Chapter 21
Day one after Ragnarok
It is I, Bragi, god of music, though for posterity’s sake, god is a loose term for what I am. I was given the title after my writings and songs caught the ears of Freyja. The beloved goddess accepted me into the halls of Asgard. I was but a lone Light Elven living amongst the Aesir.
To begin a tale such as this, I must entreat the reader to bear with me. I do not know all yet—Odin once said that wisdom comes from knowing that there is much we do not know.
I only know what I have experienced with my eyes and must write what I witnessed just now. The rubble has not yet settled from the destruction of the gods. I can still hear their screams.
Ragnarok came, as was foretold, and obliterated the Aesir.
The screams I hear are those of the gods and goddesses.
I, myself, was given ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, tying my soul to theirs so that they could always hear my music.
From what I can see, I awoke alone. I cannot feel but a spark of light, which may very well be my own. If the prophecies are to be believed, the Aesir no longer exist, not even in Valhalla.
Only moments ago I watched worlds fall from the sky. I felt the ground beneath me shake before I became enveloped in an orb of blinding light. When I awoke, it was like a dream, standing in the halls of Odin’s palace, empty, save for me.
Had I died? Was this Valhalla?
I walk the empty halls, marvelling that the palace that had been in ruins now stands in full glory.
The seas of Asgard are lively, and I feel life churning below as I venture along the cliffside. Asgardian horses trot along the beach.
Alas, I am not alone!
The horses rush past me, and behind them walks another being. Her hair is as golden as the sun and for a moment, I think she might be Freyja, saved. But alas, I do not know her.
As she approaches, I see that her ears are not pointed, but soft and round. A creature I have never seen before but have sung songs of to entertain.
“Who are you?” I ask the creature. She does not answer. “Where are you from?”
“I am from here.” Her voice is silk, singing to my poor soul.
Her answer confuses me. “But where is here?”
“Vanaheim.”
She is a Vanir. A sorceress.
“Is this not Asgard?” The palace of Thrudheim is at my back. This cannot be Vanaheim.
Instead of answering, she raises her hands and the light of her magic glows between them. She closes her eyes, which have turned white, and whispers a spell. Her magic radiates from her body. I feel the caress of it on my skin.
“What are you doing?”
“I am feeling for spirits.”
When she opens her eyes, blue colour returns, the tendrils of magic receding back into her body.
“What did you see?”
“Death and destruction, but also life.”
“What life?”
“All life.”
“How did you come here?”
“Through the light that saved us all.”
“We are not alone?”
“No, we are all gathered as one.”
“What do you mean?”
“We are one.”
“Speak plainly, sorceress.”
“I See only this world.”
“You See?”
“I am a Seer.”
“We are not in Asgard?”
“We are nowhere. We are everywhere.”
“What does that mean?”
“We are alone.”
I watch the sorceress turn and walk away from me. I cannot help but follow.
We stay in the palace and I pray—I offer my blood and I pray to the gods. No answer comes. No light within me sparks. They are gone.
Day four hundred and sixty-one after Ragnarok
It is I, Bragi. We have seen no beings but each other, though Frida assures me they are there. “Their spirits are broken,” she tells me after making love under the sky. “They will find us soon,” she promises.
There has been no sign of the Aesir.
Day seven hundred and twenty-nine after Ragnarok
The gods and goddesses live!
They have instructed me not to write their names, for they fear that Fate will be angered by their survival.
They are powerless, the magic they once had now living in the lands of this new world.
Frida is excited to spread the word, for though I cannot write their names, a god has instructed me to find the others and inform them of the happy news.
It is my honour to do the bidding of my divine.
Day one thousand and seventy-eight after Ragnarok
It is I, Bragi. Frida and I have travelled to her home realm. Vanaheim seems to thrive, though the temperature is not as pleasantly warm as in Asgard. Frida assures me that it was like this when Vanaheim was a whole world.
Our message of the Aesir’s survival was met with rejoicing. We have renewed our prayers, which has brought a sense of peace over us all.
The Vanir are a lively people, though I knew that from my relations with Frida. Their emotions and passions run high, enhancing their magic and making them strong. They greet Frida with open arms, though they are unsure of me.
Frida’s queen says Vanaheim also borders Alfheim, and they have had Elven visitors.
I am thrilled to hear of the survival of my people. Frida reminds me that she said as much before.
Day three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three after Ragnarok
It is I, Bragi. Our life is pleasant.
We receive many visitors in Asgard and a truce has formed between the realms. The gods have allowed us to rule ourselves and have retreated into the shadows of existence. A goddess said they wished to live among us, to blend in.
Their magic has not returned.
The council is in agreement. We have called the new world Yggdrasil, an honour to the fallen world tree.
A sapling that has survived destruction.
Day five thousand, four hundred and ninety-four after Ragnarok
It is I, Bragi. My love for Frida has deepened. Our souls have entwined. She is my Thiramin, and I, her Hjarta. Others have mated as well, and the races are coming together.
Frida and I have created life here in Asgard. Our son, Faedir, has entered the world. We were not sure it would be possible, though we desired it greatly.
Day five thousand, six hundred and thirty-two after Ragnarok
It is I, Bragi. Faedir has grown into a wonderful youngling, though he is different from how Frida or I imagined. His ears are pointed, like my Elven ears, but he grows thick with muscle like Frida. His magic is maturing, and he can wield the elements of earth, fire, water, and air.
Frida tells me only one will choose him as he gets older. She has Seen it.
He is unlike any creature I have heard of before, neither Elven nor Vanir.
He is his own.
Our little Fae.