Seiðr, Ragnarøk ➳ Fjor Jutul

*8* Appearances Can Be Deceiving

Putting Valkyrie down on the bed, Rosalinde took some purple candles from the wall-mounted shelves and lit them, placing them around her on the floor as she sat in the middle cross legged.

In order to concentrate herself on the present moment, Rosalinde had to take some deep breaths and free her mind –she focused on what she heard, what she smelled to stop the traffic of thoughts. Then, she shifted her focus to her own body: how the cold floor felt on her bare legs, how her abdomen rose with every inhale...

When she began to feel her mind slowly being drawn into another realm, she quickly played her vision in front of her closed eyes while chanting quietly, in Old Icelandic.

"Freyja, Goddess of Love, the Light of the Völva on our journey with the Seiðr, please send me your wisdom. Lend me your words, your sight, your wits so that I may solve this mystery."

As soon as she was finished chanting, she felt some invisible hands touching her temples. As her eyes turned white, Rosalinde flung her head back; the spaces between the purple candles, which were placed to form a circle around Rosalinde, lit up purple as if there had been invisible strings connecting the candles all along.

Short images began to play in front of Rosalinde's eyes quickly.

The blonde haired boy from her first vision was fixing a bicycle tire with his bare hands.

Death, blood, suffering, angry voices shouting...

The same boy was throwing a hammer so far that no human being could throw.

He was running 100 meters in seven seconds.

A snowplow ran over the blonde boy, who was crossing the street without looking but somehow he survived even without a scratch.

An axe was being thrown at a wall-mounted piece of round wood.

"It's a good thing we are built strong in our family."

The blonde raised his head to take a look at the mirror, only to see the reflection of someone else: a man with blonde hair –the part above his forehead was tied up –and blonde, dirty, long beard which had four braids at the very bottom. His face and body were full of scratches and there was black face paint on both sides of his nose –it was going down to his beard in a straight line. The reflection he saw was of Tor's, the God of thunder.

The axe which had been thrown at a wood earlier was being placed on a wooden table, four silhouettes around the table could be seen.

The blonde boy felled a tree with his bare hands.

He was ripping the head of a dog apart and was getting covered in blood.

Eyes with yellow, huge irises were winking.

As the blonde boy screamed, lightning struck between him and someone other.

Rosalinde inhaled deeply upon feeling the invisible hands leave her head, as well as the vision she saw ended; her eyes returned to their icy blue colour and the glowing between the candles was gone.

So that boy is indeed Tor –he is from the Old World. He should be reincarnated though, no Gods or Goddesses survived Ragnarøk, after all.

But he doesn't seem to be aware of his identity as the God of thunder –at least at the beginning he seemed literally clueless.

And what about the yellow eyes?

Rosalinde frowned slowly while she picked up the candles she had snuffed out and put them back at their places on the shelf –she clearly remembered reading something about yellow eyes in one of the journals belonging to the previous Völva.