God of War: Ashes of the Aesir

Tryg looked one last time at the graves he had prepared for The Pale One and the Raven Keeper. He had wanted to cremate them at first, but that would take time, and he might not even be able to gather enough wood. Because of that, he decided only to bury them, and even after realizing how useless that might be, he continued. It was not much, but it was better than simply leaving them lying there.

A sigh escaped his lips. The pain from the magic he had used and the quiet but undeniable exhaustion of a sleepless night had settled inside him. Tryg had even canceled his morning training, thinking to conserve his energy. After all, if that chamber had presented a dragon as its challenger...

What in Hel awaits us ahead? he thought, now staring at the open corridor swallowed by mist. Then his eyes fell upon the fox sleeping in his arms and narrowed with concern.

"I'm ready," Rist stated, determined, now approaching with her helm covering her face.

During Rist's breakfast, he had also summarized what had happened to him over the past months, what he was doing there, and what his goals were, and she had done the same. Rist's journey had been similar to Tryg's, but more solitary and cruel. They had even faced many of the same enemies.

And it was during that conversation that Tryg realized Rist did not know some important details about their conditions there, such as the fact that Sinmara had the ability to take them out of that complex and heal Rist's wounds so she could return home; or that time moved more quickly inside the labyrinth than outside it.

"Wait, wait..." she said, seated in front of him, on the other side of the fire. "You've always been searching for this workshop because you had no way to travel between realms. But I can, and if your teacher took us from here to that Idunn Tree, I could go to Midgard to seek help. That is, if it weren't for the fact that she might die if she uses her magic. In other words, in the end, even if... when she wakes up, we'll still be trapped here, searching for either a way out of the labyrinth or the entrance to the workshop."

Swallowing a piece of meat, Tryg nodded. "Correct."

Rist brought a hand to her forehead. "This could take months or even years..." She sighed. "At least the hours are slower outside. You said fifteen months passed here, but only one outside?"

"A little more than one month, but yes."

"Gods..." She fell silent. For an instant, Tryg thought that would leave her even more shaken. He had been when he realized his mother had lost part of his growth. Rist, however, smiled with excitement. "That's good. I mean, it'll be a little strange when I reunite with my sisters, but at least little time will have passed for them."

Tryg smiled at her. "That's true."

Rist looked away from his gaze. For some reason, she did not seem to want to meet his eyes. She had seemed somewhat distant since she woke. I hope it's nothing, he thought, shrugging.

Now, the fires were out, the canteens filled, and the food they had cooked and their belongings packed away. Their bodies were already protected by their armor, and their blades were clean and cared for. Both Tryg and Rist were as ready to move forward as they could be.

He smiled at her. "Then let's go. Are you going first, or...?"

She shook her head, looking toward the path they would follow. "You should take the lead. With Sinmara in that state, it's better for you to remain within my field of view in case I need to help you."

Tryg blinked. "Makes sense. All right," he forced himself to say.

The two drew their weapons and began advancing through the passage, crossing the dense mist close to one another. Since that was a corridor after a larger chamber, there supposedly should not be any traps, much less monsters, but one could never be too careful.

"You know, I don't know if the strategy we came up with to deal with the next enemies is... preferable," he said, hearing the sound of the Valkyrie's boots sinking into the snow behind him. It was still somewhat unsettling to know that the tips of her daggers and his back were only a few fingers apart.

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"You could've said that earlier," she said, her voice calm and low. "In any case, I don't see any problem with using the same tactic we used against the ogre. You're more agile than I am, and I'm stronger and faster than you. It's only logical that you distract the enemies while I take advantage of the openings you create."

"But that basically puts me in constant danger every time we fight."

She paused, keeping her stride, then asked neutrally, "Are you afraid?"

"What?!" he exclaimed, looking at her over his shoulder.

"Lower your voice, please," she whispered.

"Right," he answered, lowering his tone, "but I'm not afraid. Well, not for the reason you're probably imagining. I just don't want to risk ending up in a situation where Sinmara needs to heal me, that's all."

"All right, we can take turns from time to time if necessary. Now, try to speak less, or we won't be able to hear if an enemy is approaching."

That might have been her paranoia speaking. No monster had ever appeared in the corridors. However, shortly afterward, Tryg was glad for Rist's warnings.

"This is taking longer than I thought..." he said.

Normally, it took him a few seconds to pass from one chamber to another, always less than a minute. However, they had already been walking through the passage for several minutes, crossing the gray mist, and still had not seen any sign of the next room or anything different.

The two simply walked and walked, listening to the occasional sound of wind swirling the mist and the sounds of their own footsteps in the snow.

Tense, Tryg tightened his grip on the sword's hilt and pulled Sinmara closer to his chest, listening to the two pairs of boots... No, there were not two. Only one. His eyes widened.

He stopped and turned suddenly, calling softly, "Lady—"

Rist had vanished. There was nothing but mist and silence, now broken only by gusts of cold wind. Incessant blows hammered against his ribs.

"Rist!" he called, shouting without caring anymore who might be listening. Tryg turned his face from side to side frantically, searching, trying to see something inside the mist. Nothing. He held Sinmara closer, fearing she might vanish too.

His arm became lighter. His heart skipped a beat, and Tryg lowered his gaze. His teacher was no longer with him. She had vanished, as if she had turned into the very mist surrounding him. His hands trembled.

"No... Teacher! Sinmara! Rist!"

No answer, only the echo of his own voice. Gritting his teeth, Tryg brought his now free hand to the hilt, raising his guard. He felt empty. Anguished. He had been ready for new enemies, new traps, but not for loneliness. Not knowing where Rist and Sinmara were, and having no idea where to start looking for them, was maddening. Torturous.

Calm down, Trygve, he thought, taking a deep breath. He could not let himself be carried away by despair. The labyrinth could be brutal, but it had never been unfair. This was a challenge like any other, only different. Looking on the bright side, the change was preferable to the repetitions he had been enduring.

Tryg only needed to understand why it was happening, whatever it was. There had to be a clue, something indicating where... The footprints, he thought, already lowering his gaze to the ground. But the snow was smooth as the surface of a puddle on a windless day. Even his own steps had been swept away.

Footsteps behind him, slow. Tryg turned by instinct, narrowing his eyes, trying to see or hear anything amid the drums beating in the depths of his ears. But he heard nothing more. Was he hallucinating?

"Trygve..." A melodic voice... and familiar. It seemed to belong to a woman he knew. But who? Why could he not remember?

The mist gathered, spinning around him. Nervous, he watched the swirling fog, feeling the cold invade his body, raising the hairs on his skin. An instant later, he was completely enveloped. He felt his body being lifted, floating.

Tryg struggled, trying to escape the embrace of the freezing gale, but it did no good, and he continued rising and rising until the chaotic air forced him to close his eyes.

He stopped, floating with the lightness of a feather. Damp grass touched his back. Summer warmth heated his skin, and an intense light tried to pierce his eyelids, coloring them in warm reddish tones.

Tryg calmly opened his eyes, blinking because of the intense sun above. The blue sky was clear, cloudless, and the pastoral fields had a peaceful greenish color. Some goats grazed here and there, and to the right he could see golden wheat fields, rippling with the gusts of wind like tides.

He had a headache. He felt as if he had lost a few pounds. Groaning, he stood, searching. But... what was he searching for again? Ah, yes. She had asked him to buy some flour and a few carrots, right?

"But what in Hel am I doing here?" he asked himself.

Tryg shrugged, setting the confusion aside. If he could not remember, then it probably was not as important as the scolding he would get if he loafed around during work. That grumpy old man was always watching...

"Ow!" he exclaimed when he received a slap to the back of the neck.

"Fall asleep at work one more time, boy, and I swear you're I swear you'll be out of a job."

Tryg brought a hand to his head, but it was not hurting the way it usually did. He must have gotten used to it.

"Forgive me, Master Jorg. I just—"

When he looked at Jorg, Tryg fell silent. Froze.

"What is it, boy?" The old man made a face of disgust and crossed his arms. "Ah, come on, I didn't hit you that hard. No need to cry."

Cry? Tryg brought his fingers to the tear running down his cheek, confused.

Why did it hurt so much to look at Jorg?

[End of Part 2: The Labyrinth's Chambers]