I blinked.
Of all the things he could've said, that—That caught me completely off guard.
"You…" I hesitated, blade still halfway raised. "You show up in the middle of the night, walk through my strike like it was nothing… and you're here for dinner?"
He stopped just a few paces away, and for the first time… smiled.
"It's been a long walk."
The tension hung in the silence between us.
My instincts screamed to run.
To attack.
To do anything but stand there and speak to whatever this man truly was.
But then the Rune on my back pulsed again.
The [Miðgarðr Rune], forged into my very being, was crafted to enhance my physical limits—my strength, speed, instincts. But more than that… it heightened my awareness of danger.
And right now, every breath this man took set it off like wildfire under my skin.
Something in him didn't belong. He looked human. Moved like one. But the Rune knew better.
He was a threat.
Gerald's dull blue eyes scanned me from head to toe with infuriating calm—coldly observant, as if measuring my weight, height, maybe even bone density.
Then he spoke, completely unbothered by the tension strangling the air between us.
"Judging from your frame, you don't seem to need much food. Careful—you might get fat."
A vein ticked in my forehead.
I didn't even realize my hand had tightened around my sword again until I heard the faint creak of leather from the grip.
"You—!" I started, then forced a breath through clenched teeth. "Who are you really? What do you want?"
He blinked slowly, tilting his head, expression still maddeningly neutral.
"I already told you. My name is Gerald."
He raised a hand in mock surrender, voice light but flat.
"And I was hoping you had food. Haven't eaten in days. Thought I might pass out before I found anyone in this forsaken forest."
He looked around at my camp, then back at me.
"Turns out, I found a Rune girl instead. Lucky me."
I didn't lower my blade.
Not yet.
"You—"
"LOOK OUT!" he suddenly shouted, pointing behind me.
The sheer force in his voice—sharp, commanding—bypassed thought and hit pure reflex.
I spun on instinct, blade rising, eyes searching.
Only to see—
Nothing.
Just the crackling campfire. My tent. The shadows I knew too well.
A cold realization ran down my spine like melting ice.
I'd been played.
I whipped back around, blade raised again—
But Gerald hadn't moved.
Not even a blink.
Still Standing, face perfectly blank. Like a statue sculpted in human skin.
"Sorry," he said, his tone devoid of emotion.
"I couldn't resist."
My face flushed, hot with a mix of adrenaline and humiliation.
"Are you—serious?!"
He tilted his head.
"I was testing your reaction time."
"Testing—!?" I choked on the word. "You think this is funny?!"
He offered the faintest shrug.
"Funnier than starving to death."
I took a slow, furious breath through my nose.
The [Miðgarðr Rune] still pulsed beneath my skin, a quiet reminder that this man—this thing—was dangerous.
But right now, all I wanted to do was punch him in the face.
"Relax," Gerald said, raising his hands slightly with a crooked grin. "I come in peace. Heh."
The laugh that followed was light, but it carried an edge—like someone who knew exactly how far they could push before getting hit.
"And besides," he added, tone shifting into that same maddening calm, "You're weak."
My eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said with a shrug. "You're not ready. Not yet. And I don't really want to fight someone who still stumbles over footwork."
I gripped my sword again but he continued, unbothered.
"That's why I'm here to negotiate. Because I'm tired. And I'm hungry. And I'm really hoping," he said, nodding toward the fire, "that we can work something out over rabbit instead of blood."
I stared at him, jaw tight.
The audacity.
Arrogant. Smug. Infuriating.
And yet…
My stomach twisted in a familiar ache—the hollow kind that came after days of rationed meat and bruised apples. I looked at Gerald again. Still standing. Still calm. And despite everything, he hadn't raised a weapon.
Just words.
Dangerous ones. But words all the same.
I sighed through clenched teeth.
"Fine."
His brow arched slightly. I hated that it looked smug.
"You get one portion. You try anything—I don't care how 'weak' you think I am—I'll gut you before your next breath."
Gerald's eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"Deal."
We sat in silence as I reheated the remaining portion of rabbit over the fire, skewered on a stick. The flames licked gently at the meat, the fat crackling and releasing an aroma that betrayed just how little either of us had eaten today.
I tossed him a small wooden plate, one I'd carved myself. He caught it easily with one hand.
I handed him the meat with a short, sharp motion—like throwing a bone to a wolf.
He bit in without ceremony, chewing slowly. Eyes still on me.
"Good?" I asked flatly.
He swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and nodded.
"Could use salt. Or spices. Or bread. But yes. Good."
I rolled my eyes.
We sat in uncomfortable silence again, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant rustling of wind threading through the trees.
I shifted slightly, still watching him from the corner of my eye.
"You're not from this region, are you?" I asked finally, tone low but edged.
Gerald leaned back, resting one arm across his raised knee while setting his now-clean plate aside. He didn't look at me, but I felt his focus sharpen.
The air around him stilled again—subtle, yet unnatural. Like even the wind thought twice about brushing his skin.
"No."
Just that. Flat. Dismissive.
I waited.
Nothing more came.
My fingers brushed the mark burned into my back—the [Miðgarðr Rune]. It wasn't warning me anymore… but it wasn't quiet either. The hum beneath my skin remained—uneasy, alert.
"So… where are you from?"
Gerald's lips twitched ever so slightly.
"I came from Nanya."
I blinked.
"Nanya?" I repeated slowly.
"Nanya business."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
My lips twitched.
"I hope you burn in Muspelheim."
He grinned.
"Bit warm for my taste. I prefer Niflheim. Excellent vacation weather."
I rolled my eyes and pulled my cloak tighter around me, adjusting my sword to rest within reach. The fire was starting to lull my body toward sleep, but I didn't let my guard down completely.
Gerald leaned back against a log, arms folded behind his head, eyes turned toward the canopy of stars above.
The fire cracked softly between us, casting flickering light on his face.
"Are you always like this?" I asked.
"Only when I'm trying to make friends," he said, eyes still on the sky.
"I'm not your friend."
"Not yet."
I stared at him for a long moment.
Then I turned away and muttered under my breath,
"…Still hope you burn in Muspelheim."
{[]}{[]}{[]}{[]}{[]}{[]}
Morning.
The scent of dew and ash lingered in the air, blending with the earthy aroma of moss and burned wood. Birds chirped warily from the trees, their songs cautious, as if they too sensed the imbalance still seated near the fire.
I stirred, blinking the sleep from my eyes.
My hand instinctively reached for my sword—still there. Still clean.
No blood.
No chaos.
Just the quiet hum of the forest at dawn.
I sat up slowly, eyes scanning the camp.
Gerald was already awake.
He stood a short distance away in the clearing, arms crossed, his back to me.
Staring at the morning sky as if it had secrets to whisper only to him.
He hadn't harmed me in the night. Hadn't even moved my things. I'd expected manipulation, or mind games. A trap.
Instead, he'd simply… existed. In silence.
A part of me hated that it made me lower my guard. Even a little.
Another part whispered that it meant something else.
Something worse.
I rose, brushing stray leaves from my cloak, and stepped quietly beside him.
"…Did you sleep at all?" I asked.
Gerald didn't look at me.
"Nope."
"Sleeps is for the weak"
His voice was calm. Distant. Almost contemplative, like someone who had long forgotten what peace was supposed to feel like.
I followed his gaze skyward. The pale blue canvas stretched endlessly above, streaked with soft clouds lazily drifting across the waking light.
"Do you know the way to a city?" he asked.
I blinked. "Yes, I—"
Then I paused. My stomach dropped.
"…Crap."
I turned slowly, scanning the treeline, the hills in the distance. Nothing familiar. Every direction looked the same—green, vast, and unforgiving.
Gerald arched a brow without even needing to say it.
"Judging by your charming curse, I'm guessing that's a no."
He sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Fantastic. Two warriors, lost in the woods. Sounds like the beginning of a very stupid saga."
I folded my arms, defensive. "I'm not lost. I just… haven't oriented myself yet."
"Sure," he said dryly. "Let me know when the trees start answering back."
He turned fully to face me now, his expression neutral but not unkind.
"Look. We clearly both have a problem. I can't hunt worth a damn—every animal in this forest hears me coming like I'm stomping in plate mail. You, on the other hand, apparently have rabbit murder down to an art form."
I scowled. "Thanks."
He smirked.
"So here's the deal: You hunt. I cook. We share supplies, avoid starving, and maybe—just maybe—we figure out which direction doesn't lead to more trees."
He paused for a moment, then added, a bit more earnestly:
"And I'll help you train. When you're not busy spearing squirrels."
I stared at him.
This… wasn't what I expected. Not from someone my Rune still whispered about like a coming storm.
But his posture was relaxed. His tone, if annoying, wasn't deceitful.
If anything, he looked like someone who had spent far too long alone.
I considered it for a few heartbeats more.
"Fine." I nodded. "But no more stupid jokes."
"That's not part of the deal."
"Then I'll stab you."
"Then I'll season your rabbit poorly."
I groaned and turned away. "I already regret this."
Behind me, I heard him chuckle.