[ONC 2021 Grand Winner] After the events of Ragnarök, the God Vidar has settled in the nice and quiet city of Antwerp where he keeps an eye on the local paranormal community. Nearly a millennium later, Vidar is a grumbling bookstore owner by day and...
That night Vidar twisted and turned before finally hurling his blanket against his closet. How could he have been so stupid not to see the link? Giant, halfling, animal. But why him? Who would want to grab his attention so badly they went as far as vandalising monuments, desecrating graves, and killing an innocent creature? Well, not innocent, but Reynaert had no part in whatever this quarrel was about.
Or had he?
Sleep wouldn't come, so he got out of bed. Stumbling down to his kitchen, he scratched every piece of skin he could reach, made coffee, then sat down at the table with all receipts and bills from the last few weeks. His growing nails scratched the pages.
Yet as much as he wanted to, he couldn't concentrate. His joints ached. The numbers danced in front of his eyes, appearing jumbled and foreign. The clock ticked too loudly. He barely touched his snowman mug; the taste of his favourite black gold too bitter.
Then, the pen he was holding cracked in his grip. A blot of blue ink splashed onto the papers. In a fit of pure rage, he shoved everything off the table.
Part of him wanted to storm out of the house, but he had promised Mo he wouldn't. They would meet up with Isegrim at Fort Lillo to interrogate the old wolf, and then they would solve this case like they had so many before.
First, he had to get through the day, face Kira and hand her back the phone. According to Mo, she had never logged out of her Facebook or Google account. The Ifrit didn't trust her, although Vidar supposed this was all a misunderstanding.
She was just a girl, a nice and kind girl. The pile of receipts confirmed the daily hustle and bustle in the store; his business was thriving.
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At a quarter to six, she came through the door, her skateboard under her arm, all chirpy and bubbly. There wasn't much left of the shy, insecure girl who had entered his store four weeks ago.
"Morning," Vidar said as he clawed at the itch in his neck. He had been waiting for her since Sunna had first appeared on the horizon. "All prepared?"
"Bit nervous." She clamped to the board. "I have to do well—my future depends on it."
"You'll do well."
"But what if I don't?"
"Then you tried." He reached into the pocket of his trousers and took out the glittery plastic box that was his phone. Her phone, technically. "Speaking of trying—I have to give this back to you."
"Oh." Her face fell. "You don't like it?"
"I'm a Boomer." He shrugged.
She didn't take the phone. "I can help you figure out the apps if you're stuck. It's really easy."
"No, it's fine. I'll get my own phone, with my own accounts."
"Oh, then keep it. Give it back when you've bought a new one. You can't be without a phone."
