explanations for the way Huld had interpreted their desires. Fortunately, Morten was a skilled warrior and could resolve most disputes with a sword. Even so, he had decided to eliminate any ambiguity and misunderstandings in his clients'' dealings with the god.


    But the more wishes Huld granted, the more Morten became convinced that entrusting his own fate to the young god was a terrible idea. He had seen far too many warped desires and their consequences in just a few months. During that time, the man had only grown more certain that he had done the right thing by profiting from others'' wishes rather than making one himself. And now, he suspected, it was time to bring this venture to an end¡ªbefore word of the runaway god''s whereabouts spread too far.


    Huld tied the cord with the wooden tablet to a branch and returned to the treetop, where a handful of golden leaves trembled in the wind. He plucked one and leapt down.


    The blind youth flinched at the sound of something landing nearby. But Morten, well accustomed to such sights, was no longer surprised. Instead, a thick unease settled in his chest¡ªthe kind he felt when facing an opponent far stronger than himself. A sense of danger.


    Huld scooped up a handful of snow and warmed it in his palms until it melted completely, revealing the golden leaf in a small pool of water. Then the god stepped forward and washed the blind boy''s face with the icy liquid. The youth shuddered at the unexpected touch and blinked, his head turning this way and that in confusion. But after a moment, his gaze steadied, clear and focused. And the first thing he saw was Huld.


    The boy burst into tears, collapsed into the snow at Huld''s feet, and began to murmur words of gratitude. They warmed the young god''s soul and flattered his vanity, assuring him that, at last, he was doing everything right.


    - And you, - the child turned to Morten, - have you decided what you want yet?


    Once again, a shiver ran down Morten''s spine at that question, but he habitually shook his head. In response, Huld simply nodded and fluttered back up into the tree like a great, colorful bird. His fine garments, gifted by Harold, had grown tattered, now resembling a patchwork of bright feathers.


    Morten tied a thick cloth over the former blind boy''s eyes and led him back into the forest along the only path. A certainty had nearly taken root in his mind¡ªit was time to put an end to this. Yet greed still planted a seed of doubt.


    But by the time he finally emerged from the woods, bid farewell to the newly sighted youth, and made his way to his small rented home, Morten had made his final decision¡ªhe had earned enough to leave service behind and settle down somewhere, living a life of ease.


    That was what Morten was thinking when, upon stepping into the single room of his cottage, he found himself face to face with uninvited guests.


    There were four of them¡ªall men, all armed, and all tense at the sight of the homeowner.


    - Morten...- one of the men drawled, shaking his head in displeasure.


    - Did you really think you could hide in this backwater? - he sneered.


    Two of his burly companions seized Morten at the threshold, forcing him to his knees before the speaker.


    - No, lad, orders must be followed,- the leader declared.


    - Especially when you''ve already taken payment upfront.


    - No, no, no! - Morten protested, his face going pale at the sight of his visitors.


    - I did everything!- he blurted out, preempting any further commands from the imposing man.


    For a moment, the leader hesitated, but then his expression turned skeptical once more.


    - Then why are you still here? - he asked.


    - I admit, - Morten nodded, now calmer as he realized they were willing to listen.


    - I stayed here a little longer to rest...


    - But only because I had already completed the job! - the mercenary emphasized.


    - And where are your men? - the man inquired.


    Morten shrugged indifferently:


    - Only I remain.


    The man chuckled knowingly.


    - No matter...


    - Better tell me, where''s the proof?


    - Otherwise, you might just be a traitor hiding out here.


    - It''s here! Everything''s here! - Morten assured him hastily.


    - Harald''s heir''s head - I have it!


    - Well then, your own head stays on your shoulders, - the man murmured smoothly.


    - Show me.


    Under the watchful eyes of everyone present, Morten carefully got to his feet.


    - It''s outside¡ªbehind the firewood pile, - he nodded toward the door.


    - Lead the way, - the visitor rose eagerly from the bench.


    Morten stepped out first, silently thanking every god that he had had the foresight to leave a loose end and keep Alv''s head. Confidently, he overturned a few logs stacked by the cabin wall, digging into the snow.


    And there it was¡ªthe familiar coarse sack, stained with dried blood.


    But the moment Morten grabbed it, his heart plummeted into an icy void - the bundle was completely empty.


    ***


    Huld was not burdened by waiting¡ªtime meant far less to him than to mortals, and his mission seemed far more important than haste. He did not regret his promise to Morten to wait until the man had thought through his wish.


    But Morten''s time had come to an end, and Huld knew it with certainty, reading the web of the near future¡ªwoven idly each morning, more out of habit than necessity.


    The young god realized he would no longer need to expect new visitors brought by Morten and decided to turn to the one wish that had eluded him.


    For the umpteenth time, he plucked a pair of precious leaves from the Tree of Being, Idras, then leapt down to the ground and made his way to the nearest hollow¡ªwhere Morten had discarded the bodies of his fallen comrades and their mutual victim, so as not to frighten Huld''s pilgrims.


    The child rummaged through the snow for a moment and pulled out Alv''s head, long since found through the threads of fate¡ªyet stubbornly unwilling to return to its rightful shoulders.


    With a practiced motion, Huld plucked a golden leaf, leaving only its curved central vein¡ªnow resembling a fishing hook. He threaded one of his long platinum hairs through it, like a needle, and once again set to sewing Alv''s head back onto his body.


    The little god had done this many times before, but the results had always been disappointing, forcing him to undo the seam and try again¡ªchanging the pattern, the number of threads, the placement of each stitch. This time, he decided to weave a leaf from the sacred tree into the wound¡ªsomething he had never attempted before.


    Slowly but surely, the work neared completion, stitch by stitch forming an intricate silver pattern of unearthly beauty. At last, Huld pulled the thread taut, hiding its end within the wound¡ªnow barely discernible beneath the meticulous embroidery of the god''s hand.


    The corpse stirred, its deathly pallor fading. Alv''s eyelids fluttered, then opened, revealing gray eyes filled with fear and despair.


    And the first thing they met was the emerald gaze of Huld.

 Story 7. Liberty

    The swift waters of the forest stream murmured monotonously, washing over the rocky shore. Eir sat on the damp ground, barely covered with the first sparse blades of grass, staring at the rushing current as if, deep down, she longed to drown in it.


    Perhaps she ought to be weeping, mourning her undeniably wretched fate, but her tears had long since dried up, and her heart had grown numb. The only solace left to her was this deserted place, in the brief hour at dawn before they noticed her absence in the master''s house.


    Over the course of her life, Eir had already played several roles, but not a single one had been a happy one. She had grown up an orphan, never knowing her parents. She had begged for food in the village. She had found shelter and work as a servant in a wealthy house, endured the old master''s advances, and later buried their children in the forest by the stream¡­


    Who knows why she chose this place? Perhaps because it was the only place where she herself had ever felt safe¡­


    From behind the bushes by the river, something moved¡ªEir flinched in fright, fearing¡­ well, anyone, really. But instead of danger, a small child''s figure emerged from the thicket.


    The boy walked along the shore, hopping from stone to stone, waving a long broken branch over the water. The girl didn¡¯t recognize the strange child, but she let out a breath of relief, reassured by the lack of threat.


    Huld came closer and closer, paying no attention to Eir¡¯s presence until he was right beside her. She only shrank back, hugging her knees to her chest, making space for him to pass. But the young god lifted his clear green eyes to her and smiled warmly.


    - Well¡­ what do you want?.. - Eir curled in on herself, feeling extremely uneasy at the need to speak to this odd child.


    She had already noticed his expensive, though tattered, clothes¡ªfiner than even her master''s.


    - Are you lost?.. - she guessed reluctantly.


    The boy tilted his head, checking his surroundings as if aligning himself with some markers only he could see, then shook his head.


    - No. I know where I am.


    - Then you should go home, little lord, - the girl sighed.


    - They''re probably looking for you already¡­


    Eir¡¯s words saddened Huld, and it showed plainly on the child''s face.


    - I don¡¯t think so, - the boy replied and sat down on the grass beside her.


    - Don¡¯t want to go back? - the girl scoffed.


    She knew that feeling all too well. What irked Eir, though, was the thought of this little rich boy''s trivial troubles¡ªones that couldn¡¯t possibly compare to her unbearable life.


    Huld didn¡¯t answer¡ªnot because he didn¡¯t want to, but because he couldn¡¯t.


    They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. The boy examined a small branch with beautiful golden leaves, holding it close to his chest, while Eir, as always, stared at the water.


    - I don¡¯t want to, - the god finally said, having clearly spent all this time thinking over his answer to a question Eir had almost forgotten.


    - And you? - Huld turned his emerald gaze to his silent companion.


    -Do you have a wish?


    The word "wish" cut into Eir¡¯s heart like a blade¡ªlike she had ever been allowed to wish for anything at all. Her answer was short but filled with bitterness:


    - No, - Eir snapped.


    - Not a single one? - Huld frowned.


    - Nothing at all?


    - Only lords like you can afford to want something, - the girl said, though her tone was now less heated.


    - For people like me, dreams and wishes only make it harder to go on, - Eir sighed.


    - Why? - the god asked, genuinely confused.


    - Because they don¡¯t come true, - she voiced the harsh truth.


    Huld lowered his gaze, still trying to grasp the full weight of the girl¡¯s words. But before he could respond, Eir rose to her feet, ready to leave.


    She had taken only a few steps when Huld¡¯s question caught up with her:


    - But if one did come true¡­ what would you wish for?


    The girl froze in place, staring at the ground with tear-filled eyes¡ªsomehow, this fair-haired boy managed to wound her heart again and again with nothing but words.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    She didn¡¯t turn, didn¡¯t look at Huld, but lifted her gaze to the sky, fighting back the rising tears and taking a deep breath to steady herself.


    - I want to be free, like a bird, - Eir admitted, - to fly so far that no one could ever catch me¡­


    Her shoulders slumped, as if this confession had drained what little strength she had left.


    - Write it down, and it will surely come true, - Huld promised, holding out a small tablet, freshly formed from a golden leaf.


    Eir flinched and turned around¡ªher face twisted with something close to madness. Then, suddenly, she burst into tears, laughing hoarsely and hysterically.


    - I told you¡­ only people like you get their wishes granted, - she rasped between fits of laughter.


    A worried Huld met her gaze, bewildered.


    - I don¡¯t know how to write, - Eir said, cutting off her laughter in an instant.


    She turned away and walked off in silence.


    The deity watched her go, struggling with conflicting emotions¡ªon the one hand, Morten had taught Huld that people were forgetful and needed reminders of their wishes, but on the other¡­ On the other hand, it seemed deeply unfair to the god that Eir had lost her chance to make a wish because of it.


    Huld hesitated for a while longer, then, as a compromise, decided to bend the rules and write the wish down himself. He quickly and carefully scratched the words into the small tablet with a sharp river stone, then wove another cord from his own hair to hang it. With this, his mood visibly improved.


    But when his preparations were finished, Huld once again gazed sorrowfully at the empty cords hanging from the branches of Ydras¡ªall the old tablets had been lost when he was moved to a new place. Now, the deity could only hope that the tablets made from the leaves of the World Tree would not meet the same fate.


    Huld looked around and decided not to go anywhere¡ªthe spot by the stream felt right. So he swung his arm and drove the golden-leaved branch deep into the damp earth. It immediately took root, growing stronger and taller before his eyes.


    Soon, a lush canopy spread over the water, its branches heavy with fresh, vibrant leaves. From the smooth, dark bark, glistening strands of tree resin began to drip, catching the sunlight like a curtain of golden rain. And wherever the tiny droplets touched the ground, they hardened into fragments of amber.


    ***


    Alv ran without watching the road, stumbling over stones in the thick grass but never falling. Trees and bushes rushed past, yet the loud sound of his footsteps was drowned out by the frantic pounding of his heart in his temples.


    All he could think about was escape; all he could feel was his own worthlessness. After all, it had been barely a couple of months since the god had literally brought him back from the dead. And yet here he was again, like prey in a hunt, forced to race through the forest, fleeing his pursuers.


    It made him feel, almost with his very skin, how inevitably and mercilessly his own fate was closing in on him¡ªone from which there was no escape¡­


    But suddenly, from behind a boulder, one of the pursuers emerged, cutting off any escape. He was one of those who, in their search for Alv, had first tracked down Morten. Seizing the moment of Alv¡¯s hesitation, the man immediately raised his sword for a strike, not waiting for his companions.


    The fugitive recoiled, but too late¡ªthe blade¡¯s edge sliced across his chest, knocking him off his feet and throwing him onto his back. He sprawled in the grass beneath the green canopy of the spring forest, once again feeling the unmistakable presence of his approaching death.


    The pursuer didn¡¯t waste time waiting for his comrades, who were now appearing from behind the trees¡ªhe stepped forward at once and drove his sword through Alv¡¯s heart. Only then did he wave to the others, whether as a signal to hurry or to show that there was no longer any need.


    - Well, you¡¯re quick, Orm, - a bearded man wheezed, bending over, catching his breath.


    The leader approached and approvingly clapped the swordsman on the shoulder¡ªhe couldn¡¯t yet speak. But after a moment to steady his breath, he managed to say:


    - We only need the head¡­


    - Bruni, take care of it, - he ordered the bearded man.


    Alv lay on the ground, listening to their conversation, patiently awaiting death. Above him, a gust of wind rushed by, as if an unseen valkyrie had passed, yet deemed him unworthy of the heavenly halls. The thought burned him with anger, forcing him to rise once more.


    Bruni froze in stunned silence as the recently deceased rose from the dead right before his eyes. He only remembered the weapon in his hands when Alv himself drew his blade¡ªbut by then, it was too late. He struck without hesitation. Yet the victim didn¡¯t even try to dodge¡ªso their swords pierced each other, but only Bruni collapsed to the ground after the blow.


    The two remaining pursuers turned around, staring in disbelief as Alv pulled his enemy¡¯s sword from his own stomach. His gaze, fixed on the wound, was just as curious and bewildered as that of the cutthroats.


    The young man peered through the tear in the fabric and saw how gleaming silver threads swiftly pulled the edges of his fresh wound together, forming the same dense, familiar pattern as on his neck. A smile touched Alv¡¯s lips as a profound calm and emptiness replaced his fear of death¡ªhis merciful god had not only granted him a new life but had bestowed upon him an unimaginable freedom within it.


    ***


    After speaking with the impudent boy, Eir could not calm her agitated feelings. Her vision blurred with tears, and her heart seemed to tremble at her very throat. She gasped for air in a fit, swaying from side to side, yet she kept walking forward, back to the village.


    But hearing men¡¯s voices nearby, she froze and clamped her hands over her mouth, stifling every strangled breath. She immediately dropped to her knees, hiding behind the nearest trunk of a tall maple, and glanced around cautiously, assessing the danger.


    Ahead, beyond the trees, she saw a handsome fair-haired youth with a sword in his hands¡ªhe stood over the bodies of two warriors sprawled at his feet, seemingly speaking to them. But his words were so quiet that Eir could not make them out. What she could clearly see, however, were the bloodstains on his clothing.


    She recoiled, landing straight into a silver web, and curled into a tight ball among the tree roots. Her whole being froze, as if bracing for a master''s beating, and then something inside her twisted with a sickening sensation, as though turning her inside out.


    For a time, Eir tried to remain silent, fearing the bloodstained youth, but then the pain consumed her entirely, and she howled like a wounded beast. Her cries grew less and less human, and along with them, her flesh turned bestial.


    The beautiful youth, drawn by her wails, cautiously approached and peered behind the tree, uncovering her hiding place. Eir flung up her hands, either trying to shield herself from the stranger or to push him away. But her hands had already turned to wings, and her body had become nimble and light.


    Alv¡¯s pale, translucent eyes swept over the ground and caught sight of a bundle of rough fabric among the roots. Something within it let out a startled cry and took off into the sky, beating its raven-black wings¡­

 Story 8. For the glory of God

    Ingvar was uneasy. Standing before the closed double doors of the throne hall, he was visibly nervous¡ªnot only because of the impending meeting with the ruler but also due to the unsettling rumors surrounding his person.


    The man had never served the previous king, Harold, nor the usurper of the throne, Rig. But he had heard certain whispers about the late ruler¡¯s only heir back in Harold¡¯s reign. However, comparing that meek young man from old gossip to the ruthless monster who had returned to the castle a year ago to reclaim his lost position and his father¡¯s crown seemed nearly impossible.


    Ingvar could still hear the hushed whispers of the palace guards who had witnessed the massacre orchestrated by the newly crowned King Alv. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the thought.


    Beyond the castle walls, few took such rumors seriously¡ªthe people were far more concerned with the possibility of the successor resembling his late father, whose cruel nature had been well-known even before the carnage he had orchestrated in the heart of the city.


    But Ingvar had carried too many corpses out of the castle to doubt the words of the few surviving guards. And he knew that behind those doors, a true monster awaited him¡­


    One of the heavy doors creaked open, and the herald peeked into the corridor with a displeased scowl, searching for Ingvar with his eyes. He spotted him at once and gestured for him to enter.


    The man took a deep, nervous breath and slipped inside.


    At the far end of the hall, the young ruler sat upon the throne¡ªhis face strikingly handsome, yet devoid of the emotions expected of ordinary men. Alv paid no attention to the newcomer, still listening to the priest before him, whose fervent monologue carried on with great intensity. Judging by the king¡¯s expression, however, the sermon barely touched him.


    Noticing the guest, Alv raised a gloved hand, signaling the priest to stop. Ingvar noted this small detail¡ªjust as the rumors had said, the ruler wore gloves. His gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the king¡¯s neck in search of the mark from those same whispers, but the moment their eyes met, Ingvar abruptly lowered his head, chastising himself for his curiosity.


    He had heard from the former guards that Alv¡¯s body was covered in countless scars from the mortal wounds inflicted upon him on the day he reclaimed the castle. That hundreds of blades had pierced his flesh, shattered his bones¡ªonly for every injury to mend in the blink of an eye, while the horror on his enemies¡¯ faces had only made him laugh. And now, the young ruler hid those silvered marks beneath his garments, refusing even the servants a glimpse of his bare skin.


    - Ingvar¡­ - Alv repeated the name in a quiet voice after the herald murmured it into his ear.


    The man instinctively lifted his gaze upon hearing it, and his eyes landed on a large, well-groomed raven perched at the head of the king¡¯s throne. Ingvar inwardly winced¡ªhe knew of this bird all too well from those same relentless rumors.


    They said the bloodthirsty, mad ruler often conversed with his beloved pet, seeking its counsel on his decisions. Worse still, there were maids who swore they had heard the raven respond in a human voice.


    But this thought was swiftly shattered by Alv¡¯s voice, cutting through the silence with commanding authority:


    - Ingvar, I order you to assemble a squad. By noon tomorrow, you will head south on a punitive mission.


    - Punitive? - the warrior echoed warily, his fears suddenly feeling far more justified.


    - Three days'' ride from the capital, a group of heretics has gathered¡ªa cult that denies Odin¡¯s greatness and dares to worship the forest gods...


    - I entrust you with eradicating these blasphemers, so that the name of their god, who dares to challenge Odin, is forgotten for all eternity!


    Ingvar listened with his head bowed, stealing glances at the pleased expression of the Odin priest standing beside the ruler. The warrior knew that Alv¡¯s father, King Harald, had been favored by the Allfather, and many believed that his son was merely following in his footsteps.


    But only those who had never glimpsed the monstrous nature of the new king could think so. Those who had whispered in the castle¡¯s shadowed corridors that this was Harald¡¯s final wish¡ªspoken directly to Odin in Valhalla*¡ªto see the crown returned to his bloodline. And now, Alv glorified the god who had led him to his father¡¯s throne.


    - Do you understand? - the young ruler finished, his tone leaving no room for doubt.


    - Yes, my lord, - Ingvar answered quickly.


    He was eager to leave the hall, but a hoarse voice stopped him in his tracks.


    - Eradicate! - croaked the raven, beating its wings with an ominous rustle.


    - E-ra-di-cate¡­ the heretics! - it repeated, drawing stunned silence from all present.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    But Alv only smirked as he glanced at the jet-black bird, his smile doing nothing to soften the harshness of his features.


    - Eir, - he murmured, reaching out to stroke the bird¡¯s glossy feathers, - how lovely that you are always on my side¡­


    ***


    - Listen, Huld, all living things in this world are born from the fruit of Idras, and thus, no force is more exalted¡­ - the elder preached in a didactic tone.


    Somehow, ever since their first meeting, the priest had taken to instructing the young god, and over time, it had become a habit for both of them. Huld never challenged the old man¡¯s teachings, as most of them were quite reasonable. Especially the parts that spoke of the world''s creation and praised the greatness of the Life Tree, Idras¡ªHuld himself had been raised on such lessons by his mentor, Norn. So the old man¡¯s grumbling never annoyed him; rather, it pleased him, stirring memories of the past.


    What Huld could never quite grasp was why the priest insisted on believing that he was merely a mortal child, chosen by Idras¡¯s branch to be its guardian. And that it was reckless, childish foolishness to waste the sacred tree¡¯s power on mere trickery, indulging human greed.


    Any attempts by the little god to argue about his true age and origins were immediately dismissed by the priests as childish fantasies. But even that did not bother Huld much¡ªhe enjoyed the company of the forest priests, whose only desire was to worship the great branch of Idras, grown into a colossal tree.


    Not even the nature of his woodland sanctuary unsettled him, though it was built by the priests from thick wooden beams and resembled a cage more than a dwelling. A cage from which the boy was sometimes released¡ªonly to perform elaborate rituals¡­


    The priest continued his captivating tale about the first guardian of the forest, Vidar*, who had withdrawn from the quarrels of the other gods and ventured deep into the woodland, where he had watched over the peace of nature¡¯s embrace since the dawn of time.


    But Huld only half-listened to his mentor¡¯s favorite story¡ªtoo often had the old man spoken of it. That was why the boy was the first to catch the strange noise disturbing the silence of the untouchable forest.


    The rumble drew nearer, growing clearer until it became unmistakable¡ªthe sound of horses'' hooves. Behind the latticed wall of Huld¡¯s sanctuary, the old priest also perked up, finally breaking off his tale.


    Then, from the undergrowth, horsemen emerged, surrounding the glade from all sides. There were dozens of them, and their intentions were clear. Armed warriors mercilessly struck down the robed figures caught off guard.


    Despite his age, Huld¡¯s mentor sprang up and dashed toward the trees, but a sword blow found him before he could escape. He collapsed to the ground and did not move again.


    - Commander! ¡ª someone called out to Ingvar, pulling their horse to a stop beside him.


    - We''ve surrounded and killed them all, as you ordered, ¡ª they reported.


    - No one escaped!


    Ingvar nodded, his gaze sweeping over the clearing¡ªaside from his men, only the corpses of the heretic priests remained. He grimaced but showed no sign of remorse.


    At last, he turned his horse toward the enormous tree, its trunk wrapped in flower garlands and its lower branches adorned with colorful ribbons. The ground beneath its canopy was strewn with amber.


    - Cut it down, ¡ª Ingvar commanded, ¡ª there will be no idol of the godless on Odin¡¯s land!


    Several men dismounted at once, axes in hand, and set to carrying out the order.


    - And what about the child? ¡ª one of his men asked in a hushed, hesitant voice.


    - Child? ¡ª Ingvar echoed, lowering his voice as well.


    - Over there, in the cage, ¡ª the rider gestured toward it. ¡ª We found a boy...


    - It¡¯s unclear whether he belongs to the cult or was meant to be a sacrifice...


    - The order from Lord Alv was quite clear, ¡ª Ingvar replied. ¡ª To rid the land of heretics.


    - So that means we can take the boy with us? ¡ª his companion exhaled in relief.


    - I¡¯m afraid that will depend on him, ¡ª the commander frowned.


    Two riders approached the wooden cage and spoke to the fair-haired child. Ingvar¡¯s voice was stern, yet in his heart, he clung to the hope that the boy would be wise enough to lie to him¡ªeven if he truly was a heretic.


    - Who are you, child? ¡ª Ingvar asked.


    - Did these people ¡ª he gestured toward Huld¡¯s dead mentor ¡ª keep you here by force?


    - No, ¡ª the young god shook his head.


    - I am Huld, priest of the sacred tree Yggdras, ¡ª he answered, just as the old man had taught him.


    Ingvar lowered his gaze, and so did his companion¡ªnone of the warriors took pleasure in the grim task entrusted to them by their ruthless king. But they had no choice.


    - Forgive me, child, ¡ª Ingvar sighed. ¡ª But your god is false¡­


    ***


    The priest of Odin had been searching for King Alv throughout the castle for a long time before finally finding him in the inner courtyard. The king lay directly on the grass, among the heather bushes, engaged in quiet conversation with his raven, stroking the bird¡¯s glossy feathers. The templar hesitated and listened:


    - You know, as a child, my father never let me come here¡ªhe said Odin¡¯s messenger resided in this place¡­


    - But to tell the truth, ¡ª Alv smiled, ¡ª I didn¡¯t believe him.


    - Back then, my father forbade me many things¡­


    - Forbade¡­ Punished! ¡ª the raven chimed in.


    - Yes, and punished, ¡ª the king agreed, his pale gray eyes fixed on the bird.


    - But look at me now¡ªthere is no one left who can forbid me anything or oppose my will, ¡ª Alv¡¯s spirit lifted.


    - And none of it was because of my father¡¯s teachings¡ªrather, in spite of them! ¡ª he bared his teeth in an almost beastly grin, though his gaze remained sorrowful.


    - The only one I honor and will forever be grateful to is Lord Huld¡­


    - And if Odin is his god, then I shall exalt his name above all others¡­


    - In his glory! ¡ª the raven flapped its wings.


    ***


    The funeral pyre of sacred tree branches was enormous¡ªeasily large enough to hold all the bodies of the forest cult¡¯s priests. Among them, a small child¡¯s figure could be seen without difficulty.


    Ingvar, carefully avoiding looking at the blaze, turned away and ordered his warriors back into their saddles. The spicy fragrance of burning amber could not fully mask the unpleasant stench of charred flesh, and Ingvar feared this scent would haunt his nightmares for a long time.


    The riders quickly gathered and set off on their return journey. In the raging flames left behind, something stirred, shifting the burning logs¡ªbut no one remained to see it.


    At last, Huld stepped out from the pyre onto the withered grass, holding in his hand the unscathed top of the sacred tree. He brushed the ashes from his snow-white robes and unruly curls, then gazed after the retreating horsemen. In the god¡¯s eyes, there was neither anger, nor pain, nor fear¡ªonly a hint of curiosity. For he did not yet fully understand what death was¡­

 Story 9. The Marionette

    Lagertha woke up before dawn¡ªher sleep had been restless, haunted by vivid dreams, woven half from childhood memories and half from present anxieties. She lay in the empty chamber, breathing heavily, staring at the folds of the canopy above her bed, where shifting shadows painted images of a long-forgotten past. She saw herself as a little girl, running away from her father, wandering the castle corridors until she stumbled upon a hidden garden, enclosed by tall iron fences. A place where a fair-haired fairy lived¡ªa fairy who granted wishes¡­


    Lagertha gradually calmed, but she could not recall what she had wished for. In her dream, she had heard herself speak her heart¡¯s desire clearly, yet upon waking, the memory slipped away like mist. And still, a lingering unease clung to her soul.


    Dawn finally broke outside her window, scattering the last remnants of night¡¯s gloom, and a soft knock at the door announced the arrival of her maid. The girl brought a basin of water for the queen¡¯s morning ritual and news of visiting guests from across the sea. Lagertha obediently rose from bed and began preparing for the day.


    Queen Lagertha was a woman cornered, a prisoner of circumstance¡ªyet she had no right to admit it, not even to herself. Her first love, a youthful infatuation, had twice ended in disaster. First, when her beloved Alv¡¯s family was overthrown, and again when he returned from Hel¡¯s domain as something monstrous. Yet that had not stopped Lagertha¡¯s father from marrying her off to him.


    She had feared the new, fearsome King Alv. She had desperately searched for traces of the boy she had once loved, but if she were honest, most of what she remembered about him had been mere illusions of romantic fantasy. The search had been doomed from the start.


    As she walked toward the altar, the young bride felt like a rag doll, strings tied to her limbs. Her father pulled them skillfully, guiding her forward, and the mere thought of breaking free never even crossed her mind.


    Looking back now, Lagertha might have said that the time after her wedding had been the happiest of her life¡ªbut only in hindsight, with the weight of years gone by. And that happiness had lasted only until the whispers began¡ªmurmurs about the lack of an heir. But even that problem had been easily solved by her father, who found another man to father the future prince.


    Everyone in the castle knew that Alv¡¯s son, Guthfried, was not truly his. Even the king himself. Yet such truths were only ever spoken in hushed tones, in shadowed corners. But Lagertha had lived under their weight for too long, long enough to feel those whispers crawl against her skin¡­


    The queen placed the golden crown upon her head and gazed at her bronze reflection in the mirror¡ªher murky silhouette stood motionless and grim. But outside the door, a servant¡¯s voice reminded her of the time, and Lagertha obediently rose, once more surrendering to the pull of invisible strings. Her puppeteer father had long since passed, but in his place, without hesitation, had stepped her brother, Sigurd.


    In the corridor, a fair-haired young man awaited her, clearly more anxious about the delay than Lagertha herself. He bowed awkwardly before his mistress, hiding his bright blue eyes beneath his fringe¡ªperhaps intentionally, evading the heavy, unkind gaze of the queen. A gaze that had found him more than once, for no real reason at all.


    Lagertha swept past him with a look of evident irritation¡ªor perhaps resignation. She had long struggled with one obsessive thought, a thought she could neither voice nor act upon, yet one that granted her no peace.


    Lost in heavy musings, Lagertha reached the throne room without even realizing it. There, upon the throne, already sat her husband, Alv, surrounded by sycophants and flatterers. Among them, unmistakable, was her brother Sigurd, who in truth led the pack.


    The queen entered and took her seat beside him, unnoticed, unacknowledged. She ought to have felt slighted or stung by the disregard, but the truth was, this had long since become the norm.


    But then, the herald slipped into the hall and loudly announced the arrival of foreign merchants. Alv¡¯s retinue hastily stepped aside, clearing the king¡¯s view, as the guests appeared in the open doorway.


    A short, middle-aged man was the first to cross the room, his keen gaze assessing the monarchs before he bowed and spoke:


    - King Alv, Queen Mother, it is a great honor for my entourage and me to stand before you¡­


    He fell silent, for the hush that followed was far too unnatural¡ªas if, for a moment, the entire hall had ceased to breathe. He lifted his eyes and met the gaze of the young ruler. Alv¡¯s expression seemed empty, indifferent, yet far too attentive.


    Had the merchant looked instead at Lagertha, he might have realized his blunder at once. Though the queen¡¯s impassive mask did not waver, the flicker in her gaze as it swept the hall, searching for mocking faces, betrayed a very real fury.


    - Queen!... Queen! ¡ª the silence was broken by the loud, croaking voice of Eir, drawing everyone''s attention.


    The black bird perched on Alv¡¯s shoulder had clearly decided to correct the mistake itself, but Lagertha only rewarded the raven with a hateful glare.


    - Indeed, ¡ª the king responded, stroking the bird.


    - Queen Lagertha is my wife, not my mother, - he clarified for the embarrassed guest, casting a severe look around the hall.


    But one could hardly blame the unfortunate merchant. Ever since Alv had ascended the throne, his appearance had remained unchanged. He was as young and fair as on the day of his seventeenth birthday. And so, now, he looked nearly the same age as his own heir, Gottfried.


    Lagertha, however, in the eyes of those around her, might as well have been the king¡¯s mother¡­


    ***


    After several raised goblets, music filled the great hall, and a celebratory atmosphere took over. The merry voices of the roused crowd haunted Lagertha like a curse, forcing her to cling to the walls and slip away through empty corridors as she left the throne room.


    Avoiding prying eyes, the queen wandered into the deserted inner courtyard¡ªAlv¡¯s favored retreat, still closed to the public. Once alone, her composure finally failed her, and she sank to her knees in exhaustion.


    It was something akin to a seizure¡ªLagertha, for the first time in years, was on the verge of breaking into sobs from humiliation and resentment. Yet her fury burned so intensely that it seemed to dry the tears before they could fall.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Frustration swiftly turned to rage, and the queen began tearing at the nearest shrubs and trees with her bare hands. But she soon ran out of strength and slumped into the grass once more, breathing heavily, clutching broken branches in her scratched palms.


    - Gertha!.. Gertha! ¡ª The raven suddenly called out to the woman, landing beside her.


    It couldn¡¯t pronounce her name properly, but it was clearly trying to comfort her. Lagertha froze for a moment, remembering how Alv used to call her that as a child, chasing her through the castle halls. And now, that cursed bird meant more to him than she ever did.


    For a brief second, hatred consumed her¡ªhatred for the raven, for Alv, for her manipulative father and the brother who had replaced him, for the courtiers and servants whose darting glances crawled over her skin like insects¡­ and, finally, for herself, for enduring it all.


    The queen gripped a broken branch and brought it down on the black bird with all her might, feeling, just for an instant, the invisible strings binding her puppet limbs snap.


    The raven thrashed beneath the brutal blows, crying out in pitiful desperation:


    - No!.. No,.. master¡­


    - Mercy!.. Forgive me!¡­


    Eir¡¯s voice trembled with terror, as if she saw someone else in her tormentor. But with each strike, her cries grew weaker, until at last, she fell silent in the grass. Yet Lagertha¡¯s ears still rang with the pounding of her own heart. And along with it, echoes of something else¡ªsomething distant, a half-forgotten dream:


    - And what is it that you wish for? ¡ª a green-eyed fairy asked, perched on a golden branch, right here in this very courtyard.


    - I?.. I want,.. ¡ª a child''s voice whispered in Lagertha¡¯s mind.


    - When I grow up, I want to marry Alv¡­


    - I want to be his queen!¡­


    ***


    By the time the queen returned to the great hall, night had already fallen outside the windows. Amid the inebriated crowd, only Alv stood apart¡ªutterly, unshakably sober. He noticed Lagertha immediately as she approached and lifted his gaze to meet hers.


    - Alv, ¡ª she addressed her husband, her face strangely vacant, ¡ª my lord, would you not share my bed tonight?


    The flicker of surprise on his face was unmistakable, but he did not object. Despite what Lagertha had always thought, Alv had never sought to humiliate or hurt her¡ªnot even when, by all accounts, he had every reason to.


    - If that is your wish, ¡ª he said with a nod, rising from his seat¡ªa silent signal to the few guests still conscious that the banquet was over.


    Following his queen down the empty corridor, Alv remained silent. But once they stepped into her chambers, his composure faltered. On the bed lay another young man, his fair hair catching the dim candlelight.


    Alv took a deep breath, reining in his rising irritation, but it still bled into his voice.


    - Truly, Lagertha, it is commendable that this time you chose someone who resembles me, ¡ª he cast a glance at the motionless servant.


    - But to invite us both¡­ This is beyond reason!


    - I have always known that Gotfrid is not mine, but must you flaunt it so brazenly?!


    - That¡¯s not why he¡¯s here, ¡ª Lagertha forced out, her back still turned to him.


    - No? ¡ª Alv¡¯s irritation gave way to curiosity, failing to grasp what she was implying.


    - But he does look like you, doesn¡¯t he? ¡ª she asked, ignoring Alv entirely as her gaze remained fixed on the young man.


    Following her stare, Alv stepped closer to the bed. The youth¡¯s face was pale¡ªjust as pale as the king¡¯s own. His eyes remained closed, as if he were merely asleep.


    The woman pressed against Alv from behind; for a fleeting moment, something glinted in her hands before vanishing from sight. It was a metal knitting needle, which Lagertha drove straight into the young man''s heart.


    - Because he is dead too, ¡ª the woman whispered into her husband''s ear as he sank to the floor.


    Lagertha let go of him, freezing for a moment, savoring it¡ªbut she quickly realized that the old rumors had been terrifyingly accurate. Such a wound wasn¡¯t even enough to slow Alv down. He never fully collapsed, instead remaining on all fours, though the needle in his heart clearly caused him discomfort. He reached for it, trying to pull it out.


    But Lagertha wouldn¡¯t allow it¡ªfrantically, she grabbed a pair of tailor¡¯s scissors from her sewing basket and drove them into his throat. Bright blood streamed over her hands, setting her mind ablaze and urging her to finish what she had started.


    But no matter how many blows she struck, the ragged edges of the wounds kept knitting themselves back together¡ªthin, living threads stretched from Alv¡¯s very flesh, pulling it closed again and again.


    As she watched them, an image flashed in her mind¡ªthe silver seam crossing the young man''s throat. And in an instant, she changed her plan.


    Adjusting her grip on the scissors like a seasoned seamstress, she began cutting through the very threads that Huld had once used to stitch Alv¡¯s severed head back onto his body.


    For a while, the victim still struggled¡ªbut only until the moment his head once again separated from his neck and rolled across the floor.


    Lagertha knelt over Alv¡¯s body, covered in his blood, panting heavily. But on her lips was a crooked, delirious smile¡ªwashed by her own tears, half-dimmed by bitterness.


    Wiping her eyes with bloodstained hands, she noticed something that sent a shiver down her spine¡ªthe mysterious threads were still stretching toward each other, desperately trying to reunite the severed pieces.


    Panic flared in her chest. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, searching for some unknown means of salvation. And then she found it¡ªher eyes landed on a jewelry box standing by the mirror.


    She lunged for it, sweeping all her trinkets onto the floor with a single motion. Then, dropping to her knees, she grabbed Alv¡¯s head, shoved it inside the empty box, and slammed the lid shut.


    ***


    When a quiet knock sounded at Lagertha¡¯s chamber door, everything inside had already been put in order. The queen sat on the bed beside the strangled servant¡¯s body, endlessly polishing the damned scissors until they gleamed.-Who is it? - she asked in a hushed voice, pausing mid-motion.


    - Sigurd, who else? - came a drunken voice from the other side.


    - You called for me yourself, - the man mumbled thickly.


    - Come in, - the queen allowed, setting the scissors aside.


    Upon entering, Sigurd hesitated, at first mistaking the servant for Alv just as Lagertha had intended. But soon, confusion gave way to fury.


    - Who the hell is that? - he growled under his breath, suddenly much soberer.


    - Alv, - Lagertha answered calmly.


    - You mean he doesn¡¯t mind? - Sigurd misinterpreted her words.


    - No. I mean the king died in his sleep, and the servant will take his place tomorrow.


    Sigurd¡¯s mind raced, dread creeping up his spine as he tried to grasp the full horror of whatever game his sister had set in motion.


    - But where is the real king? - he hissed through clenched teeth, his gaze on Lagertha shifting¡ªsuddenly wary, as if seeing her for the first time.


    Without a word, she raised her silver scissors and pointed toward a large wardrobe chest by the wall.


    Sigurd felt a cold shudder run through him. Slowly, cautiously, he crossed the room and, with great reluctance, lifted the lid¡ªinside lay the king¡¯s headless body.


    Sigurd swallowed hard and turned to face her:


    - For what, Lagertha? - he whispered.


    - My son would have never taken the throne, - the queen said, making no real effort to make her justification sound believable.


    - He truly is a monster¡ªimmortal, unaging¡­


    Then, suddenly snapping back to full awareness, she shifted her tone, sharp and commanding.


    - You must burn his body and scatter the ashes before dawn!


    - Are you out of your mind?! - Sigurd exploded.


    - How do you expect me to do that without witnesses?


    - And tomorrow¡ªwhat, we announce his death?


    - We¡¯d be exposed immediately!


    - He may be a monster, but our house has plenty of enemies at court too¡­


    With a resolute thud, Sigurd slammed the lid of the chest shut.


    - We¡¯ll take the body to the royal crypt beneath the castle¡ªno one has free access there.


    Then he turned back to his sister, looking at her as if she had gone completely mad.


    - Where is his head, Lagertha? - he asked.


    - You won¡¯t have it! - she hissed, eyes gleaming.


    - If it¡¯s found, we¡¯re finished! - Sigurd warned, his voice now low and dangerous.


    - No! - Lagertha snapped, raising the silver scissors threateningly.


    She no longer wanted to be a puppet¡ªmore than that, most of the strings that bound her had already been severed. But she could still feel one left, a single cord now hanging like a noose around her throat. And she knew that the moment Alv was dealt with, Sigurd would try to tighten it.


    But the doll was no longer afraid, for her hands were free ¡ª and she already knew how to cut the strings.

 Story 10. Jewel Box

    The grand ancestral house of the Landin family was unusually quiet and peaceful¡ªa sure sign of the chaos to come. And that chaos was, as always, the handiwork of ten-year-old Liam and seven-year-old Selma.


    And here they were again¡ªwhile the housekeeper was scolding the maids in her office over a missing set of keys, the culprits were already exploring the locked rooms. The children fancied themselves treasure hunters, darting through the house, unlocking cabinets at random, and emptying the contents of vanity drawers.


    But none of their discoveries managed to satisfy their curiosity or hold their attention for long. Pearls and bronze figurines were everyday trinkets to the young masters.


    Heavy footsteps echoed on the staircase, and the children exchanged guilty glances, momentarily abandoning the cabinet in the hallway. Liam recovered first, grabbed his little sister''s hand, and pulled her toward the narrow staircase leading to the attic.


    Below, a maid''s exasperated voice rang out as she discovered the mess in the hallway. But the boy only chuckled mischievously, fingering the stolen keys and trying each one in the lock.


    - What''s in there? What''s in there? ¨C Selma giggled, having also heard the maid''s lamenting.


    - The attic, ¨C Liam whispered.


    - There must be real treasure here! ¨C he promised solemnly, and at last, the lock clicked open.


    The old door creaked slightly on its hinges as it opened, but the children barely pushed it ajar, slipping inside unnoticed.


    Inside, they found a true storeroom of dust-covered trunks and antique furniture. Carved wardrobes and ornate cabinets stood so closely together that they completely hid the walls from view. Twisting, narrow paths wound between them, seeming endless to the children.


    The little troublemakers immediately knew they had found the perfect spot¡ªvoices calling their names echoed from below as the maids searched for them, but no one would think to look for them here anytime soon. Liam turned to his sister with a triumphant grin.


    - Well then? Let''s find some treasure... ¨C he whispered conspiratorially.


    - We''ll hide it in the garden and make the maids search for it... ¨C Selma nodded, her plump lips curling into a smile.


    - Whoever finds the best jewel has to give up their cookie tin to the winner, ¨C Liam teased, spurring his sister on.


    Giggling, the girl darted down one of the narrow pathways, her little heels tapping against the wooden floor. She was still too small to open the top doors of the cabinets, but that didn''t stop her from standing on tiptoe to peek through their glass panes.


    - There! Look! ¨C she called to her brother after a long search.


    Liam, still small himself, took a moment to spot Selma behind the thicket of chair legs from stored furniture. The dim light filtering through the grimy windows barely pushed back the gloom.


    - Liam, is that a jewelry box? ¨C Selma asked when her brother finally appeared from behind the dresser.


    She was pointing at an old, carved box resting at the bottom of a painted chest. She hadn''t been able to lift the lid fully and was instead holding it up with both hands, peering inside.


    - Yeah, for jewels, ¨C Liam nodded and pushed the lid back against the wall.


    - It''s mine! I found it! ¨C the girl insisted, clearly remembering their little contest.


    - Sure, sure, ¨C Liam smirked as he reached in to pull out the box.


    - The cookies are mine! ¨C Selma whined, tugging at her brother''s sleeve.


    - Hey! Don''t pull! ¨C Liam protested, struggling with the heavy find.


    For a moment, he lost his balance, and the box slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a loud thud. The rusty hinges on its worn lid broke off with a sharp snap, and the box fell open, revealing its contents¡ªsomething round rolled across the dusty floor, leaving a trail in the grime.


    Liam froze, first in fear of being scolded for breaking an old keepsake. But then his attention fixed on what had fallen from the box, and all thoughts of a lecture vanished.


    - A head... ¨C he whispered, his voice turning cold with horror.


    Selma, having followed the object with her wide-eyed gaze, shrieked and ran for the door, sobbing hysterically.


    ***


    Auguste shut the lid of his worn, old suitcase, hiding from sight the hastily packed belongings, and hurried to leave the house. Though there was still plenty of time before his train departed, he was far too restless to sit still. Once again, he checked for the telegram that had so stirred him, and only after making sure the slip of paper was still in his jacket pocket did he step outside the gate.


    There was no real need to rush, yet his feet set a rhythmic pace against the cobblestones on their own. At the same time, despite his hurry, he scanned the faces of passersby, secretly hoping to share his exhilarating news with someone. But no one crossed his path, not until he reached the outskirts of the village.


    Hope flickered at last near the old stone fence, where a beautiful, fair-haired girl appeared beneath the towering maple. Auguste recognized her instantly and called out from afar:


    - Huld! ¨C he waved in greeting.


    - Auguste, ¨C the girl smiled back.


    - You''re here again? ¨C he remarked, slightly reproachful.


    But the pleasure of finally finding someone to talk to outweighed his sharp tone in the end.


    - It''s kind of my job... ¨C the girl replied, still good-natured.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    - I get it, I get it¡ªyour work was passed down to you, ¨C Auguste couldn''t resist a touch of mockery.


    - But an herbalist... a druid... a witch?


    - Who even believes in that nowadays? ¨C he squinted skeptically.


    - I''m a priestess, ¨C Huld corrected him without a hint of offense.


    - Right! ¨C the man snorted, glancing up at the massive tree crowned with thousands of cracked plaques.


    - And that means you''re bound to stay here, waiting for someone to make a wish?


    - Exactly... ¨C the goddess nodded.


    Huld had long lived on the outskirts of the village, occasionally entangling the threads of fate among the locals so they wouldn''t grow suspicious of her unchanging youth and longevity.


    Her tree, once a site of pilgrimage, had over time faded into little more than a quaint rural superstition, and so she had grown accustomed to such questions. But what she could never quite get used to was the blatant disbelief and skepticism she saw more and more often in people''s faces.


    - Not the hardest job... ¨C the man remarked, not too politely.


    - Perhaps... ¨C the girl smiled, and the fruits of her centuries-old labor clattered in the wind.


    - Well, I''m off to the city myself, ¨C Auguste said, steering the conversation toward what truly concerned him.


    - Something happened? ¨C Huld asked in a tone of polite indifference, instantly recognizing that the whole discussion had been leading up to this.


    - Oh, you wouldn''t believe it¡ªI''m on the verge of an incredible discovery! ¨C the man beamed with satisfaction.


    All traces of his earlier sarcasm toward Huld vanished in an instant. It was almost amusing how effortlessly he transitioned from mocking her to boasting before her.


    Perhaps it was a side effect of fate''s tangled threads near Huld. Or perhaps Auguste simply thought the girl was far too simple-minded to understand his excitement.


    - A discovery? ¨C the priestess feigned a rather convincing interest.


    - A few months ago, I found an ancient box in a private collection in Oslo, containing a preserved head, ¨C the man blurted out excitedly.


    - And today, I received a telegram saying it has already been transported to our museum, ¨C Auguste eagerly pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and unfolded it before the girl.


    She barely glanced at it, but the man had already convinced himself that her eyes were burning with curiosity.


    - We''ve had a headless mummy in our collection for some time, dated somewhere around the seventh century, ¨C the professor continued as if he had been asked, ¨C we call it ''the headless king'' among ourselves...


    - So you think you''ve found his head? ¨C Huld asked, signaling that she was, indeed, following his story.


    - God, no! ¨C Auguste laughed.


    - Of course not! ¨C he cast a condescending look at the girl, as if he had expected such nonsense from her.


    - Both specimens bear traces of stitching¡ªthreads used to sew the bodies back together after death, ¨C he explained.


    - But it''s believed that such burials were not typical for this period...


    - I want to study the fibers and determine the approximate geographical spread of this ritual, - Auguste carried on enthusiastically, taking full advantage of the fact that Huld could not leave her tree to escape the conversation.


    - And why do you need this? ¨C the girl interrupted with a reasonable question.


    It must be noted that this put quite a damper on the researcher''s excitement.


    - Why, of course! ¨C he exclaimed, baffled by Huld''s failure to grasp the obvious.


    - My work will be of immense significance in academic circles!


    - My name will be remembered forever!


    - That is... if you are right, ¨C the priestess remarked calmly.


    Auguste faltered¡ªhis face, flushed from his impassioned monologue, slowly began to regain its usual color.


    - Don''t you want to make a wish? ¨C Huld asked, smiling warmly.


    - If you wish to succeed in your research, just write it down, ¨C she suggested, nodding toward the blank plaques at the roots of the tree.


    The man glanced at them absentmindedly, then burst into laughter, right in the goddess''s face.


    - Clever! Very clever, Huld! ¨C he praised the priestess between chuckles.


    - And when they write about me in the newspapers, you''ll be able to tell everyone that it was your tree that made me famous...


    - No, these superstitions ought to disappear for good, ¨C Auguste waved dismissively.


    - Science¡ªthat''s where the future lies! ¨C he tapped his temple with a finger.


    - Soon enough, even children will stop believing in these fairy tales! ¨C he shook his head in mock pity.


    - You''d be surprised, but many still believe, ¨C Huld answered quite seriously, gesturing toward the tree''s crown.


    - Look how many wishes have come true...


    - But not a single one in your lifetime, isn''t that right? ¨C Auguste interrupted her.


    For a brief moment, Huld was taken aback by his words, until she realized that he was speaking of his own lifetime, not hers. But that fleeting hesitation only emboldened her loquacious companion.


    - Do you know how I can be so sure? ¨C he asked smugly.


    The priestess remained silent, waiting for him to continue.


    - I counted, back when I was young, how many of those plaques were still blank, ¨C Auguste grinned triumphantly.


    - I remember¡ªyour mother even tried to convince me to write a wish back then, but I refused...


    Huld''s smile widened, though she said nothing, recalling how, a couple of decades ago, she had tried to persuade an awkward village boy to whisper his heart''s desire to the ancient tree.


    - They''re all still there, ¨C Auguste narrowed his eyes slyly, ¨C every single one...


    Huld could have told him that she could always craft new plaques from the leaves of Yggdras, but she chose not to. Partly because she wasn''t in the habit of revealing too much to people, and partly because¡ªfor once¡ªAuguste was right...


    ***


    Reaching his cramped office on the second floor at last, Auguste could barely contain his excitement. On the train, he had struck up a conversation about his thrilling discovery with a few passengers, and now he felt quite satisfied. Not even the storm that had unexpectedly caught him on the way could dampen his spirits.


    He had been in such a hurry to reach the museum that he hadn''t even stopped by his apartment¡ªhis suitcase was still with him, after all. Auguste immediately opened it, rummaging for dry clothes. Once he had changed into a fresh shirt and trousers, there was a knock at the door.


    Sir, I''ve brought everything you requested, ¨C said a young man as he entered, carrying a large box and a smaller parcel.


    - Oh, already? Excellent! ¨C the professor beamed, tying the apron strings behind his back.


    ¨C Do you need anything else? ¨C the boy asked, carefully placing the items on the central table.


    - No, thank you, ¨C Auguste waved him off absentmindedly, already eager to begin his work.


    - I''ll take it from here...


    The assistant gave a polite nod and withdrew. Auguste turned immediately to the boxes, his fingers itching to uncover their contents.


    Inside the large museum crate lay a contorted mummy and an old, rusted knitting needle. But it was the smaller package that held the true prize¡ªthe long-awaited casket containing an astonishingly well-preserved head.


    As he carefully set it upon the table, a strange thought flickered through his mind: it looked almost alive.


    But Auguste quickly pushed the notion aside, fully immersing himself in the study of the threads left in the mummy''s body and around the embalmed head''s neck.


    - Professor. ¨C The same young man appeared in the doorway.


    - The curator is looking for you¡ªhe says it''s urgent...


    Auguste reluctantly tore himself away from his work but obediently trudged after the assistant, casting one last regretful glance at the newly uncovered remains.


    The door closed behind them, and the office fell into silence¡ªbut not tranquility. The fine platinum threads, finally freed, stirred upon the table. They quivered, reaching for one another, reuniting the flesh of Alf as if centuries of separation had never passed.


    For a moment, it seemed the attempt would be in vain. But the instant the head settled back into place, the withered, darkened body transformed¡ªas though life itself coursed beneath the skin from the neck down to the very tips of the fingers.


    It was, without a doubt, the power of the Yggdrasil leaf, which had remained with Alf''s head inside the casket, preserving it in its pristine state all this time.


    And so, upon the researcher''s table no longer lay a decapitated mummy, but a whole, living human body.


    It was deathly pale, crisscrossed with countless faded scars from wounds long healed. But it was alive again, whole, just as it had been the first time Huld had stitched the pieces together.


    Alf''s eyelids fluttered open, revealing a blank, spectral gaze of ashen gray.


    In that first moment of awakening, there was no resentment, no anger, no fear. Only apathy. And an exhaustion as vast as the universe itself.

 Story 11. Another Life

    The plump copper kettle rattled its lid anxiously, releasing thick white steam, loudly announcing the completion of its mission. At its noise, a stout woman hurried in from the living room¡ªher steps were slightly unsteady, and strands of gray peeked through the tightly gathered bun of her hair.


    Maria approached the stove and, before tending to the kettle, cast another worried glance through the small kitchen window, which overlooked the cramped courtyard and the stone fence entwined with wild rose vines. She squinted, her near-sighted eyes focusing on the fair-haired young man tending to the rose bushes¡ªMaria still watched over him like an infant, though there were fewer and fewer reasons to do so.


    Seeing Alv in the yard seemed to put her at ease, and she returned to her tasks. But just as she finished pouring the boiling water into the teapot and reached for the window frame to call the young man, she noticed a stranger standing behind the gate.


    However, as soon as Maria stepped outside, she quickly recognized him, despite nearly a decade of separation and her failing eyesight. The moment she saw the visitor, her eyes welled up with tears, and she hurried to unlatch the gate, pulling the man into a tight embrace.


    ¨C Jan, my boy! ¨C she patted the visitor¡¯s back, giving in to her tears entirely.


    ¨C So many years!..


    ¨C Yes, quite a few, Aunt Mari, ¨C Jan agreed, slightly bowing into her embrace.


    ¨C Come in! Come inside the house! ¨C Maria finally came to her senses, stepping back to take a better look at the man.


    From the garden, Alv silently and attentively observed the unusual scene unfolding in the house. He did not step forward to greet the guest and had no intention of following him inside. But suddenly, Maria stopped, as if remembering him at the last moment, and beckoned him to come along.


    ¨C Come, dear, ¨C she said with motherly warmth.


    With one hand, she wiped away her tears, and with the other, just to be sure, she waved to Alv, still convinced that he struggled to understand ordinary speech.


    The guest standing at the doorstep also cast a curious glance at the fair-haired young man¡ªand Alv didn¡¯t like his gaze. But he said nothing about it. Partly because silence had long since become his habit, ever since the days in the sanatorium when his unfamiliar speech made people assume he was mad.


    Maria smiled warmly and led Jan into the living room. The weary man followed, noticeably limping, while stealing quick, scrutinizing glances past his old acquaintance at the furnishings of the room. These furtive manners did not escape Alv¡¯s notice either, but he chose to head into the kitchen and busy himself with the tea set.


    ¨C Alv, dear, would you be so kind as to bring us some tea?


    - I just brewed it... ¨C Maria turned to him, but she quickly noticed that the young man had already anticipated her request.


    She sat at the table with her guest, but out of habit, her gaze still followed him to the kitchen, as if uneasily.


    ¨C Who is he? ¨C Jan asked once they were alone in the room.


    Maria snapped out of her daze, as if his voice had shaken her back to reality.


    ¨C That¡¯s Alv, ¨C she smiled.


    ¨C A good child. A little simple-minded, but a kind boy.


    ¨C Your relative? ¨C the man asked, also glancing toward the silent young man.


    ¨C No, no! ¨C Maria exclaimed.


    ¨C I worked as a nurse at the hospital after the liberation. That boy ran right under a car and ended up with us.


    ¨C He couldn¡¯t speak, barely understood where he was, and we never found his family¡­


    ¨C You took him in? ¨C Jan realized.


    ¨C Yes¡­ When I left the hospital, I couldn¡¯t leave him there, ¨C Maria nodded sadly.


    ¨C After Thomas died, I had no one left¡­


    The woman fell silent, as if something she did not wish to remember had come to mind. Then, changing the subject, she turned back to her guest.


    ¨C But tell me, Jan, how are you? ¨C she looked at him with concern.


    ¨C So many years have passed, yet I recognized you right away, as if you had just been waiting for Thomas by the gate yesterday¡­ ¨C Maria said with a nostalgic note in her voice.


    ¨C For a moment, I even thought he would come down from the second floor any second now¡­ ¨C she teared up again, hiding her eyes behind a lace handkerchief.


    ¨C Well, as you can see ¨C not great¡­ ¨C Jan replied, casting a sad glance at his injured leg.


    But he didn¡¯t get the chance to continue, as Alv returned from the kitchen carrying tea and Maria¡¯s leftover cookies from the day before.


    ¨C Here, help yourself! ¨C the hostess poured tea into the guest¡¯s cup with warmth when Alv had set the tea set down.


    ¨C Do you live in your family home, Jan? ¨C she asked, placing a cookie on his saucer.


    ¨C Why haven¡¯t I seen you before?..


    ¨C No, ma¡¯am, ¨C the man interrupted her.


    ¨C The family home burned down during the war, ¨C Jan explained reluctantly.


    ¨C Didn¡¯t you know? ¨C he asked after an awkward pause.


    ¨C No, dear¡­ ¨C Maria lowered her voice in sympathy.


    ¨C As soon as word came of Thomas¡¯ death, I left for Sweden to stay with my relatives, and I only returned after the liberation¡­


    ¨C I see¡­ ¨C the guest shifted uncomfortably in his boots.


    ¨C I only came back to these parts recently ¨C thought maybe I could find work here.


    ¨C You haven¡¯t get settled, Jan? ¨C the woman asked.


    ¨C I found a temporary place to stay, but no one wants to hire a cripple¡­ ¨C the man grimaced.


    ¨C Oh, dear! ¨C Maria exclaimed, her eyes welling up with tears again.


    The woman quickly rose and rushed to the secretary desk, pulling a few kroner from a hidden drawer before returning to the table.


    ¨C Here, take this, ¨C she pressed the banknotes into Jan¡¯s hand.


    ¨C Oh, auntie, really¡­ ¨C the guest hesitated, offering only a weak protest.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¨C No, no! Take it! ¨C she clasped his hand between her own.


    ¨C You and Thomas were always inseparable, like brothers ¨C he would have helped you now too, if he were still alive ¨C Maria smiled sadly.


    ¨C Thank you, madam, ¨C Jan murmured, tucking the money into his inner pocket.


    ¨C But won¡¯t this leave you short? ¨C he asked hesitantly, hinting at financial hardship.


    ¨C No, no! Don¡¯t worry, dear ¨C Maria shook her head.


    ¨C You know, my grandmother Anna was from a noble family ¨C my relatives took me in during the war and still support me now, ¨C she reassured him.


    ¨C So you¡¯re all alone here? ¨C Jan asked with a note of concern.


    ¨C Yes, just me and poor Alv¡­ ¨C Maria confirmed.


    She cast a warm glance at the young man, who had been silently listening to their conversation with a completely detached expression¡ªlike an infant unaware of words.


    ¨C Does he remind you of Thomas? ¨C Jan guessed.


    ¨C A little¡­


    ¨C No, he gives me a reason to keep going ¨C because there¡¯s no one else to care for him but me¡­


    ***


    The cramped, dimly lit tavern was especially crowded that evening. Spotting an old friend, Jan raised his hand in a beckoning gesture, catching his attention. The red-haired man waved back in greeting and made his way through the throng toward Jan¡¯s corner.


    ¨C I see you¡¯ve got money today, ¨C Sven remarked as he squeezed into the seat.


    ¨C Yeah, charity¡­ ¨C Jan muttered reluctantly into his beer mug.


    ¨C Could use some of that myself, ¨C his drinking companion snorted, taking a sip from his own tankard.


    ¨C Well, that¡¯s unlikely¡­ ¨C Jan drawled. ¨C I ran into the mother of an old friend¡­


    ¨C But I¡¯m your old friend! ¨C Sven guffawed.


    ¨C No, before the war, I had a buddy, Thomas¡­


    ¨C Guess his folks didn¡¯t get dragged through the mud like us, ¨C Sven scoffed.


    He let out a contemptuous snort, raising only one brow¡ªthe other was gone, lost to the burns that marred half his face.


    ¨C No, Thomas died back then¡­ ¨C Jan corrected him.


    ¨C And the old hag sat out the whole occupation safe with her rich relatives in Sweden, ¨C he suddenly spat bitterly.


    Sven shot him a hard look, then lowered his voice.


    ¨C So she lives alone now?


    ¨C No, ¨C Jan shook his head, drowning his resentment in another gulp of beer.


    ¨C Can you believe it? She took in some half-wit¡ªkid doesn¡¯t talk, doesn¡¯t understand a thing¡­


    ¨C Yeah, some folks get it all¡­ ¨C Sven agreed.


    ¨C And guys like us, patriots who suffered for our country, get nothing, ¨C Jan finished his thought with indignation.


    ¨C But on the other hand¡­ ¨C Sven drawled, already tipsy.


    ¨C What other hand?! ¨C Jan snapped, draining the last of his beer in two gulps.


    ¨C You said she lives alone¡­ and has money¡­ ¨C Sven raised an eyebrow suggestively.


    For a brief moment, the tempting thought took hold of Jan¡¯s drunken mind, but he quickly shoved it away with what little sense he had left.


    ¨C And what good is money if we get caught?


    ¨C If we don¡¯t get caught¡­ ¨C Sven lowered his voice.


    ¨C Maria recognized me today, even though it¡¯s been ten years since we last met, ¨C Jan waved him off.


    ¨C That won¡¯t be a problem if she never gets the chance to tell anyone, ¨C his friend hinted.


    ¨C What, you planning on getting yourself a warm cell and free meals in prison?


    ¨C Come on, no one would even look for us, ¨C Sven coaxed in a quiet, confident whisper.


    ¨C Why¡¯s that? ¨C Jan remained skeptical.


    ¨C You said it yourself¡ªshe¡¯s got some madman living with her.


    ¨C We bury him somewhere, and everyone will think he strangled the old hag and ran off¡­


    ***


    The future had terrified Alv¡ªfrom the very moment he first opened his eyes on August¡¯s examination table in an empty office. It had struck him with an unfamiliar world, filled with otherworldly things and magic.


    Awakening from centuries of slumber, losing all sense of time, Alv had every reason to doubt that the world before him was still Midgard*. Especially when he left the museum and found himself in an unfamiliar city, where buildings loomed higher than the fortress walls of his castle, and strange lights flickered on the spires of iron peaks.


    This strange world still filled his soul with countless questions, ones he could not answer on his own. Like the fireplace clock in the living room or the glowing magical spheres on the ceiling that lit up with the flick of a switch.


    Perhaps Maria, the mistress of the house, could have explained some of these mesmerizing mysteries. But Alv still feared speaking, even to her¡ªdespite the fact that it was through her kindness and patience that he had gradually begun to understand this unfamiliar language.


    Yet Alv had always been a clever young man, and in time, the silence, peace, and serenity of Maria¡¯s home gave him the chance to process what had happened and come to some terrifying conclusions. He had not been cast into the cold realm of Hel after death, nor would Odin have accepted him, for his was not a warrior¡¯s death.


    More than that, each Sunday, as he listened to the prayers in the nearby cathedral where Maria unfailingly took him, Alv became more certain¡ªthe old gods were dead. And he could not ask answers from Maria¡¯s new god, for he did not know how to serve or praise him.


    But even without such clear answers, Alv was beginning, little by little, to feel alive again¡ªthough he would never again dare call himself human. And yet, working alone in the quiet garden, far from ticking clocks, dazzling chandeliers, and the muted hum of the radio, he felt at peace.


    His new life¡ªone without hunts, battles, or betrayals¡ªseemed far preferable to the halls of Valhalla.


    The entrance gate creaked softly behind him, and Alv turned at the sound, surprised by the unusual number of visitors that evening. But he never got the chance to make out the silhouette of the mysterious intruder¡ªsomething hard and heavy struck the back of his head before he could react.


    The red-haired man let an empty bottle slip from his fingers, the very one he had used to stun the boy, and for good measure, he brought the garden spade down several more times.


    - What do you have over there? - Jan hissed, creeping along the wall to avoid being seen from the windows.


    - All clear! - Sven assured him, flushed with excitement as he discarded the bloodied weapon.


    For a brief moment, as the Leaf of Idras restored life to his broken body, Alv¡¯s mind clouded. Suspended between life and death, visions of the past swirled before him¡ªhis pursuers, his murderers, the terror of his final breath, the agony of betrayal. They burned and multiplied in his soul, until, in the heightened clarity of his returning consciousness, they condensed into rage.


    Rage at the cruel cycle that had repeated over and over, as though his fate had been predetermined¡ªhis life snatched away again and again, with no chance of escape.


    Alv sat in the garden, hugging his knees to his chest, seeking shelter from the brutal world beneath the fragrant boughs of wild roses and the embrace of night.


    Then, faint sobs from inside the house reached his ears. And he remembered the woman who had become a second mother to him.


    The fair-haired youth was already on his feet before he even decided what he was going to do¡ªor perhaps his very existence dictated what must be done. He entered the house through the kitchen, just as the uninvited guests had, moving carefully, silently, like a ghost of bygone times. Which, in a way, he was.


    Peering into the living room through the doorway, Alv took in the scene: the mess left by the men¡¯s rummaging, a tall stranger gripping the household¡¯s kitchen cleaver, and Maria, curled up in the armchair, sobbing. He didn¡¯t immediately see Jan, who was emptying the drawers of the buffet. But that didn¡¯t matter.


    Under the askew glow of the lampshade, something flashed in Alv¡¯s hand too¡ªa short blade. Yet unlike the two drunken soldiers, he was no stranger to holding another¡¯s life at arm¡¯s length, nor did he fear for his own.


    Moving with spectral silence, he stepped out of the kitchen and approached Sven from behind. Only Maria saw him in time, her anxious gaze betraying his presence¡ªbut it was too late to save the man.


    Sven jerked around, swinging his weapon in panic, but his blade barely grazed Alv, who skillfully ducked beneath the clumsy attack. In the next breath, the youth plunged his knife straight into the man¡¯s heart.


    Sven¡¯s massive frame staggered and collapsed, knocking over the lamp. Its glow cast an unflattering light on Alv¡¯s bare arms, where silver threads writhed in his blood, weaving the wound shut.


    Two sharp intakes of breath filled the room, but Alv had long grown indifferent to the revulsion and fear of others.


    What did unsettle his remaining opponent, however, was not just his unnatural resilience¡ªbut how effortlessly he had dispatched Sven.


    Panic overtook Jan. He bolted for the front door, desperate to escape, but failed¡ªAlv¡¯s thrown knife struck him in the back, sending him crashing to the floor just as he reached for the lock.


    The man was already on his knees, fumbling at the door in a feeble attempt to flee. But Alv¡¯s soundless steps caught up with him in an instant.


    - No, Alv, don¡¯t! - Maria¡¯s anguished cry rang out.


    But he had already moved. Retrieving his knife, he slit Jan¡¯s throat. Silence fell over the room, deep as a grave.


    - You are far too kind, Maria, - the fair-haired youth remarked, turning to her.


    ***


    The cold morning light slowly crept over the horizon, its timid rays illuminating the two figures seated on the porch¡ªa silver-haired woman wrapped in a warm shawl and a fair-haired youth, his clothes stained with dirt and dried blood. They sat in silence, gazing at the wild rose bushes, though their thoughts were far from the fragrant blossoms.


    Maria was troubled by the uncertain future.


    Alv was haunted by his ever-repeating past¡ªone he had once again been forced to bury beneath the freshly planted roses.

 Story 12. Captive of Loneliness

    Drizzling rain tapped against the windows, blurring the glow of streetlights. The workday had long since ended, yet Kristina hesitated to leave her office¡ªan odd feeling clung to her, as if something remained unfinished.


    She checked her schedule for the following day once more, but found no excuse to linger any longer. Taking her coat from the hanger and grabbing her purse, she cast one final glance around the room. Nothing seemed out of place, yet the vague unease refused to fade.


    Kristina reached for the door handle, ready to leave, but found herself face-to-face with an unexpected visitor. Caught off guard, she hesitated, momentarily lost for words, merely observing the striking young woman standing before her. Her curly hair was nearly white, her skin pale, yet the vivid green of her eyes held an almost hypnotic allure, stealing speech away for a moment too long.


    - Are you scheduled for an appointment? - Kristina finally recovered, offering a polite, professional smile, as if she had been expecting Huld all along.


    - Yes, - the girl confirmed, stepping inside as Kristina instinctively followed her back into the room.


    - Take a seat, - Kristina gestured toward the guest couch, hastily hanging her coat back up.


    The blonde moved soundlessly, settling into the offered seat. She carried neither an umbrella nor outerwear, yet her white dress bore no trace of the rain outside.


    - And you are...? - Kristina asked uncertainly, lowering herself into her own chair with a confused expression.


    - Huld, - the deity introduced herself, tugging at the right threads of fate, and at last, her companion relaxed.


    - Of course, - Kristina smiled warmly now, her expression shifting into one of genuine recognition¡ªas if she had simply mistaken the girl for one of her regular patients.


    - What brings you here?


    - I''m not sure, - Huld hesitated, - work, I suppose...


    - Are you having difficulties with colleagues or clients? - Kristina asked in a bright, professional tone.


    - Clients... - the deity smiled faintly.


    - And what exactly do you do?


    - I suppose... I fulfill other people''s wishes, - Huld answered honestly.


    - Yes... that''s not an easy job, - Kristina replied, not fully grasping her words.


    But a few subtle pulls on the threads of fate quickly wiped the confusion from the therapist''s face. In an instant, she carried on the conversation, completely disregarding the girl''s strange remark.


    - Yes, people who work in service professions often suffer from stress caused by dealing with clients...


    - People often don''t even know what they truly want, Huld confirmed with quiet sadness.


    - Many simply aren''t capable of honestly voicing their desires, - Kristina observed thoughtfully.


    - And you? Can you say, honestly, what you want?


    The unexpected question caught Huld off guard. For a few seconds, she simply looked at her companion, unable to decide how to respond.


    - I want the wishes I grant to bring people happiness, - she finally said.


    But her voice no longer carried the same certainty as it had a thousand years ago, when she carved her wish into amber and placed it upon the branch of Idras.


    - That''s admirable, - Kristina nodded, - but not very honest...


    - Is it not? - Huld questioned.


    - That''s what you want for others, - the woman clarified, - but what do you wish for yourself?


    ***


    Kristina hurried¡ªher heels echoed sharply against the cobblestone street in the crisp, invigorating September morning air. She passed by her favorite caf¨¦ with a touch of regret, already running late for her first session.


    Unlocking the office door, she quickly gathered the fresh mail from the floor¡ªa few advertising leaflets and a costly envelope with no return address. But as she settled at her desk, Kristina exhaled in relief¡ªher patient was running late as well.


    With no time to indulge in a cup of coffee, she absentmindedly sorted through the leaflets. The discount coupons went straight into the trash, but the envelope piqued her interest. Inside was an elegant invitation from one of her former patients. The thoughtful gesture flattered Kristina, yet as she checked the date against her calendar, her brow furrowed slightly.


    Just then, the chime of the front doorbell sounded, and Kristina went to greet her visitor. It was a fair-haired young man with an exhausted, downcast gaze.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    - Good morning, Alv, - she greeted, gesturing for him to enter the office.


    - How was your week? - Kristina asked with a professional yet gentle tone as her patient settled onto the couch.


    - ...The same as always, I suppose...


    Alv didn''t answer right away, as if he had to wrap his true thoughts in different words. The hesitation didn''t escape Kristina''s notice.


    It was difficult for her to work with Alv¡ªhe hadn''t come to therapy of his own accord, but rather on the recommendation of his university administration.


    - Did you try talking to someone in your group like I suggested last time?


    - No... - the young man admitted reluctantly.


    - I understand, - Kristina began gently, - what happened makes you want to keep your distance from others, to maintain a sense of safety, Alv.


    - But in the end, returning to normal interactions with people is what will truly help you feel safe again...


    - I don''t like getting close to people, - Alv suddenly interrupted.


    Kristina fell silent, sensing, at last, some kind of genuine response. For weeks, she had been trying to help him recover from the recent attempt on his life, but mostly, she had run into walls. Now, hearing even a glimpse of honesty, she grasped at the chance¡ª even if it led away from the core issue:


    - Is there a particular reason for that?


    For the first time during the session, Alv looked at the doctor, as if truly seeing her only now.


    - Tired of making peace with how they disappear...


    - That sounds very specific, - Kristina noted.


    - Who do you mean?


    - Everyone, - Alv admitted honestly.


    - There''s no one left in this world¡ª no family, no friends, not even enemies... - he added with a hint of regret.


    - Withdrawing into yourself isn''t the best way to cope with trauma, - Kristina said cautiously.


    - I can see that what happened has only worsened your struggles with socializing...


    - Who knows, maybe you''re right, - Alv huffed.


    He found himself wondering how many times fate had tightened its noose around his neck, again and again trying to end his life. A fate that wouldn''t let him move forward, but wouldn''t allow him to stop either... A fate that condemned him to solitude.


    - If making friends with your classmates feels overwhelming right now, try starting with something less demanding, - Kristina suggested.


    - For example, do you practice any sports?


    - You could join a group class...


    - Horseback riding, - Alv cut her off.


    - Ah, the sport of kings, - Kristina smiled, a little flustered.


    Alv said nothing, but thought to himself that she had no idea just how right she truly was.


    - Oh, right! - the doctor suddenly recalled, quickly getting up and heading to her desk.


    - Do you like art? - she asked while rummaging through a drawer.


    - Here, Alv, go to this exhibition, take your mind off things, - she said, handing him the glossy invitation she had received earlier.


    - Maybe you''ll discover something new...


    ***


    Standing at the grand staircase of the museum, Alv hesitated until the last moment, unsure whether he should step inside. The exhibition''s opening had drawn a far larger crowd than he had expected, and now he was torn between two conflicting urges¡ª to turn away as quickly as possible and the unwillingness to later justify his cowardice to Kristina at their next session. Though, if he were to be honest with himself, he wasn''t entirely sure why he was still attending therapy at all. Perhaps, precisely because he truly was very lonely.


    A large group of visitors exited the building, leaving the entrance staircase nearly empty. Alv exhaled heavily and decided this was his best opportunity.


    The museum''s high-ceilinged foyer was spacious and filled with light. At the entrance, guests were greeted by a large screen looping a video that strongly resembled a promotional clip.


    A fair-haired girl in festive garments¡ªones Alv recognized all too well from his youth¡ªsat atop a golden-leaved tree, its branches heavy with old wooden plaques. The camera slowly panned outward, revealing a mesmerizing landscape of the shoreline and distant mountains. Suddenly, the girl rose to her feet and tore away the tree''s very crown, which crumbled to ash beneath her. And then, she was standing on the shore, a branch in her hand, with thousands of plaques trailing behind her like a veil on the sand.


    The scene shifted, now showing the stranger carrying her peculiar burden through an entire city, until at last, she ascended the very steps that Alv had just crossed. She walked to the center of the hall and planted the branch directly into the marble floor¡ªwhere it instantly took root, growing into a colossal tree...


    The video ended there, seamlessly looping back to the very beginning, where the exhibition''s title once again appeared, written in ancient runic script. Of all the attendees, Alv was likely the only one who could read it.


    Yet he remained rooted in place, unable to tear his gaze away from the screen, his attention fixed on the unfolding images with unwavering intensity. It wasn''t that he was still wary of modern technology¡ªit was something else entirely. A sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu had tightened the threads of fate around his heart, pulling taut with an almost painful familiarity.


    A shrill voice from the main hall broke his trance, dragging him back to reality. He followed the sound and soon found himself before the very tree from the video¡ªits massive branches sprawling across the room, stretching above the heads of the gathered visitors.


    A tall, impeccably groomed woman, her voice carrying above the murmur of the crowd, was animatedly expounding on the intricate concept behind the young artist''s work, flashing a dazzling white-toothed smile.


    - Yes, - she declared, - the title can be translated as "The Tree of the Future"¡ªSkulden* Baun...


    - The artist sought to illustrate how the desires of each individual shape the course of our collective future...


    But Alv had already stopped listening. His attention was drawn elsewhere¡ªto a lone figure silently observing the scene from a distant spiral staircase.


    The exhibition occupied only the first floor, leaving the stairway shrouded in dim light, its entrance cordoned off by a velvet rope. Yet despite the distance, Alv instantly recognized the girl from the video.


    Only that wasn''t what pulled the threads of fate within him even tighter...


    ***


    Huld watched the commotion stirred around her tree and centuries of work, growing more disappointed with each passing minute. All her painstaking labor, thousands of human fates and desires, had been distorted and put on display as nothing more than an amusing trinket.


    Back then, Huld herself had wanted to finally step out from under Idras''s shadow and cease being its mere reflection. She had wished to remain in someone''s memory. To stop feeling her existence slipping through the threads of others'' destinies.


    Bitter disappointment consumed the ancient deity. Disappointment and the sting of futility.


    But suddenly, weightless footsteps sounded behind her, and a soft voice followed:


    ¡ª Skuld*... ¡ª Alv called uncertainly, and the girl turned.


    His gray eyes were filled with sorrow and loneliness. But on his lips was her name¡ªforgotten by all...


    ***THE END***