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In the heart of Midgard, where winter never fully loosens its grip and the gods' presence lingers like smoke in the trees, two men find themselves bound by more than survival.
Sváinn has lived a life shaped by war, once a warrior of a great clan, now a man alone. Scarred in body and soul, he's fled the noise of men and gods alike, choosing exile over the weight of memory. He expects nothing more from life than solitude... until he pulls a half-frozen man from the wreckage of a village fire.
Eirik is no warrior. He speaks in riddles, knows the old names for stars, and flinches at sudden movement. But there's something in him. Something the gods haven't quite let go of. He claims he's searching for a long-forgotten temple buried in the snowbound north. He doesn't say why. Sváinn doesn't ask.
Bound by necessity, the two set off through frozen forests and storm-lashed mountains, stalked by things both mortal and divine. Days stretch into weeks. Shared silences grow heavy with meaning. Eirik's touch lingers longer at night. Sváinn finds himself listening to the way Eirik hums old songs when he thinks no one hears. What begins as guarded tolerance shifts into something harder to name, trust, maybe? Or the start of something tender in a world built to crush tenderness.
But love has never been safe in a world ruled by oaths and omens. And the gods, watching still, are never kind.