Chapter 39 - Danica #2
The memory inside springs to life, showing a warrior facing what appears to be a tornado made of pure light. But instead of fighting it directly, she... dances? Her movements flow like water, each step precisely placed, each gesture working with the wind rather than against it.
"She succeeded," I realize, watching her merge with the tornado instead of being torn apart by it.
"Indeed. She understood what most failed to grasp—that air cannot be conquered, only persuaded." His ancient eyes fix on me. "Much like a certain stubborn Viking of yours."
I feel my cheeks heat. "Are we still doing the horse therapy session?"
"Consider it a bonus to your education." Another sphere bursts, its knowledge sinking into my skin. "Though I notice you're not denying the comparison."
I sigh dramatically. "Fine. Yes. Rhyland is exactly like trying to conquer air—impossible, frustrating, and likely to blow up in your face if you push too hard.
" I kick at a tuft of grass. "But that's the problem.
He's keeping something from me about Erik, and every time I try to get a straight answer, he goes all 'protective alpha male' on me.
Like I can't handle whatever's going on. "
I throw my hands up. "I mean, come on! I've faced shadow demons, survived death, discovered I'm basically angel royalty, and he thinks I need to be sheltered from whatever's happening with Erik?
It's insulting. And worse—" my voice drops, "it scares me.
Because whatever's bad enough that Rhyland thinks he needs to protect me from it. .. must be really, really bad."
Gullfax regards me with those ancient eyes that have seen centuries of drama unfold. He exhales softly, creating a small breeze that stirs the memory spheres around us.
"Young Lightborn, I have carried warriors into battle since before your kind built their first cities.
I have seen the rise and fall of gods. And in all that time, one truth remains constant—those who carry great power often carry greater burdens.
" His voice deepens with wisdom. "Rhyland is much like his father, Magni.
The apple didn't fall far from that particular tree.
A memory sphere drifts between us, showing a towering figure with lightning crackling around his fists.
In the vision, Magni stands before Thor's throne, his stance defiant as he argues passionately.
Though the sphere carries no sound, his intent is clear from his protective posture and fierce expression—he's demanding the right to handle some danger alone, refusing to share the burden even with his father.
"Like father, like son. Rhyland believes protection means bearing burdens alone, carrying secrets like stones in his pockets until they weigh him down into the earth."
Gullfax nudges me gently with his nose. "But consider this, Lightborn—perhaps what troubles Erik is not Rhyland's secret to share. Perhaps he guards another's confidence as fiercely as he guards your heart."
He gestures toward another memory sphere, this one showing two warriors standing back-to-back against a horde of enemies. "Brotherhood among immortals is a bond forged over centuries. What you see as secretive may simply be loyalty to promises made long before you drew breath.
"The question isn't whether you can handle the truth," he continues, wisdom tempering his usual snark. "The question is whether you trust him enough to let him keep his word to another, even when it frustrates you."
I roll my eyes, but Gullfax's words hit their mark. Damn mystical horse making actual sense. Still, the frustration simmers under my skin like an itch I can't scratch.
"Fine. I get it. Brotherhood, loyalty, promises made in the bro-code or whatever.
" I kick at a pebble, watching it skitter across the perfect grass.
"But it still chaps my ass that I'm apparently not worthy of being included in their little supernatural secret society.
I mean, what happened to 'mates don't keep secrets from each other'?
Or does that only apply when it's convenient? "
Gullfax's deep chuckle resonates in my head. "That, Little Light, is for you two to figure out." His mental voice carries that infuriating tone of someone who knows they've won the argument but is too dignified to gloat openly.
I leave it at that, though the frustration still simmers beneath my skin. I'm nowhere near ready to just accept whatever mysterious bullshit is happening with Erik, regardless of how many wise horse proverbs get thrown my way.
Am I being a petty, stubborn brat about this? Absolutely.
Do I have even the slightest inclination to stop? Not a chance in hell.
Some hills are worth dying on, and "no secrets between mates" is definitely one of them.
Gullfax leads me deeper into ásgard's hidden wonders, past the Valley of Windborne Memories and through a grove of trees with bark like polished silver. The path winds upward, following the river's course until the sound of rushing water grows from whisper to roar.
We emerge onto a ledge overlooking a spectacular sight—a mammoth waterfall that seems to pour directly from the sky itself.
The cascade tumbles hundreds of feet, creating a perpetual rainbow in the mist where sunlight strikes water.
At the base, the pool shimmers with colors that shouldn't exist in nature—deep azures fading to violets and golds that pulse with their own inner light.
"The Falls of Fafnir. Named for the dragon who once guarded these waters."
A freaking water dragon??
As if summoned by his words, a small creature emerges from the pool's edge, shaking droplets from its fur.
At first glance, it resembles an otter with sleek, dark fur—until it unfurls tiny, iridescent dragon wings from its back and gives them a delicate flutter.
Its eyes gleam with intelligence, whiskers twitching as it studies us curiously.
"A fjorniskratti," Gullfax explains as the creature waddles closer, its webbed paws leaving damp prints on the stone. "Spirit guardians of sacred waters. They are distant cousins to dragons, though they prefer fish to maidens and treasure."
The fjorniskratti chirps, a sound like wind chimes in a summer breeze, and tilts its head at me. Its wings—barely the span of my hand—shimmer with all the colors of the waterfall as they catch the light.
"They are rare even in ásgard," Gullfax continues. "To see one is considered a blessing... or a warning, depending on their mood."
The little creature seems to consider me for a moment before it stands on its hind legs, paws pressed together as if in prayer. Then, with another musical chirp, it produces a single scale from its chest—a tiny disc that gleams like mother-of-pearl in the sunlight.
"Well," Gullfax sounds genuinely surprised. "It seems you've made a friend."
I stand frozen, afraid that even breathing might scare away this impossible creature. The fjorniskratti chirps again, more insistently this time, tiny paw still extended with its offering.
"Is it... giving me a gift?" I whisper, not taking my eyes off the miniature dragon-otter.
"So it would seem," Gullfax replies, sounding impressed despite himself. "Their scales are powerful conduits for water and air magic. They rarely part with them willingly."
With trembling fingers, I kneel and extend my palm. The fjorniskratti waddles forward with surprising dignity, places the iridescent scale in my hand, then presses its cool, damp nose against my wrist. A tingling sensation races up my arm—like static electricity but somehow... wetter?
"Holy shit," I breathe as the scale seems to melt into my skin, leaving behind a shimmering mark like a tattoo of overlapping waves. "Did that just—"
"Bind itself to you? Yes." Gullfax sounds genuinely startled. "That is... unprecedented."
The fjorniskratti looks extraordinarily pleased with itself. It chirps once more before doing what can only be described as a happy dance—spinning in circles, wings fluttering, webbed feet slapping against the stone.
"I don't understand," I say, staring at the mark on my palm. "What does this mean?"
Before Gullfax can answer, more ripples disturb the pool's surface. To my absolute astonishment, dozens of tiny heads emerge—more fjorniskratti, each one slightly different in coloring but all sporting the same adorable whiskers and miniature dragon wings.
They form a semicircle at the water's edge, watching me with intelligent eyes that seem to contain galaxies. Then, as if responding to some unseen signal, they begin to sing.
The sound defies description—higher than wind chimes, more melodic than birdsong, with harmonies that seem to resonate directly with my bones. The waterfall's roar softens, as if even it wants to listen.
"Oh my god," I whisper, tears springing to my eyes though I can't explain why. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."
"The Song of Blessing," Gullfax murmurs, his usual snark completely absent. "They recognize you, Lightborn. Not just as the savior of prophecy, but as something more."
"Something more?" My voice cracks as the fjorniskratti's song continues to wrap around me like a warm embrace. "What do you mean?"
Gullfax moves closer. "The fjorniskratti are the keepers of what lies between—the guardians of transition and transformation. Their blessing is rare, given only to those who can bridge worlds."
I stare at the shimmering mark on my palm. "Bridge worlds? Like... the different realms?"
"More than that." His voice takes on a teaching tone I'm starting to recognize. "You are born of light, mated to storm and shadows. You walk between science and magic, mortal and divine. The fjorniskratti see this duality in you, and now they've given you the means to harness it."
The little otter-dragon chirps in agreement, nuzzling against my hand. The mark pulses in response, sending waves of tingling energy up my arm.
"That scale-mark they've gifted you," Gullfax continues, "it's not just a pretty tattoo. It's a key—one that will help you see and manipulate the spaces between things. The very boundaries that separate elements, realms, even states of being."
"Like how I saw the guardian was quantum?" I ask, thinking back to our earlier battle.
"Precisely. But now you'll be able to see such things naturally, without having to puzzle them out.
The mark will help you perceive the in-between spaces, the transitions, the moments of possibility.
" He pauses, adding with what sounds suspiciously like pride, "It's a powerful gift, little light.
One that could change everything about how you approach the trials ahead. "
I flex my marked palm, watching the shimmering patterns ripple. "So basically, I've just been adopted by a bunch of magical otter-dragons who've given me cosmic X-ray vision?"
The Keeper makes a sound suspiciously like a giggle, while Gullfax just sighs. "If that simplified explanation helps you process this momentous mystical occurrence, then yes. You've been adopted by magical otter-dragons."
The Keeper chirps one final time before waddling back to the water's edge, its tiny wings giving an almost apologetic flutter. One by one, the other fjorniskratti bow their heads to me before slipping beneath the surface, leaving only ripples and the echo of their song behind.
I turn to Gullfax, emotion tightening my throat. "Thank you," I whisper, reaching out to touch his velvet nose. "For bringing me here. For showing me..." I press my forehead against his, feeling the ancient power that thrums beneath his hide. "For everything."
His mental voice is gentler than I've ever heard it. "This is my gift to you, Lightborn. A small repayment for saving my life." His breath ruffles my hair. "Though I suspect those little troublemakers just gave you a far greater present than I could have planned."
The mark on my palm pulses warmly, as if in agreement.
I grin up at him. "Well, for a snarky immortal horse who's been nothing but a pain in my ass since day one, you sure know how to plan one hell of a field trip." My voice softens. "Thank you, Gullfax. Really. You've actually turned out to be one of the best gifts I could have asked for."