Underneath Winter Haven

  The Hollow Quarter

  The air grew colder, more still. Dust fell like ash from the vaulted ceilings of broken stone. Crates and shattered remnants of forgotten ages littered the passageways, and every footstep echoed like a whisper from the grave.

  Thor led the group with a broad-shouldered confidence, his hammer resting lazily across one shoulder. “If this Blade of Endless Winter is half what the stories say… the Allfather would surely add it to his vault. A fitting prize for Asgard.”

  Loki snorted. “Yes, how fortunate for the Allfather. Another toy for his war room of shiny relics.”

  Maevis chuckled. “You think he’ll let you back into the vault after Baldur?”

  Loki arched a brow. “Ah, but dear Maevis, I’ve already been back since then. Briefly. Quietly. Hypothetically. And besides I'm innocent. Baldur's death was all Mavikundi's work.”

  Tannis rolled her eyes. “Save your hypotheticals. We’re almost there.”

  They slowed as the tunnel opened into a half-collapsed chamber filled with scavenged debris and faint torchlight. Wooden platforms had been hastily constructed, and iron tools clanked against the defeated ruin of the golem that had once defended the lost weapon—its shattered parts being stripped and looted by frost giants, each one as large as a smithy and twice as loud.

  Hulgrun, the frost giant overseer, barked orders with the gravity of command.

  “Careful with the arc-stone! That’s worth more than your skulls! And keep the salvage in neat piles or I’ll have your skins for cloaks!”

  Thor clenched his fists and started forward, but Loki caught his arm. Now was not the time for his half brother's theatrics. Not yet.

  “Wait,” the trickster whispered, “Let’s handle this with… finesse. For once. Alright? Watch this.”

  He waved his hand and muttered an incantation. A tiny, melodic hummingbird’s call echoed across the room—delicate, odd, and just unnatural enough to catch attention. But Loki used his finesse and skill to modify it so that only Hulgrun could hear it.

  Hulgrun paused. His ears twitched. What was that damned sound?

  “Damn birds,” he muttered, tromping off toward the far edge where an icy bucket of water sat on a cracked barrel. Muttering curses, he dropped his weapon and set about relieving himself.

  Loki gave a mock bow. “Ladies. He’s all yours.”

  Maevis and Tannis crept forward like shadows. As Hulgrun finished and dunked his hands into the freezing water, they struck—Tannis jammed a blunt edge into the pressure point behind his knee while Maevis swung around and drove a heavy dagger pommel into his temple.

  The giant groaned once and collapsed. Loki then aided then by uttering a silencing spell around Hulgrun as to not alert his minions.

  Loki strolled forward in his usual bad boy bravado, snatching a coil of rope from Maevis’s kit with a magician’s flourish. With a mutter and a flick of his hands, the rope slithered like a serpent and coiled around the frost giant like a living serpent, binding him from shoulder to ankle in enchanted knots.

  “I’ve seen this one before,” Loki mused, tightening the last loop. “Hulgrun, right? Yesss. You must be. And so handsome." Loki mocked as he right hand caressed the face of captive frost giant. "Mavikundi’s hammer-man. Loyal. Brutish. Too dumb to lie. He’ll be useful.”

  Tannis crossed her arms. “Brenna Skywing will definitely want a word with him.”

  Maevis peered around a broken pillar. “So what do we do about the rest? Looks like all of these are SnowEarth giants. No Black Ledger assassins this time. They must of have split up. Unlucky for them.”

  Loki sighed and sat cross-legged atop a broken crate. “I’ll stay here. Guard our guest, take notes, make some tea. You two go clean up the riffraff. Try to leave one or two conscious enough to talk. Mavikundi clearly has the blade, and that means we’re running out of time.”

  At that moment, Thor slammed his gauntlet against the wall with a loud clang.

  “Then there’s no point waiting. We strike hard and fast—kill those who resist. Question the rest.”

  And with a mighty roar, Thor charged the chamber, Mj?lnir crashing down upon the nearest unsuspecting frost giant’s skull like thunder given form.

  Maevis groaned. “We just fought an entire scouting patrol…”

  Tannis smirked and readied her daggers. “At least now we’re warmed up.”

  They followed, launching a flurry of throwing knives, darts, and whistling daggers from the shadows. Each weapon struck with uncanny accuracy, dropping frost giants like tree trunks beneath an axe.

  The melee erupted in full—a swirl of hammer blows, icy bellows, and steel-on-stone.

  From the shadows, Loki watched.

  His fingers steepled, his expression unreadable.

  “One god with a hammer, two assassins with loyalties tied only to the coin he gives them, and a frost giant trussed like a festival hog,” he murmured. “And somewhere ahead… a madman with a blade that could freeze the world. A madman who had killed Baldur all brought all this misfortune upon him. But first that madman must be brought before the Allfather. So many variables. So little time.”

  He sat down on a nearby crate, witnessing his companions go at it with thier enemies. Loki smiled, an amused look on his face.

  Asgard

  The Bifrost

  The wind whistled high atop the ridge that crowned Asgard’s outermost border. Beneath the shimmering sky, where auroras danced like serpents in the upper air, Brunhilde stood before the Rainbow Bridge—the Bifrost, that eternal, prismatic span that linked Asgard to the ten thousand worlds beyond.

  It pulsed with subtle power, light rippling like oil upon water, a road of splendor through the void. No matter how often she saw it, the Bifrost never ceased to awe her.

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  She gave a final tug on the saddle of her steed, a dappled-gray warhorse named Skybird, whose mane braided itself in the wind and shimmered faintly with the light of Asgard’s sun.

  “Steady now, girl,” Brunhilde murmured, patting her flank. “Not your first ride. Won’t be your last.”

  Her pack was modest but thorough. A spear of asgardian steel, sharp and unbent since the days of the Wyrm Wars. A sword, forged for her by the smiths of StoneEarth, etched with runes of swiftness and surety. Healing salves, herbs gathered from Idunn’s garden should she have need of them, a pouch of coin minted with Odin’s face, and dried provisions for the road.

  Light travel. Swift purpose.

  Find Thor. Relay the Allfather’s word. Return with Loki in chains. Done and done.

  She would not fail.

  As Skybird’s hooves struck the path leading to the Bifrost Gate, Himinbjorg rose in the distance—a towering keep of grey stone and carved timbers, not golden nor gaudy like mortal tales described. Asgard’s strength had never been in its riches, but in the weight of its endurance. The gatehouse stood proud, shaped by the centuries like a mountain worn smooth by wind.

  Himinbjorg, the sky cliffs, home to Heimdall, the ever-watchful.

  She admired it, always had. Not for its majesty, but for its symbolism. This was no palace, no hall of revels. This was a watchtower—a fortress built to keep enemies out and safeguard the paths of gods.

  “Only Heimdall could live in such a place,” she thought. “No warmth, no wine, no song. Just silence and vigilance.”

  And yet, Brunhilde respected him more than most of the gods. He never sought glory, never feasted on praise. He simply stood his post, eyes ever-watchful, ears attuned to the furthest cries of the cosmos.

  She urged Skybird forward, the hooves echoing on the ancient stone path, closer and closer to the gate.

  Her thoughts drifted again.

  Thor will understand. He must. If Loki is innocent—or guilty—it changes nothing. What matters is balance. Blood debts demand closure. Even if that blood is the Allfather’s own son.

  She pressed a hand to the hilt of her sword.

  If Loki resists… we do what must be done.

  The wind picked up, carrying the faint song of the Bifrost’s energy. The bridge shimmered and coiled ahead of her like a river of living crystal.

  She straightened in her saddle and exhaled a long breath.

  Just as Brunhilde reached for Skybird’s reins, she heard the familiar thunder of hooves pounding the stone road behind her.

  Turning, she narrowed her eyes against the wind.

  A white mare came galloping down the path—lean, fast, and spirited—and upon it rode a young woman clad in light armor, her pale blonde braid flaring behind her like a banner. Her cheeks were flushed with effort, her eyes bright with determination.

  “Brunhilde! Wait!”

  Brunhilde groaned under her breath. “Oh, no. What now?”

  The rider reined in sharply, her mare skidding to a halt beside Skybraid. She dismounted with practiced grace and jogged the last few steps.

  “Let me come with you,” the girl said, slightly breathless. “I can help.”

  “Cyra,” Brunhilde said coolly, “this is no errand for children.”

  “I’m not a child!” she shot back, straightening. “I’m eighteen! I’ve trained with the shieldmaidens of Asgard. I passed the Trials of Wodin. You saw it yourself!”

  Brunhilde crossed her arms, expression grim. “And you think that makes you ready for this? To chase gods and traitors across the wild realms? To bring Loki back in chains?”

  “I think I’m ready to stand at my sister’s side,” Cyra said, eyes burning. “I think you’re just too used to seeing me as the girl you used to braid flowers with.”

  That struck a chord. Brunhilde exhaled slowly through her nose, glancing toward Himinbjorg as if it might offer counsel.

  “This path leads to Winterhaven. To trouble. Maybe to war.”

  “Then let me fight in it,” Cyra said, softer now. “You taught me the way of the sword. Don’t make me use it on you just to prove I can ride beside you.”

  A tense silence passed. Then, against her better judgment, Brunhilde gave a sharp nod.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “But if you fall behind, I leave you behind. You stay at my side. No heroics. Understand?”

  Cyra beamed, springing back into her saddle. “Understood, Captain.”

  Together they rode, the clatter of hooves echoing across the wind-scoured path. The mighty gatehouse of Himinbjorg loomed nearer—walls of weather-worn stone, its great doors etched with protective runes older than any mortal tongue. No fire, no banners, just quiet vigilance.

  Atop its highest platform stood a lone sentinel.

  Heimdall, the ever-watchful. Tall, statuesque, draped in a cloak of stormcloud grey. His gaze fixed on them long before they approached, his golden eyes bright with knowing.

  As they neared, the gates parted with a low groan. He stood waiting at the threshold.

  “Brunhilde,” he said in that calm, sonorous voice, like a blade sliding from a scabbard. “One of Odin’s ravens, Muninn spoke to me last night of your coming.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “The Allfather entrusts you with a heavy task. But your steps are known to me. You carry that burden well.”

  Brunhilde dismounted, placing a fist over her chest. “You honor me, Heimdall.”

  “I have already tuned the Bifrost to open upon GreyEarth. A place called Winterhaven. May your passage be swift, your blade truer still.”

  Then his gaze turned to the younger rider. “And who is this brave one?”

  Brunhilde sighed. “My half-sister. Cyra Skjaldottir. I told her to stay behind. She insisted.”

  “I can handle myself,” Cyra said, chin lifted with resolve. “I swear it.”

  Heimdall chuckled faintly—an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “She has fire in her. That will serve her well in GreyEarth’s cold shadows.”

  He stepped aside, extending a hand toward the glowing bridge that now shimmered with life and power. “Go, then. May your eyes be clear and your purpose strong.”

  Brunhilde nodded her thanks. “As ever, you are a true friend, Heimdall.”

  “Tell the Allfather’s son to hurry back,” he added. “And watch for lies within truth, and truth within lies.”

  “We will.”

  She turned to Cyra. “You stay behind me. No matter what.”

  Cyra gave a solemn nod, for once not arguing.

  Then, together, the two Valkyries spurred their steeds forward—riding headlong onto the Rainbow Bridge, light refracting around them as Asgard fell away behind.

  Towards GreyEarth.

  Towards Thor.

  Towards Loki.

  Underneath Winter Haven

  The Hollow Quarter

  The air was thick with silence now, broken only by the dripping of melted ice and the slow crackle of frost dissipating. Tannis and Maevis stood amid the wreckage of Hulgrun’s frostborn minions, weapons still drawn, breaths ragged. The last of the enemy fell with a groan, a dagger wedged deep in his collarbone.

  Across the icy chamber, Thor stood victorious, his hammer steaming from impact. He rolled his shoulders, a pleased grin tugging at his lips.

  “Well fought,” he said, looking over the bodies. “Though I had hoped for a bit more sport. Giants these days—they don’t build them like they used to.”

  Loki, leaning casually against a support pillar, clapped slowly. “Oh yes, thunderer. You were indeed magnificent. A true hero” He pushed himself off the wall and approached the bound form of Hulgrun, still unconscious. “But I possess the true prize. Information.”

  He raised one hand and muttered an incantation, fingers curling through invisible threads of magic. Frost-laced runes spiraled into the air, then vanished in a pulse of light.

  The enormous form of Hulgrun rose from the floor, floating now—limbs limp, head slumped forward like a puppet. The ice-crusted ropes that bound him shimmered faintly with the same runes.

  Loki looked back at the group. “He’ll float obediently, following me wherever I go. A neat little enchantment I picked up in my many wanderings. Don’t worry—he won’t wake without my say so.”

  Maevis crouched beside one of the fallen giants and retrieved a curved dagger with an obsidian edge. “This one had some good gear. Want me to start looting?”

  Tannis nodded, already rifling through a pack with expert fingers. “Check them all. Might be some Black Ledger coins or gear stashed somewhere. I don’t trust these bastards to carry only steel.”

  As the two rogues worked, Thor stretched and exhaled. “Still, something’s off. This was a holding force. A scrap heap guard detail. If Mavikundi’s left the weapon chamber, then he’s already made his next move.”

  Loki’s expression darkened. “Yes. The Blade of Endless Winter is no longer here. Which means he has it. And wherever Mavikundi goes, death and frost will follow.”

  He turned to the others. “We’ve no time to waste. He’s gone ahead with the Black Ledger’s envoy. That can only mean one thing—Winterhaven is about to face something very unpleasant.”

  Thor’s brows furrowed. “Then we go back. To Skywind’s safehouse. She’ll need to hear everything. If there’s any chance of stopping this alliance before it bears fruit…”

  Maevis sheathed her newly acquired daggers. “We’d better start moving. This place gives me the creeps.”

  Loki gestured, and the floating body of Hulgrun drifted forward behind him like a balloon tethered by unseen string. “Yes, yes. Plenty of battles ahead. And with our new friend here, we’ll have just the leverage we need.”

  They turned and made their way out of the ruined vault—boots crunching over scattered ice and scorched rubble. The sounds of their footsteps echoed through the stone hall as the shadows closed in behind them.