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Hall of the King, towering pillars and citadels stood picturesque before Gangleri, and somehow, the weight of its greatness hovered over his shoulders and urged him on. Led by the guardians of the palace, Gangleri walked solemnly through the halls. Colossal and barren, there was no lack of eloquence in their marks. The rich gilt patterns of the walls and the floors were embroidered in a familiar way that caught the eyes of all the passersby. Towards the far end of the narrow anteroom were two lanky doors adjacent to the hall. Four other guards stood impassive, blocking its entrance. Gangleri paused impatiently and one of the guards who had led him through the hall stepped forward and faced the guards. “Närvaro förväntas!” As if used as a password, the phrase immediately signaled the guards, who stepped aside in an orchestrated manner and unnecessarily pushed both doors. The doors creaked heavily and Gangleri entered with careful haste. The room was shaped as a dome; its center floor pigmented marble that held mysterious symbols and calligraphy, mapped onto three overlapping circles. At the center of the smallest circle was a black star. Across the room were positioned seven cathedras that were aligned to form an arc. The centered seating was the longest and widest of all, on which, was seated the High, King of the Hall. The old face was wearier than intimidating, but the slow, cautious, way of his eyes and hands flashed an uncomfortable resemblance to a snake. Gangleri stopped at the center of the room, his feet, light above the star, and bowed before the king.
The king assessed him quietly and then queried, “Who enters my presence?”
Gangleri straightened himself. “King Gylfi, your Highness.” Despite the appropriate use of title, the King of High remained quite firm.
“What is your business here?”
Gangleri relaxed. It was never right to use a disguise but the times had given him no option. Fortunately, no one questioned his identity. “I only seek your council,” he said.
“Hah!” the King of the Hall guffawed. “I am a very busy man. Especially in these times, the world has gone mad!”
Gangleri contained his temper. “But your highness, I have come a long way to be at your presence. Surely you can spare some time to…enlighten me with your wisdom.” Gangleri paused, watching for any change emotion from the king; there was none. He continued, “I only wish to know about the Wyrd of the Gods. News has spread quickly but your people are still in no more fear than they should be.”
The King chuckled wearily and began, “The times have indeed changed. I will tell you what you need to know: There is a goddess; her name is Iounn. Her apples of youth may be the only thing left that can save us.”
“I will retrieve it,” prompted Gangleri.
“Hah! No one can, I assure you.” The King eyed Gangleri thoughtfully. “I will tell you what I have foreseen. You might want to make yourself comfortable for this…it’s a long story.” Gangleri nodded and settled himself at the foot of cathedra, like a child eagerly waiting for the coming tale. “It started with an old friend of mine, Skoll…”


Winds blew fiercely for the coming dawn; the dense heat of day battled the overpowering precipitation. The air was thick and heavy, but the trees swayed freely. Snowfall raced in every direction as Fimbulvetr welcomed the three winters greedily. Cold, cold; the hopeless eyes of the forest were threatened by frostbite. A voice as enchanting as the moon sang like a wisp of a harp, and carried by the wind, called on the wolves of the forest. Their eyes glittered beneath the verdant greenery like golden marbles. A pair flickered slightly as the first signs of snow drifted over a crystallizing pond nearby. Skoll pounced lightly over the snow and stopped just before the edge of the pond. He bent over, taking a cautious drink. A few feet away, something shifted, and it was reflected in the mirror-like surface of the pond. Alert, Skoll took one last sip and braced him for a leap, then sprinted towards the hills. Just behind, footsteps padded in a jagged deviation. The signal, he paused abruptly but kept his cynosure ahead. Hait, his brother, skidded to a halt by his side. He snorted, making white puffs of air. “It has begun, hasn’t it?” Hati breathed. Skoll didn’t answer right away but even without the confirmation, he and Hati knew very well that the doom of the world has befallen them all. “You shouldn’t be here.” Skoll looked up at the sky. The northern lights glowed in a wavering fluorescence that seemed to hold time between sunrise and sunset. “The behemoths are changing course. We shouldn’t be here.” After a pause, Hati and Skoll exchanged silent negotiation. “Go,” Skoll growled and they ran across the snow for miles, racing under the moonlight for the first rays of morn. It was cold still and the breaths of their nostrils were whiter than their fur. The two wolves paused at the top of a snow-topped hill and stared at the kaleidoscopic sky. For a moment, time stopped and the sun and the moon were laden side by side. Skoll and Hati howled in the night, which echoed wonders across the Earth. The brother wolves dug their heels and ran across the hill then leaped as high and as far as their paws allowed and devoured the sun and the moon. The Earth was engulfed into darkness and a cold, cold wind blew once more. They howled, calling upon the three cocks of the Earth. The first c**k, Fjalar, crowed before the great giants. The second c**k, Gullinkambi, crowed before all the mighty gods. By this they were all pleased.
Deep into the earth, the third c**k crowed for all the dead to rise. Thus, throughout the darkness of the Earth, moans and cries were all that could be heard. Their screeches and lows tore the ground, causing an enormous earthquake. The hindrances and chains of oppression burst with gladness, freeing the terrible wolf, Fenrir.
At once the world trembled and seas and the oceans rushed ponderously against the almighty Jormungand, the Midgard Serpant. His horrible coils threatened to tear the limbs and loins of men. The scales of his tail scraped the earth and the lands, staining and destroying all that pass his way. Indeed, his very name carries the impression of havoc and destruction. He saunters through the water, whose ripples raise squalls, cyclones and hurricanes. The sky crackled deeply and with a swirling pit, opened its eyes and released a rapid surge of lightning, which stroke the verdant earth. Another strike of lighting thrust the waters into an enormous wave that rolled across the oceans and pushed free the ancient ship, Naglfar. “Gather the oars!” Hymir bellowed as he led an army of giants towards the battlefield.
The world shook and from the corners of the earth, harrowing faces emerged. Fear rippled through the trees and the waters. The sky, no longer bathed in light, became a scattered maze painted in red. All trembled under the crushing footsteps of the giants, who bellowed curses at the eternal night. Elves and dwarves hid behind their truncheons as a piercing screech echoed in the winds. The sands tore for the demons who crawled away greedily.
High above the earth, thunder boomed ponderously and the sky crackled in frustration. From the bellows of the heavens, Sutr and the sons of Muspell ride across the icy border of Vigrior. Sutr shook his head from the cold air that whipped his face as he rode his horse undeviatingly. He peered to his side but found that his men were falling back. “Hold!” he yelled out, signaling the soldiers at an abrupt halt beside him. His breathing was haggard and his words were interrupted by irregular gasps; though he managed to bellow, “We have ridden a hundred leagues arcross the Vigrior and have finally met our destination. We shall camp here for the night.”
The men dropped their bags and murmured quietly as they settled for the night.
The light of the fireplace that they gathered sputtered flecks of ash and fire. It glowed warmly in the night. Sutr sat alone, far from the others, staring at the stars above. The constellations were tricky tonight, but he knew the stars well. “Hrym has arrived!” croaked Heimdallr. Sutr rose slowly and searched for Hrym’s presence. There, far beyond the horizon was a cloaked figure riding speedily on a horse. His face was shrouded but he recognized the symbols from his flag and burnoose. Sutr’s men clutched their swords readily, though they made no attempt at an attack. Hrym arrived shortly and Heimdallr helped him down the mighty stallion.
“Hrym, my friend. It’s been so long, we’ve been waiting for you. Your friends Fenrir, Jrmungandr, and Loki have caught up with us several nights past.”


[[*I must stop here as I will be passing the maximum word count. I've written more to this, and with a good ending, too, but I'm afraid I went overboard.]]