The stench of mildew and damp earth filled the ancient chamber, heavy and oppressive. Cracked walls, lined with faded carvings, whispered secrets of a time long past. Nathan Cole shivered as he adjusted the headlamp strapped to his forehead, the narrow beam illuminating layers of dust undisturbed for centuries. For the first time in years, he felt a spark of excitement — a break from the monotony that had plagued his life.
Nathan had always been... different. A clinical detachment from the world set him apart, a mind more attuned to cold logic than emotion. Friends called him brilliant; colleagues whispered he was heartless. He didn't care. Humanity, with its trivial dramas and fleeting connections, bored him. What fascinated him were the stories left behind by those long dead. Their bones, their artifacts, their secrets — these were puzzles he could solve.
And now, he stood on the brink of discovery. Deep in the forests of Norway, far from any beaten path, he'd stumbled upon what local legends had dismissed as mere folklore: an ancient temple, buried and forgotten.
He ran a gloved hand over a faded rune etched into the wall. Ehwaz, the rune of movement. Oddly fitting, he thought, given the journey he'd taken to get here. The room seemed to hum faintly, a sensation he dismissed as his own excitement. He reached for his journal, noting down the arrangement of runes on the wall when his foot snagged on something.
A raised stone.
Curiosity overrode caution as he knelt to inspect it. The slab was embedded in the floor, its edges worn smooth. A faint, almost imperceptible groove surrounded it. Nathan pressed his fingers against the edge and pushed. The stone didn't budge.
Frustrated, he stood, dusting off his hands. "What are you hiding?" he muttered.
That's when he noticed the centerpiece of the chamber. At the far end of the room stood a towering statue, cloaked in shadow. His headlamp caught flashes of gold — gilded highlights adorning its weathered form. Nathan's pulse quickened. The figure was unmistakable: a man with one eye, holding a spear, his visage both regal and menacing.
Odin.
Nathan approached with reverence. The All-Father, the chief of the Norse gods. But why here? This place didn't align with the other Viking-era ruins he'd studied. The architecture was older, primal even. As he drew closer, he noticed something strange. The statue's eye — the one that remained — seemed to glint, catching the light in a way that stone shouldn't.
A chill ran down his spine.
He shook it off. "Get it together, Cole," he said aloud, his voice echoing faintly. He reached into his bag, pulling out a small chisel and brush. If he could extract even a fragment of the material, he could analyze its origins.
As he chipped at the base of the statue, the ground beneath him trembled. A low rumble reverberated through the chamber. Dust rained from the ceiling. Nathan froze.
And then the statue spoke.
"Blood calls to me," a deep, resonant voice filled the chamber, sending a jolt through Nathan's body. He stumbled backward, his tools clattering to the ground.
"What the—" he started, but the words caught in his throat as the statue's single eye began to glow, a cold blue light that pierced the gloom.
"Flesh bound by apathy. Mind unburdened by love. You have wandered far, seeker of truths." The voice was neither welcoming nor hostile. It simply... was.
Nathan's logical mind screamed for an explanation. Was this a hallucination? Had he triggered some ancient mechanism? Yet, deep down, he knew this was real. The weight of the voice pressed on him, forcing him to his knees.
"I'm... I'm just an archaeologist," he stammered, his voice uncharacteristically small.
"You are more than that," the voice intoned. "You have been chosen."
A sharp pain shot through Nathan's hand. He looked down to see blood pooling in his palm, a shallow cut he hadn't noticed before. A single drop fell to the stone floor, and the glowing eye blazed brighter. The trembling intensified.
"Wait! Chosen for what?" Nathan shouted, panic rising.
The statue's expression seemed to shift, the faintest trace of a smile forming on its lips. "To prevent the end. Ragnarok looms, and I require a vessel. Your wish shall be granted, should you succeed."
Before Nathan could respond, the light engulfed him. The pain was overwhelming, searing through his very being. He tried to scream, but no sound came. The last thing he saw was the glowing eye of the All-Father, staring into his soul.
And then, darkness.
When Nathan's eyes opened again, he was cold. Unbearably cold. His limbs felt heavy, his vision blurry. He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Gone was the ancient temple. Instead, he was wrapped in furs, cradled in the arms of a woman with golden hair and piercing blue eyes. She looked down at him with a mixture of exhaustion and joy.
She spoke, her voice soft but unfamiliar. "Welcome to the world, Sigurd."
Sigurd? The name rattled in his mind, bringing with it a flood of confusion. Memories of his old life clashed with the strange warmth of this new one. He tried to move, to speak, but all that came out was a weak cry.
What the hell is going on? Nathan's mind screamed. But deep inside, he knew the truth.
He had died. And now, he was reborn.
As Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye.