What was the point? The question weighed on Brokkr's chest like a mammoth. Father was alive, or at least the svartalf that had raised him was. The vaettir actually, because that’s what father was, a spirit of the other worlds.

Despite the fires burning in the forge, the shadows still danced at the edge of his vision, whispering secrets to him from throughout the village.

A man’s hand cupped a slave's breast not knowing she was his sister, but the shadows felt their auras, both too similar to be anything but family. A woman standing watch wouldn't live past the year as something in her mind was apt to rupture. The mead in Brokkr’s own hand wasn't poisoned but the drinking horn had been years before in some Craven's scheme to murder.

The shadows knew things, arousal and hatred, age, strength, weakness. They painted a picture of the world so clearly Brokkr felt blinded in the sun. But it also told a story seen through countless eyes. And now Brokkr had understanding as well, gifted to him through the power of Sigyn’s trench.

Brokkr didn't hear the footfalls behind him, but the darkness they created screamed out to him along with Sindri’s and Eitri’s power. By the gods, they were so much more than father had been. Most of a vaettir’s strength went to holding a body but Brokkr’s body was his own, the svartalf power within unhindered.

Eitri sat to his right, smiling. “I can feel the shadows in you brother. Finally tasted that Völva's trench, did you?”

“About time,” Sindri said.

Brokkr shuddered. His brothers being so close, their shadows sturd his own, forcing them to the surface. If not for the flame in the hall his skin would blacken and eyes grow dark, glowing with pale yellow light.

“Father, he,” Brokkr said.

“He ain't dead,” Sindri said. "So do you still want to be Jarl?"

Did he? Brokkr didn't know. He wanted to avenge father. Even if not truly dead the Vargr Tribe still shit on their name. But did one avenge vaettir, and a svartalf no less. The foul creatures twisted a man's bones once possessed making him short and lame but no less deadly. But father had been whole and the greatest of men.

There was no choice at all.

“There’s still vengeance to be had,” he said. “The Vargr Tribe broke faith with all of Germa. That cannot be forgiven.”

“German?” Eitri spat but his tone pitched so only the brothers could hear. “We are of Svartalfheim. The land, this very tribe is no more than a seedbed for souls to harvest.”

Days ago Brokkr would have slain his brother for those words, for speaking like some vaettir, but now he wasn't sure if they didn't have the right of it.

Brokkr didn't have an answer and ought to not give one.

He rows, using his ax as a walking stick and made for the entrance. Halfway there his brother burst into a fit of laughter, and he let them. Didn't have anymore room in his chest for anger, only confusion there now.

Outside the hall the midday sun had Brokkr covering his eyes. He forced them open despite the discomfort and the shadows calling him back to the shade and continued on walking without purpose.

He passed his people without word as they went about their day, seeming so much lesser than ever before. They couldn't see the ghost just outside their view or the things crawling in the shadows beneath them, the power just beyond their grasp. All were so ignorant of the other worlds, he had been too, fearing magic as if it made him unmanly. Children, the lot of them, happy in their ignorance.

Brokkr stumbled as he neared his forge, finding Laufey at its entrance. A rage took him then as an understanding dawned on him. Sigyn had known and now, so did he. Seemed too obvious. Couldn't help but feel the power coming off the man in waves.

Laufey backed into the forge as Brokkr charged at him. The moment the doors closer, shadows spilled from his feet flying at the Thane.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!" Laufey exclaimed.

Right as the shadows were upon him, Laufey reached out to the pire. Flames leapt out, coiling around him and into the shadows, devouring them as they turned purple. Brokkr still neared, his skin black and protected from the flame that spread along the walls, fighting for dominance over the coiling darkness.

“You’re a fucking sorcerer!” Brokkr shouted.

“Is that worse than being a Svartalf?”

“You knew!” Brokkr said, the accusation clear.

“Of course. The power coming off you was unmistakable.”

“And you didn’t fucking tell me I was a Svartalf or about father!”

The shadows grew with Brokkr’s anger dulling the light of the forge as if the flame within ran from his power. Laufey seemed not to mind, letting the tendrils coil around him and burn away.

“And if I did, you’d have run me through for the insult.”

“I wouldn't-”

Brokkr held his tongue. Laufey spoke the truth. He would have killed him in an instant or made the square in challenge. To not do so after being accused of unmanliness would prove it true.

“You're not wrong,” Brokkr admitted.

“I never am,” Laufey said as his flames grew small. Brokkr followed suit until their waring magic separated.

Brokkr set his jaw. “So, what vaettir do you have bound to you?”

Laufey raised an eyebrow. “Can’t tell?”

“I have an idea but it's like remembering a dream,” Brokkr admitted.

“Laying with a sorcerer is always the best way to be introduced into the magic but it won't teach you everything.”

Brokkr knew too well the truth of Laufey’s words. He’d learned so much from bedding Sigyn, but only enough to know how little he knew and how much more there was for the Völva to teach him.

“A muspelkin,” Laufey said in answer, raising a finger with flame dancing on its tip. “But more importantly, do you still want to be Jarl?” Brokkr nodded. “Good.”

Laufey freed a stone as large as a man's head from his satchel placing it in the forge. “It orichalcum,” he said. “And it won’t be melted by mundane fire.”

Brokkr knew the ore, or Sigyn had. There was something special about its properties. He groaned, not able to recall one of a thousand concepts now swimming through his brain.

“Shadow fire. You want to forge with shadow fire.”

“Yes,” Laufey said and Brokkr could swear he saw firelight burning behind his eyes. “And whatever we create will best any weapon your brothers could create.”

“We?”