Fenra’s Awakening

Secespitus
Universe Factory
Published in
25 min readMay 2, 2019

--

St Michael, The Archangel Chapel — Rookwood Necropolis by Luke Peterson

Be warned: this story has mature content that not everyone will be comfortable with!

It’s been a while since she last had to think about her parents. And about how she lost her home, family and trust in others at the same time.

It was a cold spring day with a light drizzle when they came to pick her up. Her parents had talked to her about it. They said that a mage had talked to her father and offered a scholarship. She would go to the academy soon.

A dream for a poor little girl from the slums, they said. There would never be such a chance again, they said. She would live a different life, they said. There were just a few details her father didn’t tell her and her mother.

The first thing was that it wasn’t really a scholarship. It was more of a payment. A payment for a slave.

The old mage with his wooden walking cane arrived with four soldiers and while he was talking with her parents those very same soldiers got out some rope and bound the wrists of the little girl together the same way she had seen farmers tie up livestock that was led to the slaughter house. When she tried to wiggle herself out of the rope they called for the mage and said that the new slave was acting up. When her mother heard this, she got furious. She really thought her daughter would be able to live a better life. Away from all the dirt and crimes. In a place where she would get to eat regularly. Where she wouldn’t have to sell herself to get by.

She was wrong. Awfully wrong.

Her father tried to calm her mother. He said that this was just a misunderstanding. That they would figure things out in a couple days. Her mother didn’t believe a word. While the little girl was crying for help her mother tried to get to her, but her father held her back. Each of them got more furious by the second until her mother clawed at her father and her father beat her mother.

The soldiers simply watched and laughed. The mage stood there with a frown looking down at her parents fighting the way she had seen others look at animals fighting for a scrap of food in the dirty back-alleys where she was not supposed to go alone.

While the soldiers were distracted by the fight the little girl managed to wiggle free. She could have run away. If only she had done so. Things would have been so much better than they are now. But instead she wanted to help her mother. She ran towards the fighting couple, but the mage tripped her up and hit her in the head with his walking cane. After that her vision became blurry. So many stars surrounding the image of her parents fighting while she was lying helplessly on the floor. Her father, trying to hit her mother to be quiet like he had done so many times before and her mother, furious like she had never seen her before, trying desperately to get to her daughter.

While she can’t remember the words the old mage had spoken to her at that time, she can still hear the arrogance in his tone whenever she closes her eyes. A constant reminder of how he thought that he was better than all of them. She knew by now how he looked when he talked with this voice. A small tuck on the side of his mouth, similar to a smile but too animalistic to be called something humane. His head tilted upwards. The wrinkly nose pointing into the sky. Only a side of his face turned in the direction of the person he is talking to. A raised eyebrow. And worst of all is the twinkle in his eyes. A spark that tells you he enjoys what he is doing. That he loves looking down at you and everyone else and will never stop truly believing that he is right.

This arrogance felt like a stab in her little heart at that time. And every time she had to hear it again after this horrible day felt like he twisted the knife he left in her chest on purpose. Just to cause her a little more suffering. It didn’t matter how much she endured. It didn’t matter how often she endured this specific kind of torture. His arrogance always brought her back to this moment, which changed her life so drastically for the worse. Every time the little knife turned deep inside her she felt like she was losing a bit of herself, even if moments ago she thought that there was nothing left to lose.

While his arrogance had dripped on her like poison, she watched her parents fight. Until the mage apparently had enough of this fight. He ordered the soldiers to drag them outside while he grabbed the little girl by her hair, yanked her up and pulled her outside behind her parents who already had lots of bruises, scratches and little wounds. Especially her mother had already taken a beating like the girl had never before seen. And her mother often had to endure a lot. From her father. From her customers. From other people in the slum. Nobody liked her, except for her daughter. It didn’t matter to her. She didn’t like anybody, too. Except for her daughter.

The little girl had always admired her mother. The strength to stand up again and again, every day, no matter what the world is throwing at you. It was something that set her apart from everyone else in the world the little girl knew.

But this time her mother wouldn’t stand up again.

The soldiers dragged her mother and father outside, while the mage dragged the little girl behind him. He raised his voice and said something to the people who had gathered already. Fighting was normal, but it was quite unusual that a mage and soldiers visited the slum. This wasn’t a part of the town where you would see people like these roaming the streets. The little girl didn’t understand what the old man said. She only cried for her mother, who at the same time cried for her daughter.

The old mage leaned down to the little girl and whispered into her ear. She was supposed to watch and remember what happened to people who disobeyed. To people who broke their promises. To the filthy masses that are so much lower than himself whenever he wanted to punish them.

She tried to run away, but the mage was still holding on to her hair with an iron grip, far stronger than he should have been. Though it’s difficult to say if he really was strong. She was just a poor little girl that had last eaten two days ago and was still confused by the strike on her head with a wooden cane.

He ordered the soldiers to set a warning example. Her father was beaten and kicked, just barely staying conscious so that he could scream his agony and hatred into the world. He planned to get some quick money to spend on his whores and get rid of the little girl that was eating far too much for his taste. And now he was being killed out in the open street by the people he had sold his daughter to.

Her mother on the other hand had to endure far worse. The soldiers did horrible things to her out in the open where everyone would see it. They took turns and in between they slapped her to keep her aware of what was happening. Everyone was watching. The neighbours. The beggars. Everyone. They just stood there and enjoyed the spectacle, howling how her parents deserved this treatment, while the little girl was forced to watch her parents being slowly killed in ways far crueller than she thought was possible, even though she grew up in the worst slum of the biggest city in the empire.

And this arrogant voice. It was unbearable.

The mage was constantly talking to her. Explaining how this is what happens to vermin who dare oppose him and his divine role in the world.

She tried to scratch, she tried to bite, she fought with everything she had got. But it wasn’t enough. She could only watch and cry while her parents were murdered by soldiers, who were cheered on by the crowd. The background faded to a sea of distorted masks, lusting for blood and violence, while the only thing she could hear apart from the screams of her parents was the slow, arrogant voice of the mage next to her ear.

After her parents were dead the mage hit her again with his cane and she finally lost her consciousness.

When she awoke, she was in an unfamiliar place, hurting everywhere and not knowing whether the horror she just had to endure had been real or the worst nightmare a human could ever possibly have. In the darkness of her prison cell she sat on a patch of straw, trying desperately not to think about the images that had been burned into her memory.

She only noticed the other girls when a big iron door squeaked at the end of the corridor and a big figure appeared in the frame. Everywhere around her girls tried to move into darker corners, hid behind each other and started to sob in a low voice as if they were hoping nobody would notice them. She was horrified when she realized what other things were wrong her father had told her and her mother about what awaited the little girl.

It was indeed the academy where she was held prisoner right now. And she was indeed supposed to stay here. But not only as a slave, but as one of the lowest slaves that were allowed in the entire empire. Tears streamed down her cheeks silently. She had heard stories about the wonderful academy. The grand place where the elite of the empire studied politics, fine art and magic. And she had heard stories about how they treated those they deemed to be lower than themselves. Those that couldn’t use magic and weren’t worth anything.

Most of the slaves had relatively easy jobs. But those at the lower end of the food chain were caught in an endless nightmare.

Some were chosen for public roles, such as helping in the library or carrying luggage for the students of the academy. They announced guests, carried letters around, helped the tutors and generally did everything where the supposedly ordinary people would see them and have to interact with them occasionally. They were walking amongst the elite, the high-class people who didn’t even understand their luck to be born amongst the nobility and being able to learn instead of working to get by somehow. Those slaves that were walking through the halls of the grand academy were the prettier ones.

At least until they angered some of these supposedly ordinary people. For example, if they didn’t carry the three coffers, two bags and bird cage fast enough. The little girl didn’t know the name of the blonde older girl, but she was one of the nicest girls until that day. She had always tried to sneak food into the cells of the lower-class slaves and spoke to them like they were normal. Most others had always tried to keep to themselves so as not to risk their position. The blonde one instead tried to keep them all as one big flock. She had talked about being a family and many of the younger girls had looked at her like the mother they didn’t have anymore.

It did go well, until said day. She was nearly beaten to death and her face wasn’t the same anymore. She couldn’t even speak properly anymore because a hard punch or kick had made her bite off part of her tongue. She also lost a few teeth that way. She was changed by that already, but being demoted to the lower classes made her keep to herself from that day onward. It only got worse with time.

Then you have the middle-class slaves. Those have to do work where they might be seen occasionally, but generally only need to be able to do their job and be gone whenever some of those elites come by. This includes work like cleaning the rooms during the day and cooking. Most slaves were in this category. The little girl, too.

It was a harsh life. There rarely was enough to eat and those who were caught stealing were rarely seen again. If they were, they often had lost some teeth, a finger or maybe a toe. They rarely spoke about the way they were made to lose their teeth, finger or toes. But if you heard stories those were horrible. Most girls just began to cry when they were asked for their story. Quite a few died of illness afterwards.

The little girl had also lost her little finger and a toe on each foot. She was caught by the cook when she tried to get a second slice of bread for the day. He had beaten her unconscious and when she awoke, she had been in a dark room. At first, she didn’t think about it too hard. There was not a whole lot to fear after what had already happened to her. She was bound to a chair by uncomfortable rope, but being able to sit was nearly a pleasant experience.

But when she heard the arrogance right behind her, everything changed.

Her vision blurred and a part in her soul tried to escape. That’s what happens with most girls at some point. Some are able to tell the tale of how their minds or soul or whatever it is that makes you think is trying to run away. And when your body can’t run away the thing finds a different way. The little girl had found that these girls always had eyes that occasionally looked like the glass windows in the kitchen. Barely any light coming through the stained pane. No way to see whether there was something on the other side or not. They were just staring into nothingness, not listening to anything. It often led to them not hearing or reacting fast enough to orders they were given, which made them drop down in the ranks further.

It was a horrible vicious cycle. You could only hope to escape it by dying fast, but the mages didn’t even make that an easy thing to accomplish.

The time she lost her finger was the worst one. It was the first time it happened and the arrogance nearly drove her crazy. She felt her soul trying to escape. But something else inside her wasn’t letting go. It was a difficult fight inside her while on the outside she had to endure pain and fear worse than even the day she had lost her parents. Still, the part of her that wouldn’t let go had something fascinating about it. It reminded her of something. Or someone.

When she was caught again a few weeks later, she recognized it. It was a power that reminded her of her mother. The ability to stand up again and again and again, no matter what the world would throw against you. It was impressive and the other voice inside her, the part that was desperately trying to get away to not feel the pain, the twitching voice that tried to please everyone so that they wouldn’t get angry and let her alone was getting quieter.

She was one of the few to get caught twice and still stood upright without the stained window eyes. The other girls looked up to her. She thought that it should give her power. All these other girls telling her how impressive it is that she is still herself. The voice inside her that was previously trying to get away was getting louder. It loved the attention. It wanted to stay like this forever and assemble troops. She had dreams of all slaves rising up against the might of the mages. The masses rising, throwing off their mental and physical shackles, overthrowing their jailers.

But the other voice knew better. It didn’t care about the girls. They would break the moment they had to fight for their survival. They would run away the moment they got a chance. They weren’t looking for an ally, they were looking for a saviour who would do all the work for them. Those girls couldn’t help her and it wasn’t useful to be the centre of this kind of attention. From that point on she could hear the calm voice regularly. It guided her in everything she did. It was constantly fighting with the other voice, but whenever the desperate voice would twitch and change its opinion between running away and finding allies and hiding and submitting to the might of the mages, whenever the noise level of this twitching voice would change the other one would stay calm.

It was waiting.

All those girls around her would flock together, hide behind each other and wait for an opportunity to get away. They only wanted to run. To hide. To cower together.

The little girl on the other hand was waiting. She didn’t know what exactly she was waiting for, but she knew that there was something that voice inside her was waiting for. She didn’t want to be a part of the flock. She didn’t want to run, hide or cower. There was something else she desired more than anything else.

After she had lost her second toe, she realized what is was. A little flame inside her. Something that she had to nurture and keep in check until the time was right. The hatred was growing with each day from there on. And the twitching voice was sometimes begging the little girl to release it. With all the hatred she could surely do something. She had allies. She had energy. Surely there was a way to get away. But the calm voice kept the fire and the twitching under control. The calm voice was still waiting.

Other girls had similar experiences. The little girl hadn’t told anyone about the voices because that would surely get one of the mages to kill her, but others weren’t so careful. They talked about their hatred and how much they wanted to pay the mages back for what they did. Some of them tried to nurture their flame like the little girl was doing it. But they couldn’t keep it in check as well as she could. At some point they all burst. They go up in flames, crying and screaming, kicking and scratching and biting the moment someone unlocks their cell door. They try to run away. But they are weak. A little scratch will occupy the minds of their jailers for a moment, but sooner or later the guards will recover from the little shock and attack the girls. Normally it’s the last thing you see of them. They are sent to the special chambers where you either break completely or die outright.

This is the lowest class. The girls in the special chambers. They are mostly kept there the other slaves say. But sometimes they are sent back. Never the same as before.

No girl has ever spoken about what happens there. The few who returned had unblinking stained window eyes and only sat in their corners. Sometimes you would see tears running down their cheeks, but they would still not blink, move or sob. They were just silently reliving whatever happened to them.

Only one of them had ever spoken about what happened. The blonde one. She had sunken to the lowest level after the accident with the coffers.

Most girls had to cover their ears. Her voice had been low, but every word made your stomach turn around. Even the little girl had to throw up after hearing what they did. It was the same they had done to her mother. But some of the things were more horrible. The difference was that here they took their time.

Shortly after that the blonde one managed to end it for herself. The fingernails of all slave were always kept very short to prevent them cutting themselves too deep, but she was very ambitious to end it. With her remaining teeth she managed to bite off enough to die. Afterwards a few other girls tried it, too. But they weren’t determined enough and instead only hurt themselves. Which made the guards get them to the special chambers, from where they never returned.

And one day the little girl was caught again. She was prepared to lose another finger, or toe. Or maybe a couple of teeth. An ear. She was prepared for a lot. But instead she was sent to the special chamber and her heart seemed to stop.

A lot of memories.

Far more than these mere moments should allow for.

Another pounding.

She can’t remember how often she had already relived all those memories while she had been in this special chamber.

This is what it’s like to have your mind slip away, the twitching voice said to her, imitating the arrogant voice. As if he heard it the old mage talked to her again. She couldn’t understand what he wanted. She only heard the arrogance. Felt it. It resonated deep inside her, bringing back all those unpleasant memories. She had seen what they did to her mother. She had heard what the blonde one had told her. She knew exactly what was happening to her right now, even if she couldn’t feel it. Her mind was already escaping her again.

But then there was a slight pull inside her mind. The calm voice.

It kept her in the present. She wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted. She could hear the arrogance. She could feel what they did to her again. She knew how many looked at her in this moment. It was the same as with her mother.

But still, the voice kept her in the present. It directed all the hatred, all the negative emotions to the fire that was burning inside her. The rage fuelled the fire, making it larger with every bit of arrogance spilling out of the old mage’s disgusting, smiling mouth. Every time she had to see the spark in the one eye directed at her she would stoke the fire inside her.

It was a blessing to see how surprised he was when she started to look at him again with a clear vision. Even though the torture continued and he was doing his best to make her mind go away, he couldn’t. And that was slowly making him lose his composure. He would turn towards her, stop smiling and in the end, he started to scream. She couldn’t understand it. Something was wrong with her ears. But she could hear how this disgusting arrogance disappeared and was replaced by hatred. It was beautiful. Better than anything she had felt since the day her mother died. Even though it was horrible, she realized that she had power of this bastard.

He couldn’t break her. Never.

Afterwards the little girl was left in her cell. All the girls around her were too ashamed to come close to her. And she would lie there, with a small smile on her face and with an idea of what the voice inside her was waiting for. And now that she had a plan the other voice was disappeared. It had always been just a fragment of herself, a part that belonged to her and was trying its best to help her. But it now realized that the best way to help her was to become one with the calm voice.

A few days later the mage came. He looked down at her with his face distorted into a horrible mask showing determination to do things only few could imagine. The flock around her turned away, cowardly trying its best to survive by not sticking out of the mass of bodies, while she simply looked up to the old mage. Smiling.

It made him furious. He got her out of her cell and dragged her by her hair across the floor, trying to break her before it even started. There was a desperation in his arrogance now. It sounded like he was barking at her, desperately trying to get her attention while she was completely focused on the fire inside her, anticipating her one chance.

When they arrived at the special chambers, he sent everyone away. The guards exchanged confused looks, but then shrugged with their shoulders and went away. She heard them talk about how one little underfed nearly broken slave girl couldn’t do any harm. The smile on her face was a sign of craziness for them. She also heard them whisper that she was nearly as crazy as the old lunatic, who was still barking in his desperate, arrogant voice. He was nearly shrieking at times.

When they went inside it was dark. The old mage couldn’t see anything and lit candles, not stopping his barking for a single moment. The little girl meanwhile saw everything. Her eyes were accustomed to the darkness because the guards had never bothered to light candles in the slave quarters. The fire inside her was warm and the voice was calm. It directed her eyes at the table the old mage had just passed. There were lots of tools. Horrible tools that had seen so much blood that many of them were so rusted they were nearly unusable. She had seen these tools. A few of them had been used on her before.

Stealthily she followed the old mage. He probably though she was too afraid to do anything. He was so sure of himself that he didn’t realize what was about to happen. He was still barking with his shrill voice about all the things he would do to her when she stood right behind him with one of the bigger knifes.

She waited.

A moment longer. Until he was far enough away from the table that he would not be able to grab anything. She was physically weak. She knew that. There was no way she could possibly manage to overwhelm this big, heavy, brutal man accustomed to violence with brute force alone. She needed to use her surroundings to her advantage.

So, she waited. And waited until he moved away far enough for her plan to work. She had seen the tools and knew how they worked, mostly from first-hand experience, but also from the stories that some of the other girls had shared. And whenever one of those other girls would snap, she would look at the fight. Not because she thought that there was a chance for the impatient, rebellious sheep to actually win the fight, but to learn how to exploit the weaknesses the sheep dogs would show. There were lots of places that made someone fall to the ground or lose things they were holding onto. You just had to know where to hit.

The first strike made the mage fall to his knees with a desperate squeaking, like a pig that just realized it was about to be slaughtered. The second strike left a long wound on his back. It wasn’t very deep, but there was a lot of blood. Then she quickly buried the knife inside his arm so that he would not be able to use it again any time soon and she retreated back to the table with the tools.

If she had been taller, stronger and well-fed she could have probably ended it by now. But as it was, she needed to slowly get him to spend his energy. There was no need to rush. He sent everyone away and nobody would come looking in here. Everyone knew that the old mage would talk and shout and scream a lot when he was punishing the slaves. And everyone knew better than to open these doors unprepared. Even the sheep dogs had regularly mentioned how they were having nightmares from the things they witnessed when they had to clean up or get some slaves into the special chambers to clean up. What happened here was simply horrible, even for people who were used to watching and enjoying horrible things.

Her goal was to let him bleed and let him spend his strength. And just like she had planned he spent his energy cursing, screaming, squeaking. Barking.

Watching him she realized what the voice inside her was. She realized why she was always feeling so disconnected from all the other girls. And she realized what is was that was bothering her about the guards and mages the most.

She was no sheep. Neither was she a sheep dog. She was a wolf, forced to hide in a flock of sheep while these little dogs dared to bark at her all day long. They were nothing she had to fear and they had no right to give her any orders. Those puppies overstepped a border when they dared to take her away from her mother. It had taken her a while to awaken the same kind of willpower that her mother had possessed, but finally she was fully awake. Aware of who she was. Aware of her position in the world. Aware of what had to be done.

She grabbed a pair of scissors and circled around the old mage, who was still barking at her. She didn’t listen to him. If she was careful this was already over, the little puppy just hasn’t realized that the big bad wolf was right in front of him.

She was looking for a vulnerable spot. She was feinting an attack, which made the twitchy puppy try to kick her away while shrieking in fear. His eyes had lost their usual spark and were instead full of fear. There was no smirk tugging at the corners of his now distorted mouth. He was looking straight at her. Bleeding heavily already.

After he had kicked the air in her general direction she quickly ran around to his side. The side where she had already planted a knife inside his arm. He had left it because he knew that it would be worse to yank it out. But he still instinctively tried to cover himself with his arm. Now he had a knife and scissors sticking out of him as if he was a life-sized voodoo doll. He howled and cried. And then he yanked out the scissors. He was looking for a weapon, even if it meant that he would bleed more.

The little girl had already retreated again. She grabbed another tool and waited for her next chance.

The puppy swung the scissors in the air, trying to act intimidating. It was disgraceful and useless. She had listened to everyone around her. Mages were powerful, but they needed to concentrate. And it’s difficult to concentrate when you have a knife sticking out of your arm. This old mage was powerful if he got the chance. The little girl had to make sure he wouldn’t get a chance.

After about a minute he gave up trying to get the little girl to come closer. The blood loss was starting to get to him. He threw the scissors in her general direction, but she was far enough away and he was hurt badly enough that he didn’t manage to even get close to her. He was accustomed to throwing around magic, not physical things. Thinking that it was a good diversion tactic he turned around and tried to crawl towards the far away door. He was far too slow.

The little girl followed him again stealthily until she was close enough to ram the tool in her hands into his leg. Another wound. More blood. She retreated again. A predator shouldn’t risk unnecessary injuries. Her prey was already mad with pain. He was used to giving out punishment, but this little puppy had never received any form of punishment. A few play fights with other puppies probably, but nothing compared to what the little girl had endured her whole life. Especially since the moment this puppy dared to disrupt her life. The day her mother had to die because she had been betrayed by a sheep and was caught in a fight against far too many opponents to defend the one and only thing, she had valued more than her own life. Her daughter.

The fire was keeping her upright. She returned to the table, always looking at the puppy crawling at the floor, sobbing and starting to beg for his life. When she started to circle him again, now that this fat little puppy was hurt too badly to move around, he started to laugh manically. Again, she didn’t listen to him or his useless threats. His voice was barely hearable anyway with all the snot and spit from his constant sobbing. When she was on the side where his head was, he exposed his throat like a good little puppy. But even though he wasn’t moving as much anymore, bleeding heavily and still sobbing she noticed the difference in the tone of this little puppy. He was planning something.

She feinted again and just as she had thought, he was trying to reach for her with his good arm. As she had anticipated this she quickly shifted to his other side, out of reach of his good hand and to where she could reach the knife she had previously thrust into his arm. She yanked it out quickly, which made him scream horribly, and then she thrust it in his other arm again, which made him scream again, before she again retreated.

She watched him squirm with pain for a moment before she attacked again. Her goal was to add a few more cuts. A few more things distracting him. But he remained calm. Too calm. He was concentrating. His eyes closed, softly speaking something to himself. The little girl had to do something. But going in too hastily would get her killed.

She quickly went to the table and took something. It didn’t matter what it was. The little girl had been in such a situation often enough to know how the human mind worked. She threw the tool in the general direction of the door while the mage was still concentrating with his eyes closed. When the tool hit the floor, you could hear a metallic clicking. The mage instinctively looked at it with the irrational hope in his eyes that someone would come to save him. Everyone always hoped a miracle would happen that would end the horror, but it never happened. The puppy learned this lesson when the wolf threw a knife at him. It was a bit clumsy, but it still added another wound. And his concentration was gone.

For a while she watched him struggle, barely being able to move and fearing for his life. When his eyes began to blur out like she had seen with the slave girls so often before, she feinted a few attacks again to judge whether he would try anything again. He was slowly reacting without any plan, so she feinted an attack at the parts between his legs, which made him bend in an attempt to cover these parts of himself and then she stabbed his throat.

A few moments later everything was over. The old, powerful mage lay in a puddle of his own blood while the little underfed slave girl was standing above him. An image that nobody outside of these walls would ever believe to be possible.

But the fire was still burning inside her. This wasn’t over. It was merely the beginning. She would find a way out of this building. She would find a way to recover her strength. And she would find a way to come back here and kill everyone that wasn’t a slave.

Not because she wanted to rescue the sheep. But because these puppies had barked at the true wolf far too long. And who knows. Maybe there was pack of wolves hidden amongst the sheep, waiting for their chance to hunt together.

She started to think about a plan to escape. There were lots of ideas because every slave at one point or another talked about escaping. There were even rumors that some had managed to pull it off. But there was also something else she thought of.

A name.

She needed a name. No longer would she be addressed as a slave, as a lower being that you could look down at. The little girl was no poor little girl anymore. Her mother had given her a name, but it felt surreal. Something was off. It belonged to a different part of her life. It felt like it belonged to a different life entirely.

But her mother had a beautiful name. And her mother was the person she had adored the most. Especially after that horrible day she had always kept the image of her mother standing up again and again in her mind. It was the most important reason she was able to still stand upright. Her mother was gone. But her name would live on.

With a slight smile she spoke again for the first time in quite a while. No sound was around her. The special chambers were silent. Except for the wolf howling his name into the night, eager to hunt.

“Fenra!”

--

--

Secespitus
Universe Factory

I am a WorldBuilder working on some short stories that are based on some of my questions on WorldBuilding.StackExchange and the answers I got there.