The giant beneath the mountain has awakened after three centuries' slumber and devours some of my fathers' best men every morning. He will continue taking lives, one for every giant our ancient ruler killed to steal his land. But I know this ice gia...
The gods disappear and leave me utterly, piercingly alone. The Northern Lights still shine above though, my only company here. I follow their trail with my eyes, see how they dip at an expanse of snow. I go towards it. My feet sink into the snow, large footprints of some great beast fading into smaller ones as I walk further. Soon, the footprints are back to normal again, disappearing behind a snowy tower.
I run my hand along the edge of the tower, a deformed land mass of chunks of ice, snow, and mud. Like someone had tried to build a city of ice and, instead of continuing with it, smashed it in frustration. It's not too wide, about the size of my bedroom in the keep at Ymir.
There's a boy with his knees drawn up to his chest. His skin is gray and his eyes, when they turn to me, are tinged pink. His hair is the color of snow, a ratty mess that falls towards his spine. He wears tattered stockings and a long, dove-gray undershirt with dark pants cinched around his waist. At one point, I'm sure this was fine craftsmanship. The diamond rings adorning his fingers speak of wealth. But his haggard appearance combined with eyes swollen from crying...
Pitiful, he looks pitiful.
I hold my hand out to him. "How did you end up here? I've only seen gods, not..." crying young men with pretty eyes now that I get a closer look at them, "not a boy." I finish lamely.
He wipes his nose on his sleeve. Something I forgive considering the fear in his gaze. I smile, hoping to put him at ease. "I won't hurt you. What's your name?"
"Fell. Fell Hallvarðr." He tells me, intoning in a timbre that's far too strong an intonation for such a fragile figure. He looks as though he hasn't eaten in years. I'd expect his voice to crack like the rest of him. Shattered. Instead, he pulls himself slowly to his feet. "Who are you? Only the Old Ones walk here." He pauses, turning about himself. "I thought I was dead."
"I think we're just sleeping. Both of us." He stumbles, attempting to stand. I immediately go to help him up, but the weight of him. It feels like trying to hold up fifty trees. My lungs constrict, and I can barely find breath until Fell rights himself again. "I think this all must be some dream."
"Yes, but who are you?"
"Cassia Boadicea Dominus." I tell him. "Stars, you're heavy for such a skeletal kid. Do you have rocks in your pockets?"
Dazed, he hardly considers my words. Fell holds one hand to his cheek, a bruise beneath his eye fading to nothing as I watch him. "You must be right. This has all been a strange dream." He holds out one hand, "will you help me wake up from it, Cassia?"
I place my own hand atop his. "Of course. Three. Two..."
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