The Lovers

In light of the day's events, the two decided to rest and resume hunting the next day. They established a camp outside the Twisted Woods, using Vél's divinations to prepare. The lack of other focuses was for the best.

Despite telling himself that, Ymir couldn't sleep when night fell. His body felt strange and tumultuous, like it wasn't his own. It was a horrifying feeling — trying to suppress it only made it grow stronger, like a gluttonous hunger, consuming his very being.

How could Vél be so nonchalant about it all?

Ymir shifted his gaze to where Vél slept, the object of his woes. In the midst of his swirling thoughts, he noticed something on the elf’s small body, glistening in the moonlight. A sickly grey color, from their right shoulder it stretched like a matrix down their back and arm. Grotesque and eerie, it made Ymir's nerves tingle sympathetically.

A scar…

Ymir realized he couldn't even begin to understand what Vél was or how they thought. In that moment they felt like a creature unreachable by humanity, for reasons Ymir's mind couldn't fathom.

Between their existences lay an intangible chasm, and within its depths was Svartrvargr.

Everything returns to Svartrvargr…

The thought lulled Ymir to sleep, dropping him into an unusual nightmare. Again, he walked as the terrible beast, this time approaching a sleeping village. So many people laid peacefully in their cottages, unaware of the danger beyond their doors.

He felt sorrow for them. He regretted what was about to happen.

But the swelling hunger demanded more.

The scene quickly became filthy. Blood and debris flashed before his eyes in a frenzy, as if his mind couldn't allow him to process it all. Lives were devoured in instants. He mourned them. He engraved their screams into his memory.

He wished he could stop.

Please let the hunger stop!

“Ymir, STOP!”

The hunter’s eyes tore open to find his newfound fangs sunk deep into Vél's arm. Their flesh against his tongue… the blood sliding down his throat… It felt like eating Moondrop Cake…

It made him revolted.

Ymir violently retreated, ripping a chunk of flesh off and swallowing it in the process. He wanted to vomit, yet he could feel the hunger inside him shrink.

“Vél, I—! Oh Gods—hrk! What did I just do?!”

Ymir retched in horror, trying to spit the taste from his mouth.

“It's alright,” Vél's voice replied with soothing melancholy — not a hint of the fear Ymir expected from them. “This was bound to happen eventually. Though, I didn't think you'd have progressed this far already. Hehe, looks like we're both fools.”

Confused, Ymir looked up at the elf, only to see that their blood had slowed to a stop. The flesh wound quickly repaired itself in a matrix pattern, leaving the arm completely unscathed in barely a moment. Nothing was quite so haunting to watch.

“You… healed…” Ymir breathed in awe. “But how…? Elves can't do— No, no one can do that. Only the Gods—”

He paused, choked by the weight of his words.

“...Only the Gods can…”

Suddenly it felt like pieces to a puzzle were slowly falling into place in Ymir's mind. Everything that he'd questioned and doubted came together with a resounding click.

“You're… Skelmir.”

“Guilty as charged,” Vél didn't deny it, honoring the declaration with a solemn smirk. “Seems I've lost my edge. I suppose you had another dream as Svartrvargr?”

“What?” Ymir felt like his chest was caving in. “Who the hell cares about dreams right now?! You should be explaining yourself! My body… What did you do to me? Am I just some toy for you to throw to your mutt?! What sort of evil, pathetic god would play with people's lives like—”

“You were dead, Ymir.”

The truth froze the air like a winter breeze. As shock blanketed Ymir like snow, Skelmir continued.

“I resurrected you with my magic just as I resurrected Svartrvargr. Your body feels foreign because it's corrupting into a Draugr — the undead who devour the living. Soon, all the worlds will reject you, and that hunger you feel will become an abyss. I'm sorry…”

As reality sank in, Ymir knew only rage. It boiled and erupted, until his hands were tightening around Skelmir’s neck, holding him to the ground.

“YOU MONSTER! You ruined me— Everything is your fault!”

Skelmir didn't fight back. He merely stared into Ymir's eyes, quietly accepting death behind fluorite orbs of regret.

“I…know…” he said with a strangled voice. “But I… I just wanted it all to stop…”

The words struck a nerve within Ymir. It was the same wish Svartrvargr felt as it devoured innocent people. They never wanted any of this, and now that it had started, they didn't know how to stop it. Like a scared boy and his dog chasing a ball down a hill…

Ymir released his grip, letting Skelmir sit up and cough until his lungs refilled.

“So what about the prophecy?” He asked the god. “Were you lying to me?”

Skelmir shook his head. “N-no… Not entirely. The damned thing was a mockery given to me by a Seer… It means that defeating Svartrvargr is impossible…”

“Yet you thought you could use your tricks to manipulate it into being real…”

He nodded. Ymir felt disgusted by all of it. Seething, he retrieved his bow and arrow before marching away from the camp.

“Wait— Ymir!” Skelmir called desperately. “Where are you going?”

“I'm not your puppet, Vél. I won't follow your lead anymore.”

• • •

Ymir trudged off into the night, aimlessly distancing himself from the fallen god. He was an inferno of anger, but with each step forward the blazes grew weaker. Mulling over the situation, his emotions became more and more complicated.

Skelmir's actions were selfish and cruel. But did he know any better? At his core, did he actually mean to hurt anyone?

“GODS, HELP!”

“SOMEONE HELP US!”

Screams echoed into the night, calling Ymir's attention. Without thinking, he ran towards the danger, instinctively driven to protect. However, he wasn't prepared for what he'd encounter when he descended from the forest edge.

Fate had brought Ymir to Svartrvargr.

It was attacking a small village nestled in the valley — the very same village from his nightmare. With no way to easily flee, most of the population had already been turned to mincemeat, leaving the initial survivors to be picked off. Some tried to hide while others scurried like mice, but Ymir knew all of it was futile.

As expected, the undead Direwolf stood amongst the chaos, growling and yelping at its prey. Ymir felt his chest tighten at the sight of Svartrvargr's whip-tail lashing and the many rows of vicious teeth it bared. Nothing could be more truly described as a monster — Ymir's horrid kin.

But then, he remembered how much pain Svartrvargr felt. It resonated in his own heart, the desire for demise. Looking at the bow and arrow in his hands, Ymir realized the heavy burden upon his shoulders.

He had the means to stop it.

At the very least, he had the means to try.

Ymir readied his shot. Steeling himself for whatever may come next, he bellowed at the beast as loud as possible.

“Oy, Svartrvargr! Won't you greet your brother?!”

Brother?

The beast's ear swiveled towards Ymir, its voice echoing in his head. As soon as it faced him, tilting its head curiously, the hunter let loose his arrow. Unsurprisingly, Svartrvargr's tail flicked the shot away, sending it whizzing into the darkness before reforming in Ymir's hand.

You… Hunter became Draugr?

Ymir nodded, readying another shot. Just as he was about to let loose the string, however, a familiar voice called his name like a bolt of lightning down his spine.

“Ymir, please wait!” Skelmir was running so fast into the valley that he practically slid down the grass. “It’s too dangerous alone — don't be foolish!”

“Stay back!” Ymir scolded him. “Just get out of my way, Vél—”

YOU!

Upon spotting Skelmir, Svartrvargr bellowed an anguished roar. Its red eyes burned with rage as it lashed out, swiping at him with its massive paw. Without hesitation, Ymir threw himself in front of the attack, letting his durable undead body be violently thrown aside.

“YMIR!”

The hunter laid on the ground, feeling as if he'd been hit by a mountain. His eyesight threatened to go black, but through pure willpower he refused. No matter the pain, he had to keep fighting…

Now uninhibited, Svartrvargr bared down on Skelmir, making the god look as insignificant as an insect. Utterly powerless against his own creation.

But from the sidelines, Ymir could finally see it — Svartrvargr's underbelly. With the beast distracted, he could actually stand a chance. All he had to do was steady his aim, and…

Pwunk!

This time, the arrow effortlessly sank into Svartrvargr's flesh. The monster immediately dropped to the ground, howling and thrashing in pain. With a final yelp, the violent dance abruptly halted as Svartrvargr's bones contorted with squelching creaks. Within moments they ripped through its skin, splitting apart its ribcage and bisecting Svartrvargr into a gruesome heap.

A sudden, surreal silence swept over them.

Ymir staggered over to the corpse, only to be repulsed by what he found.

Svartrvargr's organs looked…wrong. Convoluted structures, twisted in ways that shouldn't be functional. Yet, each still throbbed with agonizing life.

All except the heart, which was replaced by a shining orb.

A corrupted star.

A collapsing sun.

Ymir became awash with a final revelation. Laughing in grim irony, he reached down and scooped out the magic heart, holding it up to the sky beside the moon.

“Ymir, you…” Skelmir’s elation clouded with concern. “What's wrong…?”

“It isn't dead,” Ymir stated gently. “But I understand now. This is how we fulfill your prophecy.”

Gazing back at the god's worried face, Ymir tipped the heart into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

• • •

After the heart slid down his throat, a lot of things happened at once. Overflowing thoughts… emotions… memories… synapses… The overwhelm shut Ymir down into a black void.

Although, this void was unlike dying. Instead, he was cradled by the murmur of life, lulled into rejuvenating rest.

Ymir couldn't tell how long he’d spent floating in the ether. But when his eyes finally fluttered open, he found himself lying on a makeshift pillow. Beside him, a familiar voice hummed a gentle lullaby, making Ymir's nerves tingle.

“Vél…?”

“Ymir! You're awake!” The god stopped his lullaby, moving closer in his excitement. “You really are a fool, acting so recklessly. For a moment, I—”

Skelmir reached towards Ymir, only to hesitate awkwardly.

“I mean… It's finally over. For that, I suppose I owe you…”

As the god's hand retreated, Ymir grasped it firmly, pulling himself up.

“Don’t stress it,” he grinned.

“But—” Skelmir's puzzled expression was rather charming.

“Hush,” Ymir dismissed him with a teasing groan. “Petty grudges aren't worth holding onto.”

The sunrise bathed the battlefield in a rich orange light. For a moment, the two basked in it beside the corpse of Svartrvargr, quietly admiring their solemn victory.

“You know… The royal army will be here soon,” Skelmir eventually said. “I'm sure they'll create some new holiday in your name.”

“We better hurry then,” Ymir stretched, preparing to stand.

“We?”

“You and me,” the hunter gathered his bow and arrow nonchalantly. “You said all worlds will reject me, right? Sounds pretty lonely. If you really want to make amends, then let's stay together.”

No words were worthy of being Vél's answer. He shot his arms around Ymir in a tight embrace, tears staining the hunter's chest. Taken aback at first, Ymir soon returned the affection.

Gevalt was saved, and so were the two outcasts.

• • •