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Herrick stood outside the cabin they had slept in as he roughly scrubbed his face in a basin of water that had been filled from the stream, the cold temperature refreshing.

The early morning sun beat down on the mountainside, blinding him as he stepped out further into the forest of Hilgafell to escape the close quarters of their dwelling.

The structure was larger than it appeared on the outside: it had a decent shared living space lined with comfortable cushions and piles of furs for when the chill of the night crept in.

Behind a thick tapestry lay a large shared sleeping quarter that could section off into smaller, more private bubbles with just the pull of a curtain.

Herrick and Maude had quickly chosen a spot near the entrance, pulling a large curtain across the line hanging above them until they were cocooned.

Though they still hadn't spoken about what happened in Nida, their silent agreement to remain close to each other made him think that things between them weren't so irreparably damaged.

Outside, though the other worshippers had drank long into the night, the grounds were silent.

Fires lay smoldering in the morning dew with more than a few couples and groups lying around them, flashes of exposed skin giving away just how carried away they had gotten the night before.

Even in the height of the summer months, the air was cooler in the forest.

As Herrick walked the worn path through Hilgafell, his bare feet snapping twigs and wet leaves squishing beneath his weight, his mind returned to the ominous parting the Grand Soothsayer had given them last night.

Her words had lingered through the night, bouncing within the confines of his waking mind and even following him into his dreams.

Ravens, as large as the rare sand sighogg that plague the desert surrounding Logi, had followed him as he trekked through an unknown forest. His path had been laid out by swords that had been stuck into the dirt, their handles rusted and broken.

He remembered looking up to the sky to find it blood red and realizing he was dreaming the way most do when dreams start to differ from reality.

When he had looked back toward the path lined by swords, a dense shadow figure stood at the end of it.

He hadn't been able to look past the humanoid shape; he was only left with a feeling of acidic betrayal and resolve that cut through him.

He tried to turn around and go back the way he came, but the last person Herrick wanted to see stood a few paces away.

Baldr— the General of Flame and Herrick's torturer.

The man's appearance shifted rapidly between the dark torturer he had been to Herrick and a softer image of him that could only have been the informant side of Baldr. Herrick didn't recognize this softer side of the man who had brought so much suffering to him in such a short time.

He had grappled with which direction he should go; sweat broke out on his neck, and his hands started to tremble as each of the figures took a step closer to him.

With every thundering beat of his heart, Herrick's throat tightened.

Eventually, he tried to jump the barrier of swords that lined his path but found a wall of fire in his way.

Dream Baldr reached him first, his flaming hands already extended toward Herrick's bare chest before he flickered again and instead was reaching toward him with open hand, like it was ready to pull him free from something.

Herrick had clenched his eyes shut as his panic finally overwhelmed him, his breath coming in quick, sawing pants that made him feel like he was breathing underwater.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to wake from his nightmare. The dream had shaken him so thoroughly that he had risen from his sleep earlier than everyone else.

Maude had been curled up into him as she slept on her side, her face slack as soft snores rumbled out of her. Her hands had been wrapped around his chest before he disentangled himself like she had turned to him in her sleep, sensing his panic and trying to soothe it with her presence.

Despite all that had gone wrong between them, her unconscious mind still reached for him when he was in distress. It had made his throat tighten uncomfortably until he had to escape the confines of the shared sleeping space.

When she woke alone, he knew there would be Hel to pay, but how could he face her about his terror when he had not faced it himself?

He wasn't sure how long he had walked, but soon, Herrick found himself in front of Odin's Temple.

The doors were still open, though the temple was empty, and the sound of the stream was the only other noise in the room besides his breathing.

He didn't know why he had ended up at the temple again, but the emptiness and quiet of the space invited his broken soul in with a stronger pull than he thought possible.

Except he couldn't manage to pull himself further than the threshold.

Herrick toyed with the iron band on his throat again— a habit he had picked up when his nerves got the best of him.

He could feel the vile presence in the back of his mind— watching the world through his eyes, feeding off his galder and his pain.

A ghostly chuckle came from the back of his mind but the creature inhabiting his soul did not say more.

It was like the creature knew that he didn't need to contribute words to what Herrick was feeling all on his own.

Never having been plagued by such self-doubt and hopelessness, Herrick didn't know how to deal with what had happened to him in Logi.

He had never been one for devout prayer, nor was he one who generally opened up to others about his anxieties and traumas.

In truth, the battles and fights he had been a part of— whether they had been with pirates, Flame Soldiers, or criminals his soldiers had apprehended— had been easier for Herrick to compartmentalize.

There was always a clear-cut reason for why he felt the way he did.

His honor, his duty, or his fate had always comforted him in his decision-making, never leaving enough doubt in its place to cause worry.

Maude had once called him a fool for that. Herrick now feared she had been right all along.

Baldr may be a spy who truly works for the Kingdom of Shadows, but the torture he had put Herrick through was real. And was that supposed to be his fate? To be a pawn for the gods, another avenue for them to spur the people of Ahland on toward rebellion?

If his fate was to be tortured, why then did he feel so abandoned by the gods he trusted?

The answer to why he had been put through such an ordeal was as clear as the morning sky, and yet, he woke in the night covered in sweat, his heart racing and breath thin from the continued mental abuse Baldr had inflicted.

He hadn't been able to separate himself from what had happened.

Even now, Herrick still struggled to separate Maude's fire from Baldr's.

They both had the same golden sheen to its edges as they burned, but how could he ask his eldr , his fire, to dim who she is?

He could already see her trying to limit her fire around him even as all the elements have been finding their way to the surface recently.

But every flame, every candle that flickered in his periphery, forced a cold sweat to break out over his body that he couldn't stop from overwhelming him. And Maude always noticed when he wasn't himself.

He had chosen to remain behind, his decision clouded by the grief that had clung to him in the wake of Maude's death.

Now, that reasoning no longer held, however right it had felt at the moment.

Herrick had accepted his capture when he thought it would result in death and had been relieved when Maude had freed him.

But what happened, happened. There was no going back to the rigid duality of right and wrong.

Now, the world was grey, and his actions thus far had shown that he was slipping further and further from who he had been before he'd crossed paths with Baldr.

He may have heard Maude's words about fate before, but now he understood.

Standing at the entrance of the temple, Herrick made a choice.

The gods were following his decisions and had laid out a plan for him, but he was not going to be a willing, mindless victim of their whims anymore.

His blind acceptance of their plan for him led him to make rash and impulsive decisions, trusting that the gods would follow through with their divine guidance. But no longer.