ragnarök awaits

There's something happening. Something beautiful, something terrible. Víðarr can feel it in his bones, feel the way it swirls around his head. An energy he can't argue, a fire he can't put out. The gods are so near, the shadow can taste them. Feel their presence, feel something pulling him inward. Terrible and wonderful in equal measure. Beneath the red, starless sky, it's a religious experience.

One that's cut short. Clipped words, visible annoyance coloring his face as he casts a glance over his shoulder. "Go back to your castle boy," he shoots back, coldly, at his son. Lips twisted in a gruesome sneer, teeth flashing beneath dark lips. Hackles rising along his back and shoulders. The look in his eye is dire, deadly. There would be no interrupting this, no ending the journey for him. Not until he's found the source.

Though he considers stopping at the bifrost, taking it all in from here, something drives him to keep going. Keep going north, refusing to break pace. Erik would lose interest eventually. Not a true believer in the old ways-- was the boy even his son? There was some question in his mind. In light of recent betrayals, perhaps Erik had never been his own. North. He's continuing north, and nothing would stop him.

"Víðarr"