Enemy Fire | J. Saltzman - Legacies [3]

T H I R T Y - T H R E E

Run.

To run is to be free yet trapped at the same time. For children, they race from their homes, their parents, and their chores towards a world of endless possibilities. For adults, they race from the lives they used to want towards something different. There is always something to run to and always something to run from. Rarely can someone have one without the other.

The same is true for the gods. They can run from war, their ex-lovers, anything, but what truly awaits those who run forever? Those who run know that your breath eventually weakens, your knees eventually buckle, and your body and mind collapse from the pressure.

We have been running for thousands of years. But no more. We refuse to run—I refuse to run anymore. It is inevitable.

~~~~~

They congregate over a broken body tied to a rock, poison dripping from above onto the man's forehead. After so many years, the man does not cry out anymore, though his children can still see the pain in his eyes.

Neither of his sons are truly in the cave—they all know this, but it does not stop them from finding comfort in each other. One son, toiling deep beneath the realms in icy waters while the other remains chained atop a mountain for the winds to lash. "War approaches," the man rasps as his wife replaces the bowl to catch the venom before it splatters against his skin. "You must be prepared."

"We are, Father." The boy's slitted eyes focus on the man he kneels beside, on his wrinkled hand gripping the stone. "Ragnarok is inevitable."

The other son sighs from where he stands, his arms crossed over his chest. "Armies are already gathering. We just need you."

"Good. Good." The man nods. "There is one issue that must be dealt with first. A Norn came to me in a dream. Her warning must be heeded. We are to lose."

"Lose?" The standing man exclaims. He throws his hands out. "That's impossible. We outmatch them—"

"Enough." His father sends him a look. "You are young. Naive. And you will listen to my instructions, for if we lose, we lose everything we have fought so hard for. The Aesir cannot win. Not again. Not now."

His other son grips his hand tightly. "What would you have us do, Father? We fight for you. We are loyal to you."

"I know, but we must anticipate failure. Should we lose, we must fight back again and again. We must rise up, fight for the world we know to be right. But that will require time."

"How much time?"

"More than I have left, but just enough for you both to learn some patience."

The brothers exchange a look.

"You must entwine your magic. Not enough to weaken you, but enough to pass on through generations. Attach it to the earth. Allow fate to decide who may be worthy of wielding the power of the wolf and the snake. When the time is right, you will know. Your magic will call out to you, and you will call out to the magic. Only then can Ragnarok begin anew."

"I don't understand." The man drops his arms to his side and shakes his head. "We don't need humans. We need to be free of the Aesir and everything they stand for."

"Ah, my dear boy, but they are not just humans." The man's eyes sparkle with amusement. "They are your Chosen, and they will be the only ones capable of winning this war."

"Great, so I have your magic?" Stella rolls her eyes. "So interesting. Let me go."

Fenrir growls from his seat in front of her, his lips curling up to reveal his canines, though the girl looks far from frightened. In fact, she seems to enjoy his anger. Definitely his Chosen. "It is more than that," he replies. "You have to understand what we're fighting for, which means you get the whole story."