「 Skill Point ― n/a 」

Sometimes good things came to an end and it was a blessing and a curse to know when. Yule had not succeeded this year for it was prior to this that Freya felt the tides change. It was after this point that her soul bounds began to prepare for her departure to her new life. Tyr found himself troubled, conflicted by his grasp to godhood and the mortal children he had birthed in this plane of existence. Even if he were to leave this realm, there was no guarantee they would follow.

Time had told what would happen when Freya departed and finally the numbers were beginning to show. Loki, Jao, Raihn, just to name a few of those who had followed the goddess as she returned to Yggdrasill. The god's chest ached for his son and friends. While him had Loki had not always seen eye to eye, it was a dance they'd played for many millennia. Tyr had yet to be removed, bound to the mortal world by a slither of his greed to remain. The further changes to the Demeni were to come, the hardest aspect being to let go of the woman that had connected them all as companions.

It was a necessary evil.

So Tyr called to his brothers and sisters, asking them to gift him with their company in that moment to unite themselves. He couldn't blame those who sought greener pastures across the chilly waters on the mainland. In fact, that was why he resided at the shore, hoping to bring their orca to the surface for such an occasion if others needed passage across the high tides.

The wind held a chill that froze him to his core, the flurries scattering like stars across the midnight blues of his pelt as he stood looking out across the bay.

No time like the present, he uttered, his breath cascading from his lips in a plume of vapour. The time had come to announce the disappearance of their Queen and company.

There was a call. Not from Freya herself, but from another. One that sounded urgent. C'mon Max. Cedar would gently help his familiar to his back. His brown pelt had flurries stuck to his fur as he pawed his way to the urgent calls.

There stood the beast he spoke to a few times. A chimera. One made of night and day. Tyr. The man would dip his head, then move to find a spot where he could stand while letting Maximus do his thing. For now he'd remain quiet, he was exhausted and tired from the night before. Things were pretty hectic for himself.

The raccoon huffed, using his bare strength to climb up onto his companion. And off they went. Not far from where Cedar had started. But when they arrived, they were by the ocean. A shore. And the Queen, whom he hadn't met, was nowhere in sight. Why would it be such a meeting call from a wolf with no pack leader? Many questions rose in his mind but he kept it silent as he would wait for the chimera to speak again, perhaps when more people arrived.

Da is dead.

Ma is gone.

Like that, Ragnhildr stands as an orphan, unsure of where to go next. Returning to Northfall is an option, as it was where he was born. But he's not sure. He promised Ma he'd keep to the clan, and any of the children that stayed would need a guide. They wouldn't fully understand the reality of returning to the realm of the Gods. To them, it's as if Freya (and Loki, in the case of Cupid's kids) had simply died.

There's a hole in Ragnhildr's heart, one starting to look like a bottomless pit. The usual jovial eyes of the guardian are dull, disaffected. Why this again? Would he ever feel normal again? With Sylvi gone, there's no one for him now. He can't give up, can't succumb to despair, but it's hard to keep upright.

But he's here, standing before Tyr, ready for what comes next. He's not sure. Fate is tricky like that. Perhaps... Perhaps the valkyries had been right.

She's still a stranger to most of these people. Being assimilated into the pack had been apparently a task for the Goddess Freya, the Queen of this island. And Maja had not wanted to take up time. She's from another world, of course, and that needed answers that perhaps only the Goddess could answer. But there had not been time in the bustle of other tasks, and she's not one to question that.

Cedar is here, and she stands in his shadow, silent as she usually is. If there's reason for her to speak up, she will do so, but she doubts it. Men do not ask little girls questions of great importance, and she's not about to fight that standard. She only hopes no one looks at her for too long.

It's not fair.

All the celebrations for Yule had fallen through, and Astrid's play would never be performed now. All her Very Important Things she did to prepare are ruined. And she hasn't seen Saga all day; what is she supposed to do, take that with grace? A thought in her head says to check Tyr's mouth for blood, and to run if he looks at her, but she doesn't know where that thought came from. Tyr ate Saga isn't exactly the most sane thing to consider, and it's one that disturbs her more than other products of her overactive imagination.

She huffs as she approaches, the first of her siblings. This isn't going to be the celebration. But Saga's going to be here, right? And all the others?

---

six months

Evergreens loomed around him, but in the eye of the storm of greenery and snow stood the prince; still, for once, and seemingly calm.

The sun was blotted out by snowflake-filled clouds, looming ominous as the flurries drifted down peacefully. Sverke's nose was tilted toward the sky in a mocking rendition of a silent howl, jaws clenched shut to keep his rage in check. There was no reason to set it off its leash, and no victim but himself here. Snowflakes landed on his cheeks, nose and chin - perched atop fine, short midnight-blue fur before melting into invisibility.

Just like -

He closed his eyes. That was a mistake. Memories of another world burst to golden life behind his eyes - the scalding heat of chariot wheels returned to his jaws, a cold flame of hate blossoming within the boy's chest. Skoll heard his name spoken, revered, feared - sun-eater, he who mocks, ragnarok's advent, monstrous wolf of the sky and endless chase. It burned, and it burned, and this time Sverke did not fear it quite as much. His mother was gone. Stolen from his grasp. The boy was left behind. He felt cold, lost, alone, angry. Who had the right? What force would dare?

She was the golden-haired, sunlight and gold and honey, and she was his mother, his. None other was allowed to steal her like so prized a possession.

His father's call made amber and ice eyes flick open, a sharp inhale cleansing the worst of the cloying grief taking root in his chest.

Sverke was not alone, at least. Some other thing lived within him - as one with him - and he knew his twin was still not far.

If anything, he wanted Asgeir closer than ever - lest he be called away from Sverke as well. Well, Sverke wouldn't allow it. No power in any realm was strong enough to separate them, even if it had torn son from mother's side. The brothers were more than that - intertwined, though Sverke didn't entirely comprehend how. He trotted onto the beach, thick winter coat silky and shuffling with every smooth stride that brought the half-yearling to his father's side.

They would survive. He was not so weak to fall apart without the Goddess' strength there to bolster him. It was in silence that the boy settled, seated by his father's side with a scowl and a keen eye on the others who arrived - although he was really just looking for the shape of his twin to make itself known.

---

---

TRIGGER WARNING mentions of child loss, depictions of grief, mentions of child sacrifice

He had been in prayer when Tyr called. Head bent, plaintive whispers spilling endless and overlapping from his jaws, he had prayed to every pantheon he knew; he had even dared to call on his mother and father, pleading with them, wherever they were, to hear him and intervene, for their sakes, not his own.

It did not bring back his Watchman. It did not bring back his daughter.

Saga had told him she needed to see the sea - for what, he didn't know, she had not elaborated. He knew something strange was afoot with the Goddess, perhaps the veil between the realms was thinned recently for whatever reason. He had wondered if his quietest daughter housed the soul of Poseidon, briefly, as he felt his paws sink slightly into cool, damp sand. Saga was a mysterious child, much like the ocean itself, although he'd seen little other indication...But Loki had been there, too.

It was some unknown magic, he was sure. But he still didn't know what had happened. When the tears had dried, when his fur was no longer damp from desperate leaps into the waves to find them, when Cupid had finally realized his lover and his child had disappeared into the sea for some unknown reason - or been spirited away, or something, because he had neither seen nor truly heard it happen, he just knew they were there one moment and not there the next, when all hope had exhausted itself - Cupid had finally cursed his body. This mortal form that had given him a new home, a new future, and children to love - it had also forced him into helplessness when faced with losing all he'd gained.

He was furious, frightened, grief-stricken, and he didn't expect the gods to help him, and he didn't want to be indebted to the pantheon he'd come from, but Cupid had prayed all the same; willing for once to humble himself even to that degree, knowing how it would damn him irrevocably if he was ever forced to return 'home', to the world he'd come from.

Tyr's call was the only thing to interrupt the Courtesan from his nonstop whispered pleas. It had become a white noise to his own ears, lilting with the tune of his breath and the tide that lapped at the sand under his paws, freezing cold that he had stopped truly feeling many hours ago.

He was not sure where the other children were. Prayers for protection had been mixed in his fevered mutterings for some time, now, but he knew better than to rely on them. Still, if their father called, he was sure they would gather. They were good kids.

They didn't deserve to be stolen like this, like...bargaining chips, like they were a part of Freya's war...except they were, weren't they?

He'd offered them up as sacrifices once before, before they were fully formed - back when they were just an accidental thought, a gleam in his blinded eyes.

He ought to have been more careful, ought to have been careful what he wished for or provided as fodder to the gods. He ought to have known better. He ought to have protected them. He ought to have never have brought them into this world - but, no, that thought fell flat.

He adored his children, and did not regret their existence...only his own failings.

The dove-god was tired. Exhaustion hung in lurid bags beneath his eyes, in damp and unkempt fur dusted with snow, and the shuffling trudge that brought him to the meeting's place. He could smell one daughter already present, and seated himself beside her with careful steps so he didn't trip over errant paws or tails. If Astrid would allow, the Courtesan would lean a minute bit of his weight toward her, encouraging her to lean on him for reassurance if she so desired.

Change was among them. Sindri remained steadfast in her existence, a happy figure in her family unit and otherwise finding more ingenious ways to slip away from the confines of home. She had yet to officially leave the island, but the path in which was revealed when the moon took away the waters had been discovered not long ago.
Sindri was biding her time, but then things started shifting.

Loki and Saga were among the first of the tragedies, and though Sindri was quite sure in her knowledge they they'd been plucked up by some benevolent force she didn't entirely understand, it wad Cupid her heart ached for. Sure, Loki and Saga were gone, but the dark sweeping figure she saw when she closed her eyes wouldn't let anything bad happen to them. She was the night itself, and Sindri had always felt most at home when she felt the shadowy arms wrap about her.
Poor Cupid, he only had those who remained.

So Sindri stayed home with him, and as he uttered soft prayers she could often barley hear, she remained a figure of what she hoped was comfort. If her presence could ease his heart any, she was glad to be bored at home, wondering what adventures her father and sister must've been enjoying in the realm of stars and darkness.

When Tyr called, Sindri very nearly ignored it. Cupids calls mattered, and Freyas calls mattered. Anyone else.... well, that was more of a suggestion, one she didn't feel like heeding until her foggy toned father rose to meet it. Sindri frowned but, nonetheless, trotted along at Cupids tail, looking very much more like a stern body guard than a wayward, hard to pin down daughter. She sat down on his other side, glad Astrid was taking up his other flank.
The more familiarity, the better.

Sindri was quiet, half glowering half confused.

Mermaid knew something was amiss.

She felt Loki’s absence like a dull ache in the back of her mind bidding her to follow, one she continued to vehemently scorn. This was something she felt, she ignored, she'd been ignoring. Maybe the memories, the spirit of something more, was trying to tell her something.
Freya had been nursing wounds, that much Mermaid had known. But her scent - it shouldn't have been stale, rubbed away by the wind. Their Queen should be here. Their Queen should be calling a meeting, Mermaid thought vehemently.

Why wasnt she?

Mermaid wasn't far behind Cedar. He'd gained another tick, but at least the girl hadn't brought sickness and disease into the Demeni; her presence was tolerated in the way all the other children were, and Mermaid remained a fixture of the garden more than a member helping tend it.

She hovered behind Cedar, uncomfortable. She only came at all because he had, the urge to ignore a different summons all too real. What did Tyr want? He sounded...

Sad?

Uncertainty coiled in Mermaid's gut.