The moment Fenrir patted my shoulder and said, "You'll do great," I knew I was in trouble.
Not the mild kind of trouble where you misplace your socks before work—no, this was the kind of trouble where your life expectancy drops dramatically if you blink wrong.
"So, just to clarify," I began, adjusting the straps of my utility vest, "if I guess wrong, I'll be encased in runic ice for eternity?"
Fenrir grinned, showing too many teeth. "Oh, it won't be eternal. Just until someone manages to break the spell. That could be, what, a century or two?"
I stared at him, deadpan. "Wow. That's so comforting. Thanks."
The wolf god shrugged, his massive shoulders rippling like storm clouds. "You've got this, Carl. I've seen you bluff your way out of tougher spots. Besides, I'll be watching… for entertainment purposes, of course."
Oh, good. Nothing like being the prime-time act for a literal god.
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