God of War: Ashes of the Aesir

Tryg and Sinmara sat apart from Rist, in a corner of the vast chamber where he and the Valkyrie had defeated the ogre not long before. It was still mid-afternoon, and the dull sun of Niflheim lit the snow over the labyrinth's surface, making it glimmer. If it were not for the hideous corpse of the monster rotting nearby, that pale plain would have been even more worthy of appreciation.

While they took sips of water from his canteen and ate pieces of cold roasted Tatzelwurm meat, he told his teacher in detail everything that had happened from the moment she had lost consciousness.

Sinmara did not seem to care much about the fact that she had fainted out of nowhere, nor about the clear worsening of the symptoms caused by her use of magic. A very different reaction from Tryg's, who was a little surprised and bothered by her lack of reaction and even more worried about her health.

Once again, Sinmara assured him that nothing bad would happen to her, no matter how exhausted she became after her magical efforts. But he knew she was lying to comfort him. He just wished she would take better care of herself.

Tryg once again could not convince her to stop using her magic, not even to further reduce how often she used it. So he merely promised himself that he would do everything he could to restrict her as much as possible in the future. For now, it was the only thing he could do.

Tryg then continued his account and described in detail the changes in the labyrinth that led to his encounter with Rist and his eventual fight alongside her against the ogre.

Chewing a piece of meat, Sinmara stared at the monster's corpse in the middle of the chamber, lying in a growing pool of dark, viscous blood. After swallowing her food, she looked at the distant Shield-Maiden and frowned.

"Now I understand why you wanted so badly to protect her." She turned back to him seriously. "But I still think it is imprudent to trust her, especially for someone like you. You know what it is to suffer at the hands of her people."

"I know..." he said, remembering what had happened to Jorg and his mother.

True, Tryg had more than enough reasons to tell Rist to follow her own path far away from him. Even so, she had saved his life, in a way. Perhaps he could have defeated the ogre alone, making it bleed to death or creating and exploiting some opening to pierce its skull through its eyes. But not without taking a tremendous risk.

Rist had made the fight much easier with her strength, thus preventing Tryg from getting hurt too badly and, consequently, needing to drink more Idunn Fruit juice than he otherwise would have. Whether he wanted to or not, he felt indebted to the warrior.

Tryg finished drinking his second flask, already feeling a considerable improvement in his injured arm. In a few minutes, he would be as good as new. Which, by the way, was a record recovery time. It might have been his imagination, but the healing effects of the Idunn Fruit seemed more efficient now, for some reason. Perhaps that had something to do with his second awakening...

He picked up and stared at another flask of juice for a moment. Then he studied the Valkyrie sitting in the distance, alone, wounded. She was eating a piece of cold roasted meat, just as he was, while grabbing handfuls of ice from the ground and pressing them against her injuries.

"I'm part of her people too, Lady Sinmara," he suddenly said, staring at his teacher. "I know I didn't want to admit that for a long time, but it's true. And you knew that from the beginning. Even so, you gave me a chance to prove I could be different from the Aesir you knew in the past. Couldn't you do the same for her?"

The fox's eyebrows rose a little. A moment later, she exhaled and gave a faint smirk. "You can be a pain in the ass sometimes, young man... Very well. I cannot guarantee anything, but I promise I will try not to cut her in half."

Tryg smiled. Now, he could laugh at her strange and dark jokes... At least, he hoped that was a joke.

"Thank you."

Tryg put away the empty flask of juice and took a sip of water. "So you don't mind if I tell her about Odin and Asgard?"

She nodded and ate another piece of meat.

"And about you too?"

"I do not, but be careful. Explain to her that I... Well, that I did not take part in the destruction of Asgard as the prophecy said I would." The queen seemed somewhat dispirited upon remembering the prophecy, but soon recovered her composure. She seemed firmer now when speaking about the subject. "You need to make sure she understands that."

Sinmara was right to ask Tryg to emphasize her absence during Ragnarök. If Rist concluded that the colossus that had destroyed Asgard was a fusion between Surtr and Sinmara, and that the queen had somehow survived Asgard's collapse afterward... things certainly would not end well.

The fox shrugged. "In any case, when she learns that you have allied yourself with a sworn enemy of Odin, I am certain she will not react well."

"Yeah... I just hope she's not as fanatical as that Einherjar I captured. If she is, I'm pretty sure she'll try to rip my head off."

"She will not. Not after she knows who I am."

Tryg smiled, more than grateful. He wanted to be strong enough not to depend so much on his teacher, but one thing at a time.

"All right," he said, standing and brushing the snow off his pants, still with the flask of juice in his hand. "Let's go."

Tryg began approaching the Valkyrie and, a moment later, the fox joined him, both leaving footprints in the labyrinth's white grass.

The labyrinth... Tryg thought, remembering the strange changes that had occurred after Sinmara had fainted. Fortunately, nothing else had happened after the ogre's death. But who could say what other surprises awaited him when he moved forward?

Maintaining his pace, he glanced at the new corridor to the right, now open, dominated by the dense temporal mist. I just hope we still have time to rest... and train.

Rist was sitting on the ground with her legs crossed, chewing a piece of meat, when she lifted her gaze to the young man and the fox approaching her. Swallowing the food and storing the rest in her bag, she stared first at Tryg with a neutral expression. Then she furrowed her brows as she lowered her gaze to his teacher. Sinmara did not seem pleased either.

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Tryg stopped a few steps away, smiling amicably. "Can we talk?"

After a pause, Rist nodded at him. "Of course."

Before continuing, he lowered his head to the queen with a question in his eyes. Without saying anything, she nodded and sat down, keeping her distance. At first, Tryg imagined that would make the Valkyrie a little more comfortable. Now, however, upon noticing how piercing Sinmara's cerulean eyes were, he was no longer certain.

Tryg exhaled and sat down near Rist. Not too close, of course. He still felt a little disconcerted by what had happened before... But it was not the time to be embarrassed.

He cleared his throat and took a few more flasks of Idunn Fruit juice from his bag. "I need to tell you a few things, Miss Rist. But, before anything else, drink this."

He handed the Valkyrie two of the flasks he was holding. Besides the worrying limit of his supplies, he knew it was risky to heal her before knowing how she would react. But Tryg would not be able to focus on the conversation if he kept seeing her wounds constantly, knowing he had done nothing to help.

Rist raised her eyebrows at him, then stared at the yellow containers and hesitated. Eventually, however, she accepted his gesture.

"Thank you."

Tryg nodded. Then, shortly after she began drinking the healing liquid, he began to tell her everything. First, he spoke about Ragnarök — about the fall of Asgard and the end of the Aesir's reign. The initial events he described did not provoke many reactions from Rist. Which was not surprising, considering she must have taken part in the war.

However, after he spoke about how the flaming colossus had driven its sword into the realm of the Aesir, shattering it into countless fragments, she frowned.

The closer Tryg came to the present, the deeper the wrinkles on her face became, and as soon as she learned how he had ended up in Niflheim, she stopped staring at him and lowered her gaze. Not with anger. But with remorse. Rist seemed... to feel guilty for what had happened to the land of the All-Father. Sad.

Which also was not surprising. Tryg could only imagine how devastating it would be to hear from a stranger she had just met that everything she treasured most had been suddenly and cruelly destroyed by her enemies. Her god was probably dead. Her sisters — Hrist, Mist, and Gná — and her war companions, the other Shield-Maidens, as well. As had many of the people she had spent her entire life fighting to protect.

For Rist, it was as if she had lost everything.

Tryg felt like a cruel man in that moment and wished he had not told her anything from the beginning, or at least that he had passed that responsibility to someone else. But Rist needed to know the truth. Sooner or later, she would find out. And the sooner she found out, the more time she would have to accept reality and move forward.

It would be difficult. Tryg knew how difficult it was simply to accept... and how necessary.

"That's it," he concluded, heavy-hearted. "I'm sorry, Miss Rist..."

Rist remained still, silent, and downcast. A long moment later, without looking at him, she asked,

"You are not certain about their deaths, are you? About the deaths of my sisters and the All-Father?"

He paused, then shook his head. "No. I can't say whether they really died. But—"

"Then there is still hope..."

"Maybe. But you must know how unlikely—"

"It does not matter." On her knees, she clenched her fists so tightly that her knuckles paled. "As long as there is even the smallest chance, I cannot give up. I need to return... I need to reunite with my sisters and help our people."

Her yellow eyes met Tryg's, filled with grief and resentment. But also burning with a golden flame of determination, so intense and alive that a shiver ran down his back.

He closed his eyes. Please, don't say what I think you're going to say...

"Would you help me, my lord?"

Tryg froze, not knowing what to answer. Or rather, he knew what he wanted to answer. He wanted to help. He wanted it so much. But he could not, not yet. And not only because of the inevitable and brutal passage of time. But because, unconsciously, he had left out, from what he had told Rist, something very important. Something that would certainly change the way she looked at him in that moment.

Tryg kept his eyelids closed longer than he had initially intended. Then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and said,

"I still cannot help you, Miss Rist..."

Her eyebrows rose a little. "Why?"

He took a deep breath again and revealed all at once everything he had left out. That he was the son of a mortal Midgardian mother, born in Midgard, not Asgard; that he had been taken to the Aesir realm by the Valkyries, by Odin's order, to live in New Midgard and thus supposedly be saved from Fimbulwinter; that this excuse was, in truth, a fallacy created by the All-Father so that he and his people would serve only to delay the enemy armies that wished for his end.

He told her how New Midgard and its inhabitants had been devastated, crushed in the midst of the battle. How he had lost one of the men who had marked his life the most because of it. How he had been separated from the woman he loved most in all the worlds and was now fighting alongside the Queen of Niflheim to find a way back to her.

As she listened to his words, Rist raised her eyebrows more and more and parted her thin lips. Then came denial. She shook her head several times, denying the obvious cruelty of the god she had spent her life defending. And, at last, little by little, melancholy and rejection hardened, like water freezing over stone, transforming into anger. Hatred.

When Tryg finished, Rist no longer looked at him, and he could not look at her either. Neither of them seemed able to lift their heads. For both knew what would come next.

"You're... a despicable liar..." she declared, her brows twisted.

A knife pierced his heart upon hearing her weak voice. Deep down, Tryg knew he had done nothing wrong. He had helped save several innocents. He was fighting to return to his mother. But hearing Rist say that, a strong and honorable woman who had saved his life... was painful.

The Valkyrie ground her teeth. She leapt to her feet and stared at him intensely, clenching her fists. Tryg also stood. Gathering his courage, he looked into her eyes and simply listened.

"You're the most hateful kind of man there is... The kind that not only defames the god who fought so hard for his own people, who sacrificed so much for us... but also the kind that betrays him and allies himself with his enemies... with one of his worst enemies..."

Rist stared at the fox and growled, "I should kill you. I should kill both of you." She turned back to Tryg with furious yellow flames shining in her irises, making his hands tremble, yearning to reach for his swords. But he did not. Because neither did she.

"But I'm not as dishonorable as you. I won't stain my hands with the blood of someone who helped me." Tryg saw her eyes fall for a brief instant. But, soon enough, resentment returned. "But if this labyrinth doesn't reap your lives, someone certainly will. I'll make sure of it myself when I reunite with my sisters and the All-Father."

Rist turned her back on the young man and the fox and headed for the corridor that led into the depths of the labyrinth. Halfway there, she stopped and, without looking back, threw into the snow the only flask she had not drunk and expelled her final words:

"I hope I never see your faces again."

Rist resumed walking. Watching her, Tryg noticed that her healing was slowly ceasing and that, unfortunately, the amount of juice she had drunk would not be enough to recover her completely. She probably would not be able to use her wings to leave Niflheim.

Tryg approached the place where she had dropped the flask and recovered it, his eyelids heavy. He even thought of running after her to try to persuade her to drink the juice. Maybe even convince her to stay. But Rist was a loyal and proud warrior; she would not accept anything from him. Not now, at least.

After all, Tryg had not merely accused Odin. He had also accused the entire life Rist had dedicated to him. It would take time for her to process everything.

"You were right," the fox said at his side. "She deserves a second chance."

He did not answer.

An eternity later, Rist entered the corridor, vanishing into the mist, leaving Tryg with nothing but a wounded heart. Wounded by the words he had heard from her. And wounded because, for some reason, he felt as if he had done something he should not have. Something bad.

"Do you think I did well by staying quiet?" he asked.

The queen answered, her voice distant, "I do."

He exhaled at length, feeling something stuck in his throat. "Then why do I feel so regretful? Why do I feel like I'm a bad person?"

Sinmara took time to answer again. But what she said next gave Tryg a breath of hope and relief.

"Because you are a good person."