Under the scorching sunlight that pierced through my bones, cold sweat soaked my body, flowing through every open pore of my skin. My breath came in ragged gasps, reflecting the exhaustion after training with a wooden stick in hand.
"Huft, huft…" My voice came out hoarse, as if every breath grew heavier.
Behind me, Fenrir sat cross-legged, relaxed and carefree on a large rock, enjoying the spoils of today's hunt. Meanwhile, I kept swinging the wooden stick under her sharp supervision.
It wasn't really appropriate to call it a stick—it was just a two-meter-long dead branch, strong enough and somewhat resembling a spear.
Her command was simple: train yourself, Yata. Be ready to face any danger, whatever it may be, without relying on anyone.
I didn't reject the idea; after all, it felt like good training to strengthen this human body of mine. The human form is perfect for honing combat techniques. With the first swing, I brought the stick down vertically, from top to bottom. The second swing was horizontal. The third thrust forward, as if stabbing an invisible enemy.
"Good, keep going," Fenrir said calmly, her hand busy biting into a piece of deer meat. I knew she was closely observing my every movement, though she didn't say much.
But something nagged at my mind. Every move felt... familiar. As if, in a previous life, my body had already done all of this. Faint memories of my past life resurfaced like fragments of an incomplete dream.
I let myself be consumed by instinct, allowing my body to move without clear direction. My steps became more fluid, no longer confined by the basic training pattern. My feet and hands moved, swinging, spinning, slashing, as if the entire space around me was a battlefield I had to conquer.
I let my body stagger here and there. My steps seemed clumsy, like a drunkard, but every swing of my stick appeared deadly, feeling more natural.
With my eyes closed, I began to move more wildly. I jumped, spun, and slammed my stick into the ground, sending snowflakes flying into the air. Something inside me stirred, a primal urge that kept guiding every step I took.
"Stop, Yata!"
Fenrir's shout snapped me out of my wild trance, but I ignored it. My body refused to let the flow of movement stop. I kept stepping forward, swinging the stick like a warrior on the battlefield.
Until suddenly, the wooden stick was halted, held back by a strong grip from behind. I opened my eyes to find Fenrir glaring at me with her sharp golden eyes, full of suspicion.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone more serious than before.
"What do you mean?" I tried to smile, attempting to look innocent even though my heart was pounding.
"Those moves… where did you learn them?"
Fenrir narrowed her eyes further, not letting go of the stick in my hand. That gaze pierced through me, as if she was trying to read my thoughts.
Cold sweat began to trickle down my temple. I had to come up with a believable answer, but how could I explain this to her? The truth about my past life wasn't something I could just reveal.
"I… I once saw an old man practicing with his spear in the mountains. His moves caught my attention," I answered, half-hoping that Fenrir would believe this little lie.
"Hm... alright."
A miracle! Fenrir loosened her grip, seemingly satisfied with my explanation. She raised an eyebrow, curiosity replacing the suspicion that had just crossed her face.
"Really? That old man... where did you meet him?" Her golden eyes now sparkled with interest, as if my fabricated story had stirred her boundless curiosity.
"In the mountains, when I was hunting for food as a young raven." I replied quickly, trying to reinforce my lie.
"And then, what happened?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.
I put on an amazed expression to further convince her. "He was really skilled with his spear. I was fascinated by the way he used it, so I watched him from afar for a few days."
Fenrir touched her chin, deep in thought. "Interesting… Your moves did look unique. But... that old man, where is he now?"
I took a deep breath before finally saying in a flat tone, "He's dead."
Fenrir's eyes widened. "What?!"
I knew my answer would shock her, but it was easier than explaining the truth about who I really was. In my mind, this world had its own threads of fate, and I didn't want to disturb its course.
"Are you serious?" Fenrir asked, her tone softening a little, but there was something in her eyes still scrutinizing my response. "How did he die?"
"He died while practicing. When I flew closer, I realized he had passed away due to old age."
"And, and, what about…" Fenrir stopped mid-sentence, her voice catching as she saw me place a finger on my lips, signaling her to stay silent. Honestly, I didn't want to extend this lie any further.
Fenrir let out a long sigh and nodded. "Alright, I understand."
I smiled, relieved by her understanding. "Thank you."
Still, deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was so much more I needed to tell her—about who I was, about the runes I possessed, and my origins.
Maybe one day, when everything was clearer and her trust in me had grown, I would reveal the truth to her. But for now, I could only hope this lie was enough to protect the secrets that weren't ready to be told.
The day passed swiftly, and before I knew it, the sun was beginning to retreat. Birds flew back to their nests after a long day of foraging.
"We'll stop here for today," Fenrir said as she gazed into the distant sky.
I nodded, tossing the wooden stick aside. My body slumped and fell into the snow, exhaustion overtaking every fiber of my being.
Fenrir gave me a mischievous smile. "How does it feel? Fun, right? As my pet, you need to be a bird strong enough to fight on your own," she said, clenching her fist.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it." I replied flatly, still trying to catch my breath.
"Alright, now it's time to rest and feast, yeaah!"
I shifted back into my raven form and followed Fenrir, ready to fill my growling stomach after training hard all morning.
*****
The silent night greeted us once again, bringing with it the gentle glow of an almost full moon, gracefully hanging in the clear sky. Its light slowly descended, enveloping the world in stillness, then gently tracing over Fenrir's sleeping face.
Her expression was peaceful, as if the harshness of the world had never touched her. Seeing her like this, my chest tightened, stirred by emotions that came in waves, confusion, fear, and concern.
But behind her calm face, I couldn't ignore the reality weighing on me. Loki's request from the other day kept gnawing at my mind.
He had asked me to do something unbearably heavy, either free Fenrir from the Gleipnir chains that bound her or prolong her suffering. It was a decision not easily made, and I wasn't sure I could carry it out.
The knife Loki had given me gleamed under the moonlight as I pulled it from my waist. I held it tightly in my hand, cold and heavy, as if it bore the weight of the choice I had to make.
I took a deep breath, my eyes fixed on the Gleipnir chains binding Fenrir so tightly. I brought the knife closer to the chains, but my heart... my heart couldn't go through with it. Slowly, I pulled the knife away, my hands trembling.
"I can't do it," I muttered quietly, staring at the blade in my hand.
My gaze shifted to Fenrir's face, the girl who had endured loneliness and suffering for so long. A soul shackled by a prophecy of destruction.
Yet the shadow of the world's fate if I freed her continued to haunt my thoughts. How would destiny unfold if I broke these chains? What would happen to her? What would happen to this world? What about Ragnarok?
"Damn it, this is frustrating," I grumbled, annoyed.
I transformed back into my true form, spreading my wings beneath the night sky. I quickly took flight, leaving Fenrir's sleeping form behind.
The cold wind bit into my skin, but my wings kept dancing, soaring freely among the twinkling stars high above.
It was as if they were watching my inner struggle from afar. My heart was full—so much I wanted to release in a long caw that echoed across the sky, but I held back. I didn't want to wake her. I didn't want to shatter the silence of the night with my turmoil.
"What should I do?" I thought as I continued to glide through the air.
The deadline Loki had given me was drawing closer. In two days, I had to decide: release Fenrir or... prolong her chains. The dilemma squeezed my heart.
The deepest part of me didn't want to interfere with the world's threads of fate. But every time I looked at Fenrir, my heart wavered. That girl, who seemed so strong and bold, carried wounds so deep. Wounds that I couldn't see with my naked eyes but felt every time I looked at her.