A steady hand rocked me from my stupor as I languidly twiddled the skriðhringr I had been gifted a while back. It was an arm ring that twisted a few times around my bicep like a snake coiling around its prey. Entwined metal in a decorative braid formed the body culminating with a serpent’s head on both ends, one facing up, the other down. The wavy patterned metal, reminiscent of Damascus steel, gave the ring the impression that it was moving or creeping, hence the name.

You could tell from its exquisite design that the creator was immensely gifted and put his all into creating the piece, and in a show of the great ‘affection’, it was mine, specially altered to fit my juvenile frame. They told me it was one of our house’s prized possessions that an ancestor had forged from a fragment of the High Void. The general belief was that there was nothing beyond Earth, just a neverending formless black expanse dotted with flames called the Offspring of Muspell.

They weren’t wrong, but it wasn’t entirely accurate either. Space was filled with so much more. One day when my path has reached its end, I would like to continue my journey through the stars, hopefully, this time as an equal.

At the very least, the Gneistis didn’t see me as just a pawn but as someone of the same blood, unlike the Illugis. In all honesty, I don’t even think the Illugis saw me as a pawn, just an obligation they had to care of to keep face. Either way, it doesn’t matter; I would take what I needed regardless of who it was or how I was treated. Acceptance and belonging are two hazardous concepts that have caused many great figures to fall by the wayside, and while I am not opposed to these ideas, I certainly won’t let them dictate my actions.

Just thinking of all the gifts I could potentially scam from them sent a smile across my face, maybe the family smithing technique? Or a weapon of some sort? Ah, better not get carried away lest I grow too fond of them before receiving an adequate amount of bribes. ‘The benefits of being related to a smithing family are truly mouth-watering,’ I chuckled while shaking my head before remembering someone had been attempting to get my attention all this while.

Two leather boots entered my vision almost immediately, too large for a child. Slowly tracing my head up, the familiar blue fur coat and leather satchel of teacher Fróði met my eyes, ceding to a scrunched up face. “My apologies, teacher Fróði, I didn’t notice you standing there. I was deep in thought about the lesson we just had,” I gulped, hoping the excuse was satisfactory.

“Oh? And which part got your attention? Basic geography that I already know you memorised or the study of the various beasts that roam the wilderness that you’re an expert in?” he questioned in a tone that was slightly too sarcastic. “Come now boy, I thought you were smarter than that. After all our years together, I would know when my prized pupil is not being truthful with me. You’ve been distracted as of late, not paying attention in class and no longer thirsting for new knowledge. What troubles you, my boy?”

And though his words gave the impression he cared about my wellbeing, his voice was laced with subtle intrigue. I guess being curious about everything is the hallmark of a good scholar.

The man was sharp, and he had finally made his move after noticing my abnormal behaviour recently. In just a few sentences, he had skilfully carved his way through to the heart of the issue, leaving me no room for escape. In truth, prior to going off on a tangent about the skriðhringr and the other potential gifts I could get, my mind was caught up with that vision I experienced during my naming day. Naturally, it was not something I could just let go of and ignore. It had been far too real to be a dream or hallucination.

I stroked my chin, debating the pros and cons of telling teacher Fróði about the vision. He was the only one I somewhat trusted that might be able to help me in a meaningful way and shed some light on the situation. On the other hand, this vision could be some secret prophecy that would damn me to hel. Quickly coming to a decision lest I truly anger him, something I absolutely did not want to experience if those unfortunate enough to incite his wrath were any indicator, I confessed.

“Haaa – you got me, teacher. As of late, I’ve been having a reoccurring dream of walking in an endless blizzard, and at the end, I see a man. But, before I can see his face, the dream ends,” apprehensively lowering my head at the end to give off the impression that I was both saddened and apologetic for my recent behaviour.

He silently muttered to himself after listening to my words, pacing up and down the empty room. Having never seen him act in such an unrefined manner, I was stunned and opted to patiently wait till he was done. I could barely make anything out of his increasingly incoherent ramblings, but I swore I heard him say “mistaken”. Eventually regaining some semblance of calm after that little episode, he carefully treaded toward me. Getting to my feet in case he was about to do something nefarious, which was very likely the case, I got into a position where he could not obstruct my path to the door without first going through me.

Over our time together, I learned that teacher Fróði was once a warrior, but he decided to retire and become a scholar after a particular incident. I had little chance of escape if he did try anything, but at least this way, I was somewhat in control and not completely cornered.

Kneeling in front of me, he paused, seemingly picking his following words with utmost care. “What is our purpose Sǫlmundr? Why were we put on this Earth?”

“This is out of the blue, teacher,” I said with a raised eyebrow. “I remember you saying that to ponder such things was akin to trying to understand why the sun rose and set. We are scholars who study the physical, not philosophers theorising intangible concepts that have no practical use.”

“Sometimes, you are too smart for your own good boy. Humour this old man will you?” he huffed. I did not know where he was going with this conversation and its relation to my vision, so I decided to humour him.

Taking a moment to formulate a response, I thought back on all my experiences, not just here but also when I was adrift, before stating my sincere belief. “If I had to say, our purpose and reason for existence depend on the choices we make throughout our lives, nothing else. There is no such thing as destiny or fate driving someone towards a predetermined outcome in life.”

“A splendid theory, however flawed it may be. It reflects a desire to control your own future and not be controlled by others. I expected nothing less from you but let me challenge that belief. For example, if you know what will happen in your own future, is that destiny or fate?”

“Assuming something like that was even possible… I would say destiny, as one still has a chance to change the future if they so desire,” I replied.

Nodding his head, teacher Fróði continued with his barrage of questions. “That would be another correct assumption. The future is formless like water and can be shaped by our hands, but what of the past? What if your future has already occurred, what then Sǫlmundr?” A silence descended on the room as I had no response, the past could not be changed as it had already occurred, and I could only shrug in response to his query.

“That is fate. You cannot turn away nor change it, only face it head-on. Your way of thinking holds true for the common man, but for great men, the world is a lot more complicated than you think. There will come a time when the choice is no longer in your hands,” A sombre aura descended as those words left his mouth, visage resigned as he cracked a wistful smile. “Now, I have gone on this tangent because of the dreams you’ve had,” he explained.

Turning around, he walked over to his leather bag dangling from the back of the chair he taught from. Rummaging inside for a moment, he removed a tightly bound book, his prized possession. It was a tome, the faded, cracked leather of its cover a testament to its age and history. It recorded his life’s work, filled with a plethora of information from what critters inhabited the forest to our city’s history and its founding. He unlatched the fraying strap exposing yellowed pages chock full of scribblings and diagrams, eyes darting to and fro, scanning.

The crisp sound of flipped papers was all that was heard in the still atmosphere of the room. Anything from that book would be valuable, and my anticipation only rose as time wore on. Sometimes he would stop and skim through the page before shaking his head and resuming previous actions. Each pause only added to the already palpable tension permeating the premise, and when he finally found what he was looking for, you could almost cut through it with a knife. Grunting in approval, he swivelled around, facing me once again. Clearing his throat, he began reading the page’s contents aloud.

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Visitors from afar, a realm disassociate,

A tiding of grace, or destruction to come,

In shape everchanging, conveying a message,

The Beast, The Woman, and The Man.

The Beast, tame or wild, speaks of the heart,

The Woman, a guardian, blood’s fortune,

But beware The Man, for he brings forth surety,

Fate unchanging, the fylgjur have come for their dues.

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Holding the book in one hand while the index finger of his other traced the page, I clung to every word, trying to commit everything to memory till the recital was over. The book snapped shut, sending a puff of dust into the air, exposing the sullen look on teacher Fróði’s face. He had read what was likely a section of the Edda that I had not been exposed to prior. Only a surface-level understanding of the passage had been formed in this short time, so I pressed for an explanation. “Teacher, how exactly does this relate to the dreams I have been having?”

“What I just read to you was a section coming from the Edda detailing the workings of the fylgjur. Spiritual connections people occasionally form that serves as an indicator of the future. They usually appear in dreams, but there have been cases of them appearing as visions as well,” he raised a hand, index finger at attention, “One. The Beast represents the truest form of a person’s character and, consequently, is an indicator of their future actions. Do they have a tame or untamed character? Does one need to be wary of such a person? This is the most common fylgja to appear.”

His middle finger was raised. “Two. The Woman. She usually appears to war house descendants and occasionally wealthy families. She represents the accumulated fortune a family has amassed over their history and is seen as a guardian spirit of sorts that assures the house of their future prosperity.”

The third finger rose. “And finally, we have the Man. This is the rarest of all fylgja to appear and is also the most dreaded. He represents a bleak future, guaranteed to come to pass. Fate. Thankfully from what you told me, nothing dreadful was foreshadowed. A winter storm likely means you will face increasing challenging hardships in the future. I’m sorry, my boy, it seems your path in life will be full of thorns,” he consoled, stroking my head. “I will always be here to lend a guiding hand if needed. Do not lose hope. Fight. The battle only ends when you draw your final breath.”

This explained why he had such an adverse reaction when I told him of the dream. This was interesting, though, a spiritual phenomenon that essentially gave people somewhat vague glimpses of the future. However, when I remembered the image of the giant impaled upon the tree… if that was a fylgja. A thought echoed at that moment as a wry grin pulled at my lips.

‘Oh, the woes of being me.'