In such vast plains of the tundra, the thick evergreen forests and the steep steps of the colossal mountains, the silence prevailed over these cruel lands. This was the land of death where only the strong would live. A lonely, vast landscape that was blanketed by the white sheet of snow and deep silence.

The winter had come and with it, kala settled along with the snow, the chill slowed the time and the nighttime dominated the cycles. But the darkness could not conquer these lands, as the white snow illuminated the landscape. And at this time of year, Ulfeid gave the marching soldiers a solace that is only present in this part of the world.

It was perhaps the last night where they would see the dark skies riddled with glowing and flickering stars, but like the waves of the vast ocean, the northern lights flooded the endless skies. White, blue and green stretched above the soldiers’ heads as they stared up in awe.

Those were the winds of Skaggarðr, carrying Ulfeid into the realm of mortals. It matched her otherworldly beauty, even in these desolate times where man’s true capabilities will be tested. As beautiful as Ulfeid was, she was cruel, unforgiving and spiteful. All deserved to be punished, but only those of any worth shall live to see another day.

But to these soldiers adorned in steel armor, this was yet another winter, yet another war they were marching into.

And Aadam knew why Ulfeid was so keen on punishing them all. He knew that they deserved it. They forgot their roots. And that was exactly why the people of Winthrope suffered from kala. It was a disease that would be their downfall.

As the soldiers had set up camp, Aadam pulled an elk he had hunted earlier this day. It was a blessing to find anything alive during the winter to hunt and eat, but even as the general of the army, he would not share it with the men he was leading. At least, not all of them. What Aadam was doing was something that the king or anyone from the Winthrope court would disagree with.

He moved away from the campsite where the rest of the soldiers were preparing to rest for the day, while Aadam had entered the nearest forest, seeking solace among the trees. Along with him moved around a dozen other men, though they did not carry a lot of camping gear as the rest of the army did.

Their little haven was, for the lack of the better term, primitive, simple and practical. They set up a campfire, took off their armor and despite the cold, they only wrapped themselves in the furs of the animals they had hunted. Aadam was the only one wrapped in the furs of a large cave bear. They exposed their bodies to the cold as they huddled around the campfire, while Aadam had cut up the bloodied meat of the elk, while the man next to him made a bitter smelling tea that he poured in small wooden and roughly made cups that he handed to each man.

“Ulfeid is giving us the final warning for this winter.” he whispered gruffly as he took the raw piece of meat from which he took a bite out of. It was unpleasant, the bloody juices trickled down his unshaven, blond beard as he chewed. It was a ritualistic practice of the Wǖlf warriors, the ancient heroes that were called after the northern wolves who moved in packs. They were the agents of the old land where Thors ruled over the people of the north. Aadam’s ancestor, Hjällmar, was the earliest ancestor that Aadam could find his link to, and Hjällmar was a legendary Wǖlf pack leader. In the stories, Hjällmar had separated himself from the link of humanity, with the intention of becoming an apex predator in the battlefield. Aadam followed the practices of his ancestor and shared it with the worthy soldiers he knew had the most potential to be the ones who will honor their ancestors and greet them in Skaggarðr.

“Stríð will witness our glory. And Dauði will welcome us home.” the man who concocted the tea whispered lowly, blowing what’s left of the petal dust from the flower towards the general direction of the huddled warriors, and with the way they whiffed the air, it would be obvious how strong and potent the smell and effect of the plant are even as mere dust. Ulfeid’s Solace was a rare flower that grew in the Northern’s forests, difficult to find and only a few knew how to use it properly. The man who made these drinks was someone Aadam trusted with this practice. After all, this exact man had a strange background and was the first to support Aadam in traditional practices. He said he had many names: Benjamin, Francis, Wilhelm - all of them fake, but everyone referred to him as Shaman. His background and his story were unknown, mostly anything he had shared was a lie, but Aadam had never met anyone who had known so much about the Thor’lundr practices, alchemy and even had witnessed strange episodes of Shaman’s behavior.

In some strange ways, Aadam was convinced that Shaman can actually speak to gods. “You will see them now.” Shaman giggled like a gleeful child, yet his bright eyes had glimmered with so much enthusiasm that it can only be described as madness. “I will take you to them. They are here. But they hide from Ulfeid. With each day, with each step, more of the land falls to kala.”

With everyone now holding the cups of tea that were handed to them, without hesitation, the group of men downed the awful drink that stung at their taste buds and left a lasting aftertaste. It was named Ulfeid’s Solace due to its effects - body heat increases exceptionally where one would seek to undress even in the coldest winter night. The feeling of comfort and euphoria rises in ways that would make one want to fall to their knees, and embrace the ground they walk on. The feeling of love and appreciation had increased. The childlike wonder would make one incapable to sit in one place, despite being haunted by hallucinations - hallucinations that mysteriously are shared by multiple people that are under the effects of this drug. It was not a personal experience for those who inhaled the smell and tasted the tea.

Barefoot and bare-chested, the group of warriors followed after Shaman through the thick forest, their hands brushing past the evergreen leaves and the barks of the trees, the feet heavily grounding themselves with each step, no matter how much the rocks or dried sticks would cut into their skin, they almost seemed unable to feel any sense of discomfort or pain.

They found themselves in the clearing where the Hjorki’s Waterfall resided. To anyone else,it would be just beautiful scenery, of a large waterfall cascading down the rocks and into a stream that disappeared deeper into the forest. But this is not what they saw.

It was Dauði’s head that laid there, his colossal head made completely out of stone - half of it a skull and the other half is the face of an elderly man. From the empty eye, the endless stream of water ran up what was supposed to be the rocks of the massive incline. The water was not running down. The time was going backwards. Dauði’s bright blue eyes blinked slowly as he stared at the group of men who approached them, their faces unable to hide the shock and admiration of the scene.

On top of the waterfall, a silhouette approached, far above them. A large, masculine figure stood on top of god of death’s head, with the axe raised to the sky. The man was a giant, as big as the fortified palace of Winthrope.

Shaman fell onto his knees, hands raising in the air as he joyously laughed, tears filling his eyes. “WITNESSED! WE ARE WITNESSED!” he screamed, as if he was unable to control the joy that he felt.

And Aadam could feel it too… Together, they stood before the gods. They not only have witnessed the truth that their ancestors believed in, but they were witnessed themselves, by those gods they were revering.