She could empathize with the mortals’ struggle. Before the war, their kind had been used as slaves and whores or, at the very best, left to fend for themselves in the worst of their lands. Anything valuable had benn taken from them by stronger species.
Guilt filled Solveig as she thought of the many times she could’ve prevented the mistreatment of humans but did not. She hadn’t cared enough back then. She had only ensured the mortals who resided in Asgard and Vanaheim were treated fairly and compensated for their work, their families provided for.
But it had not been enough. Given their history, Solveig couldn’t blame them for she would have done the same.
Ragnarök had not only ended the gods but also caused the nine branches of the World Tree to collapse. The vast universe hosting countless worlds and peoples had been destroyed alongside the gods.
However, in a twist of fate no Seer had prophesized, a piece of each of the nine planets survived the destruction, re-forming Yggdrasil into one lone world to fend for itself without the aid of the gods.
Each civilization was preserved in the remnants of both the people and their lands. Dreamers, inventors, scientists, artists, scholars—the best of each realm remained to carry on the development of their people.
A council had formed in the early history of this new world, seats filled by surviving monarchs and newly appointed leaders.Emissaries from each land were selected to speak for their people, ensuring both autonomy of governance for the realms and treaties to protect the world from falling into wars of power.
Solveig was grateful she had not been alive at that point in history.
After centuries of peace the thirst for power darkened the hearts of would-be kings and zealots who were no longer satisfied with the limiting borders of their lands. Midgard was the only realm to have no magic.Their reliance on the gods for protection against the other realms was long gone, leaving them vulnerable.
Magic wielders dominated the mortals into submission and slavery, to be used as cannon fodder or labour. Brutal wars ensued and subsects of races formed alliances with each other.
A millennia later, only a semblance of that first council remained, clinging to the hope of regaining peace and control. But it had not been enough to stop what was to come.
Mortals had grown tired of being seen as less than and were no longer satisfied to live in a world without power. So they took it, rising against their oppressors.
The War of Realms began, and Midgard shook the world by conquering each race—decimating magic wielders with an unknown power. Every race had their magic stripped away as a result.
Solveig’s magic burned from every cell in her being. Days passed in agony until the last tendril was gone. She’d been weak for months, all magical beings suffering the same fate. It was unlike any torture she’d ever endured.
For the first time in history, the eight realms were at the mercy of Midgard, who’d overpowered them in their weakened state. The once magical races were forced to surrender as mortals took the lands for their own, leaving the other races broken in a world without magic.
There was no way to become accustomed to the emptiness in her body, even after a hundred and fifty years. The hum of her magic had been silenced, not even a phantom or a whisper remaining, as though her lifeblood was gone, leaving her a cold, empty being.
Every time she came to this riverbed, she pulled, straining to feel any trace of her power. She begged the useless gods to bless her with even a drop of the magic she had taken for granted.
Not even the wind answered her pleas.
Solveig roared one last time before steeling herself and taking three deep breaths. Her people still needed her. The Queens still counted on her. So she settled into the lethal calm her position as war general of the Asgardian armies, leader of the Southern Wilds, demanded and rode to camp with renewed purpose.
Withasmuchpatienceas he could muster, Latham waited after Gerrie left, so he and Solveig could ride back to camp together. He paced back and forth, Blesi hoofing at the ground, nearly as impatient as his rider.
Solveig came racing through the forest, her dark brows furrowed in determination. High cheekbones cut her square, angled face in the sunlight. He guided Blesi one step behind Helle, knowing she was not yet ready to speak. Instead, he trailed her, while her shoulder-length auburn hair whipped behind her, free of its usual intricate braids.
It pained him to see a weight so heavy on her shoulders.
He wished she had not been born to such greatness. The moment she came into her power, she’d carried the burden of her birthright. If only she would let him help her.
Before the Block hit, magic had been the main determining factor in who ruled the realms. Since Solveig’s magic was stronger than even the Queens’, she could’ve taken control of Asgard, even as a Vanir. But sherespected her mothers too much to challenge their power. When she’d made the decision to decline the throne, Latham had been frustrated at first.
How could someone reject that much power? Until it hit him that if she were to take Asgard’s throne, she’d likely have to marry some pointy-eared Fae asshole-diplomat. And she would’ve been bored out of her fucking mind.
Solveig was a warrior, and her purpose was not to sit on a throne, but to win wars and lead her soldiers into battle. He’d certainly follow her anywhere. When he was with her, he was safe, she never let her guard down. Even when they were safely settled at camp, she remained armed to the teeth.
Her swords were slung over her back and at least three daggers were hidden somewhere beneath her usual fitted black pants and loose white tunic.
As she dismounted, he couldn’t help but admire her physique. Her lithe body rivalled that of the Elven, taller than the average Vanir female, but stronger, sturdier. For the millionth time, Latham cursed the boundaries she’d set in their relationship.
He had yet to really touch her or taste her like he wanted to.
There was something between them—he understood it even if she didn’t. Ever since they were witchlings, they’d been inseparable. When maturity hit, all hormones and anger, they fought and pushed each other, the tension escalating as they aged.
