There was no telling exactly what Víðarr had seen, but he thought he knew. He knew he knew, in his heart of hearts. There was no convincing the shadow otherwise. There was nothing that could be done, not by anyone. The statue had touched him in a way that many may try to, and the reassurance of the familiars too… well. Víðarr knew what he saw. That was that. This was this. A shift had come about the shadow, a shift for the better. For the first time in hell if he knew how long, his head was clear. His purpose, his path, all of it was clear. It was clear to Víðarr. He knew what he had to do.

Unearthly bright. Ethereal dark. Víðarr is both, and he is both in the same skin. The slash of his blood against the darkness, what he’d seen from the statue… he knew. He knew. He knew that he knew. The warmth of his brothers, his friends around him. He could feel it. Víðarr could feel it in his sleep, and he dreamt of it often. Now more than ever, he dreamed of the great halls. He dreamed of the glorious death that he’d always ached for, that he’d always longed for. It felt real. Though his faith had never wavered, it was renewed. Stronger than ever. Stronger now than it had ever been in the past. All he could do was long for the company of his family to share it with. Still, the shadow would continue on alone.

With his companions by his sides, he spent the days searching. He spent the days looking for more. He needed to walk among the gods. He needed to be with them. He needed to build something great in their tribute, in their image. Víðarr had always been a believer, but for now, he is a zealot. The shadow’s gaze is keen, bright. Brilliant. Everything about him is brilliant and lively. He would build something beautiful, something great, in the image of the gods. This was the rebirth. Víðarr had touched death, had wrapped his arms around it. He would touch death again. Not only would he touch it, he would embrace it. The shadow knows with great certainty that he will dine in the great hall, and he will dine with his brothers and sisters there.

Raise an army. Destroy those claiming false godhood. Bring together a family, his family. All of it would be brilliant, all of it would be beautiful, and all of it would come in time. The first step? Well, it wasn’t that he was lost, but there was so much he needed to do. There was so much he needed to do, and what step would he take first? Which one? Which one? Fuck. Maybe he could ask for one more bit of guidance. Just one. Víðarr could reach out to the gods, and they could give him some sort of guidance. They could provide him with the answers that he needed to make sure he was going in the right direction. He would ask, and if the shadow was lucky, they’d have the answers.

Víðarr drew his companions in close for the evening. This place had been their home for so long, but with times changing and shifting as they were… well, maybe he’d venture elsewhere. That would be another question for the powers that were, the powers that would be. Víðarr could ask them. The shadow, with his belly full and his companions fed, hunkered down for the evening. A fire crackled cheerfully before him within the small, makeshift dug pit. He heated water, and carefully added a few of the medicinal mushrooms to it. Just a small handful, nothing too… too much. If the shadow wanted to speak to the gods, he’d also like to remember what they had to say. Once satisfied with the tea, Víðarr took a deep breath, and then drank it down quickly.

The effects of the mushrooms were a lot like falling in love. Things happened slowly, at first. The weight of his muscles, any aches and pains and soreness, they all came to the front of his mind. Víðarr was acutely aware of them each, as well as every throbbing beat of his own hearth. Slowly… then all at once. He was sucked under, and it was a beautiful feeling. Drawn under, the world around him melting away. Time melting, ebbing, flowing away from him. He could feel it, he could feel it all. Víðarr could feel it, and he felt beautiful. Calmness. Stillness. Quiet. Through the quiet, the shadow could reach out and he could touch the veil where it was at its thinnest. Softly, in his mother tongue, Víðarr speaks. “I hear you… I see you in my dreams… All Father, may I have your guidance?”


"Viðarr"

When someone loves something, someone, hard enough… well, Selene could feel it. She could always feel it. It was like a tug, one that pulled her near. This time of year was always hard. There were so many memories here… maybe that was why she came back. Maybe that was why she always came back. If she could just find him, if she could just tell him. Maybe that was why love was the thing that drew her out of hiding. And now with the veil so thin… with the veil so thin, Selene couldn’t stay away. Maybe she never could.

He reminded her of Lionel, maybe. Broad, strong. This one was bulkier, darker, but just as regal. Was this another prince? There was something different in his heart, a different sort of love, but a love just as sweet. Selene… she knows all about loving with a love that’s more than love. Maybe that’s why she’s drawn to Víðarr. When the shadowy creature finally opens his eyes, it’s as if… it’s as if he can actually see her. Wait… could he?

Timidly, she stepped from the shadows, peering softly down at the man where he lay. He was surrounded by his companions, and one of the dogs wagged her fluffy tail. Selene’s head cocked to the side. The man’s words were for the all father, whoever that was. He wanted guidance.

The shadow saw her from the shadows, though the stiff breeze didn’t carry a scent. It lifted the crunchy leaves around them, swirled about his shoulders. The woman was here, but… was she here? Víðarr held his breath, afraid that the tenuous vision would dart and dance away. Was she… was she real? This woman, a tender, slight thing. A slip of a woman, the build of a messenger. Of course, they’re busy… but not too busy to send a messenger. In his mind (with the help of the mushrooms), it only made sense. It made perfect sense.

“Gná, is it word you bring?” The words were soft as they fell past his lips, a soft, hopeful glimmer in his pale eyes. The shadow could hope. He could, well and truly, hope. Freyja’s messenger, here in… not in the flesh, but here in the way that mattered most. The shadow was sure of it, and there would be no convincing him otherwise. There would never be any convincing him otherwise, after all.

"Viðarr"

Selene was unsure of the words that he spoke, but she approached regardless. There was a purity of love in his heart, and she could feel it. She could more than feel it. The moonscorn approached the fire, startled for a moment– was that her shadow? It had been so long since she could cast one, and yet… no, maybe it was just a trick of the light. Can’t get too caught up in these things. It isn’t for her. This wasn’t for her. It was love and love alone that brought Selene forth, and she had to go to him. A moth to flame. Selene needed him near as much as he needed her, in this moment. A sense of purpose-- the thing that had always been just beyond reach.

“The word… love. Let love guide your path, and the rest will follow.” She speaks after a long moment. In all the time she’d traveled, in all the things she’d seen, Selene managed to cobble the words together in the language that this strange, hulking man spoke. She could put them together and speak with her soft, gentle voice. Love had brought her here, and love was what he needed to keep him going. It was the guidance, it was the word that she could bring for him here and now. If he did all things with great love, he would be just fine. That was the reassurance that Selene could offer.

Love, love, of course. Love for the gods, love for his family. Love for all of it– that would conquer all. It would draw them together and hold them together, though the message wasn’t quite as soft as that. Víðarr knew. The love that they showed… the love that they were capable of, it was a ferocious kind of love. Showing love was different for them… love. A concept that he understood, but only… but only in his own way. Víðarr understood, but he didn’t. Maybe he missed the point of the messenger’s word, but it’s renewed faith. Renewed confidence. It’s renewed him all the more.

His tail twitched at his haunches. Softly, the words, the voice of a child, he speaks to the vision once more. “I won’t let you down.” They are strong words, resonating from deep inside his chest. Confidence in himself, confidence in his gods. This is the right path. Víðarr is on the right path, and he knows it. By the gods, he knows it.

"Viðarr"

Selene considers the idea that something has been lost in translation, but that’s okay. It’s alright, really. She doesn’t mind, because it seems that the man before her has… well, he has some feelings on the subject. Once more she can feel the surge of emotion within him, the same emotion that drew her close. The same one that seemed to have drawn her straight into existing once more, beside him.

Still, the moonscorn knows that it’s time for her to depart. That’s okay… she’s okay to leave him here. He was in the hands of his gods, of the things he believed in the most. Selene… she had someone to find, someone who she could dream of loving her just as she had for the last… how long had it been? Too long. Too many years. Maybe she’d be able to find him too… just another lost soul, looking for the things that she’d accidentally lost track of. The love she’d accidentally lost.

Softly, though, she speaks one last time to the hulking man. “You are so loved,” the words are barely a whisper, and her lips set in a thin line. The ghost of a smile on the gentle spirit’s face. Just as she’d appeared, Selene melted back into the shadows.