Sigyn's Discovery (Part 1)

Warrior Sigyn (SIGYN)

Life returned to the mind-numbing routine of endless dishes. I kept to myself and didn't bother trying to find comfort in anything beyond Tiwaz and my journal, making up stories that took me far from Asgard and the barrage of fighting in the streets.

Since I'd been demoted, our soldiers changed their strategies. They were more aggressive and had less regard for maintaining the infrastructure of the city. While it resulted in fewer casualties, the servantry was overrun with homeless citizens—it would take some time before rebuilding could begin, and False Odin declared the palace basement a temporary shelter. I was torn between appreciating his efforts and openly griping about his reluctance to bring Thor home to defend us.

Deep down, I knew it wasn't the most viable solution—while the war might've ended sooner with a true Odinson at the helm, it was impossible to know if he would've done so at greater cost to the people in the wake of his hammer. Thor was stronger than Loki, but I doubted he could be half as precise. Adding to the fact that other servants saw my unceremonious dismissal from the king's service as proof of a soured affair, it was in my best interest to keep any words regarding royalty to myself.

The dishes never asked questions or whispered behind my back. Wooden plates and ale horns have more important things to do. I felt like them, in a way—a vessel to serve everyone in the kingdom except myself. Every day, they visited, after feeding even more people than the most raucous celebration banquets I had the misfortune of cleaning up after. Things were sullied faster than I could freshen them, leading to an infinity loop of work. My hands passed over things so much, the tree ring patterns on every plate which should've been as distinctive as a fingerprint became familiar to me. The imperfections of the bowls were old friends. Speckles on the ale horns told me about every animal they once came from, mimicking the constellations I still so badly wished to see.

Only three weeks after my reassignment to remain in the kitchens full time, I tuned out the horrifying crash of vehicles and weapons outside. My position was considered one of essential service—never paused. The people depended on us to keep things operational. Seldomly a burst of laughter or even a scream would pull me away from the bubbles and rushing water in the sinks, but even that became less frequent if I'd already stayed on for a second shift without rest.

Today, the halls were eerily quiet. I checked my ears by snapping on either side of my head—equal and normal. Healers generally made a racket of traffic in the halls, but not today. Something was happening outside that I would surely learn about later, whether I wanted to or not.

A man shrieked in the distance without warning. "Shields down!"

Shields? It wasn't clear if he called out a warning or an order. I rubbed the plate in my hand in a swirling circle, feeling for residue. Why would they remove shields on purpose? Aren't skiff gliders essentially bare already?

More screams ensued. Far away. Too far to care about.

I moved on to another plate, but the energy changed. My heart knew something my head didn't. Pounding in my chest made me dizzy and disoriented. To calm myself, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, focusing on the crisp scent of soap and the heat of the water.

Buzzing behind me drew my focus—coming closer, invading my territory. It sent tingles all over my back, and my hair stood on end.

Deep in the sink, a heavy stone handle touched the back of my right hand. Cautious not to move too quickly, I gripped it as tight as I could.

Ominous clicks joined the mechanical din. Mouth sounds—the kind of grating noises that could make even the kindest person lose their temper—but this was no Asgardian. It almost reminded me of a large, stinging insect, ready to strike.