Chapter 138: Skaði Remains Unconvinced
Since then, people often saw faint silhouettes of storms and giants moving across the land. Flames burned along their bodies, and any unrighteous person who witnessed them would have their soul taken away, becoming a follower of the storm.
Since then, the monstrous beasts that had plagued the land and were swept by storms and giants rapidly decreased. Heroes found fewer chances to make a name for themselves, yet there were also fewer false and inferior men.
Prelude to the Nibelungen
After forging a covenant with humanity in the name of a god, and leading that band of Titan giants out of Jötunheimr, Rowe scattered them to the winds.
Touched by his influence, they set foot upon Midgard as true Frost Giants.
They were both manifestation and embodiment of the storm. As Rowe intended, they would reap the souls of the unrighteous, gathering them into storm legions.
Like sparks cast across the world, scattered far and wide, yet if the moment demanded it, those sparks would become a surging flame, scorching the entire Norse Age of Gods.
This was the spark he had released.
It was the power of Atlantis that Rowe intended to peel away, piece by piece.
As for Rowe himself
"Excuse me, old sir. Have you seen the evil dragon Fafnir, the one said to have rampaged around these parts?"
"No. Since the King of the Wild Hunt brought the storm to Midgard, Fafnir fled in a panic. Where he ran off to, I couldn't say."
"That's truly a pity."
Snow blanketed the wilderness, piled thick on the bare, gnarled branches. The old hunter's departing footsteps were hurried, his shoulders tight. He kept a respectful distance from the polite stranger whose voice was gentle, yet whose presence carried the chill of death itself.
Rowe watched the man leave, then sighed, more disappointed than surprised. No useful information. Only confirmation that his prey had moved.
Behind him, a purple head peeked out.
Skaði tilted her face up from the collar of her long dress, eyes bright with confusion.
"What are you looking for that thing for?"
Fafnir was infamous throughout the North. More than that, he was one of the ultimate dragon species, akin to the Hydra in Greek myth, a monster said to rival greater gods in raw terror.
And he was precisely the target Rowe chose after dispatching the Frost Giants.
Skaði, unable to return to Asgard and unable to ignore the likelihood that the gods would brand her a traitor at any moment, had no choice but to follow. Confusion was all she had left to spend freely.
Rowe glanced sideways at her.
"I'm the Wild Hunt now, right?"
Skaði nodded, wary.
Rowe's eyes curved faintly.
"Then how can the King of the Wild Hunt not have a horse? Running around on two legs is terribly unconvincing."
Skaði went still.
She had prepared herself for many answers.
This was not one of them.
For a heartbeat, she could only stare.
Then her lips tightened.
It was ridiculous.
And yet, it was also annoyingly correct.
The legends of the Wild Hunt depicted a king in heavy armor, commanding undead legions, sweeping over the land with storm and death. A leader. A ruler. At the very least, mounted upon a swift steed.
If Rowe wanted to perfectly wear this identity while usurping authority, he needed a mount worthy of it.
At minimum, a divine beast standing at the level of a god.
Role playing, he called it. Usurpation by performance.
Rowe's smile did not change.
"I want the ultimate dragon, Fafnir, to become my mount. I'll reshape him into the likeness of a horse."
He turned his head toward the far mountains, white and endless under a pale sky.
"I can feel him. He's hiding in the valley ahead."
"Then why did you ask the hunter?"
"Just confirming." Rowe spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He patted his long robe, as if brushing off invisible snow.
"Let's go. The sooner we settle this, the sooner we can rest easy."
He spoke of Fafnir, the dragon countless heroes had failed to slay even with elaborate preparations, as if the beast were a sparrow that could be swatted out of the air.
Skaði found no opening to argue.
Rustling footsteps.
Two deities walked through fresh snow, leaving a steady line of prints behind them.
Branches swayed on either side. Occasionally, wind shook loose a curtain of accumulated snow that burst into glittering motes, as if the sky had decided to begin another snowfall just to be dramatic.
In that wind and snow, Skaði lightly patted her purple dress and watched Rowe's back.
He had shed the heavy armor and iron mask of his Wild Hunt form. The aura of death still clung to him, yet without that crushing, tyrannical pressure, his silhouette almost seemed ordinary.
Almost.
Even now, she had known him only a short time, yet an unsettling contradiction kept circling her heart.
He possessed immense power, and still preferred to walk the earth in the guise of a mortal.
He had combat strength that could rival Thor, and still treated people and trivial matters with almost excessive politeness.
Yet the moment he donned armor and mask, the oppression he exuded could suffocate everything that breathed.
A lunatic.
The thought surfaced, sharp and absurd.
From deep within Skaði's consciousness, beyond the Mirror of Magic, a voice clicked its tongue.
"Hm. Why does he sound like a lunatic? Are you sure the one beside you isn't actually insane?"
Skaði's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Lunatic?"
"Exactly. A term from the Aegean Sea. Describes a person with multiple selves, multiple faces. Accurate, isn't it?"
It was.
The more Skaði turned it over, the more it fit. A laugh slipped out before she could stop it.
Rowe turned his head, puzzled by the sudden sound.
Skaði, still half caught in her private amusement, said the word aloud.
"Lunatic."
Rowe blinked.
"What?"
Facing his sudden, quiet confusion, Skaði laughed even harder, like someone who had tripped and decided the only dignified response was to fall on purpose.
Yes.
This man was a complete lunatic.
But behind the laughter, something bitter stirred.
Skaði regretted it. She regretted provoking him in the first place. Regretted being deceived into Jötunheimr. Regretted being forced into a situation that looked, to any outside eye, like betrayal of Asgard.
She regretted it deeply.
Yet as time passed, her fear slowly dulled.
Rowe did not abuse his power for amusement. He did not lash out like the gods of the North were rumored to do. In his manner, he was like a human.
And at times, he seemed more like a god than the gods themselves.
Still
She wanted to return to Asgard.
Later legends might claim Skaði was originally born a Frost Giant.
Here, however, she was a pure deity born within the Asgardian realm, the manifestation of the divine realm's purest snow mountains.
Because of that purity and beauty, she had been beloved by the gods. Odin doted on her more than his many sons. Odin the war god regarded her as his closest sister. Tyr had even replicated the Great God's declaration for her.
She was a pure maiden, the most flawless symbol of Asgard.
A goddess raised under overwhelming affection did not want to leave home.
Even if Rowe had never forced her, even if her impression of him was not bad because of that, one fact remained.
He was a Demon King.
No matter how gentle a Demon King acted, he was still a Demon King.
Skaði clenched her small fists beneath her sleeves, subtle and firm.
She would seize an opportunity.
She would explain herself to the gods.
Rowe glanced at her again.
How could he not see what Skaði was thinking?
He simply did not care.
A goddess would not truly submit after a few conversations. Not here. Not in the North.
Norse was different from Greece. There were no legends of him in these lands. No idol effect. No accumulated reverence that could be harvested with a smile.
It did not matter.
She was a tool god.
Useful was all he required.
Ahead, the snow covered mountains rose and fell like sleeping beasts. Wind and snow swept across the land.
Rowe lifted his gaze.
Past the ridges lay a secluded valley, deep and silent.
He could sense Fafnir hiding within.
Boom.
Thunder rolled.
The sky, which had just finished a snowstorm, cracked with a bolt of lightning, violent enough to feel like it came from the ground itself.
Brilliant light stabbed down from the heavens.
A heavy hammer struck the void and smashed into the snow behind Rowe with terrifying force.
Skaði froze.
Her breath caught.
Because that lightning was familiar.
That hammer was even more familiar.
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