If there's one thing I've learned as a developer, it's that when systems start acting weird, something somewherehas gone catastrophically wrong. And right now, as I trudged deeper into the glowing, root-filled abyss of the World Tree, I couldn't help but feel like I was inside a cosmic-scale production bug.
"The path must be earned," she said. Yeah, sure. And I'm the bug report nobody wants to acknowledge.
The glowing roots pulsed faintly underfoot, sending weird ripples of energy through the bark, and I had questions—a lot of questions. Were these signals? Is Yggdrasil running a query right now? Or was this just normal magical tree stuff?
Probably magical tree stuff, I told myself, though my brain refused to stop applying logic where logic clearly didn't belong. What was clear is that this tree's system health was a little too jittery.
Which meant I needed to find the error.
And guess who popped up just as I started asking too many questions?
"Well, well, well!" a voice rang out—high, theatrical, and way too chipper for my current mental state.
I stopped mid-step and turned my head. Sitting on one of the roots, legs crossed like he owned the place, was… a squirrel.
Not just any squirrel.
He was about two feet tall, fur bright red like a flame, and he wore a tiny cloak with what looked like an oversized feather stuck in it. He held a lute—because of course he did—and his smug grin screamed, I know you're already tired of me, and I've only just arrived.
"Oh no," I said flatly. "A bard."
The squirrel laughed, hopping to his feet. "Not just a bard! The bard! Ratatoskr, at your service! Messenger of the Tree, purveyor of gossip, singer of tales, and—if I do say so myself—a hopeless romantic."
He punctuated that last line with a wink so theatrical it should have come with a laugh track.
"Oh, great," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "The World Tree's got its own neighborhood troubadour."
Ratatoskr didn't miss a beat. "And you, my frostbitten friend, look like you're in over your head. Lost? Confused? Seeking answers you won't understand? You're in luck—you just found your friendly neighborhood guide." He spread his arms wide, lute bouncing against his side.
I stared at him, unimpressed. "Why do I feel like everything you say comes with a price tag?"
He clutched his chest in mock pain. "Ouch. The wounds you inflict upon my heart!" Then, dropping the act for half a second, he shrugged. "But, you know. A favor here, a rumor there… Squirrel's gotta make a living."
"So you're Ratatoskr," I said, crossing my arms. "Aren't you the one who… what was it again? Runs up and down the World Tree spreading insults?"
He beamed like I'd just complimented him. "Ah, you've heard of me! Yes, yes, the insults are part of my charm. Keeps the giants and the eagles humble. But I do much more than that! Especially when damsels or dashing travelers are involved." He winked again.
I groaned. Great. Yggdrasil has its very own Scanlan Shorthalt, but in squirrel form.
"Look," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I don't have time for your shtick. I think this tree is glitched, or sick, or whatever counts as broken for a giant interdimensional plant. The roots are pulsing like they're trying to talk to each other, and I'm pretty sure that's not normal."
Ratatoskr's ears perked up. "Oh-ho! A man who speaks in riddles of his own! 'Glitched,' you say? Tell me more, little programmer."
"Programmer?" I blinked. "Wait, how do you even know that term?"
He grinned, teeth gleaming. "I am the Messenger of the Tree. I know everything that travels along its roots. New worlds, new words, new ideas… They all pass through me. Call it a professional curiosity."
"Great, so you're a squirrel-shaped stack trace."
"Exactly! With better looks and a killer smile," he quipped, strumming a chord on his lute.
I ignored him. "If you know so much, do you have any idea what's wrong with the tree?"
He paused, his grin fading for the first time. He glanced at the roots below us, their faint glow pulsing irregularly now, like a heartbeat out of sync.
"Hmm," he hummed, tapping his chin. "It has been acting a little strange lately. Signals getting crossed. Roots growing where they shouldn't. Feels like the Tree's got a nasty case of bad inputs."
"So what you're saying is," I concluded, pointing at the roots, "there's a bug in the system."
Ratatoskr snapped his fingers. "Bingo! And lucky for you, I'm your man—er, squirrel—to help find it. For a modest fee, of course."
"No."
"Oh, come on," he whined, tail flicking dramatically. "Think of it as a partnership! You debug, I distract the system admin—or whoever she is. I'm great with the ladies." He flashed another wink.
I groaned loudly. "Fine. Just help me find the error before the whole tree comes crashing down."
Ratatoskr leapt onto my shoulder, settling in like he belonged there. "Deal, partner! Now let's get to work."
As I marched further into the roots with a squirrel-bard perched on my shoulder, I muttered under my breath:
Note to self: Never let a squirrel negotiate terms.
Somewhere deep within the roots, the tree pulsed again, and I had the sinking feeling this was only the beginning of a very, very bad day.