Ingrid's first sensation was cold. Not the cold of wind or snow, not the cold of Gladsheim. It was a chill that ran deep into her very core. It wrapped around her bones. It slipped beneath her skin. It was like the touch of a phantom.
The second sensation was pain. Her body burned as hot and as the moment the thunderbird struck her with its lightning. She didn't know where she was, if she was alive, if she was dead. She had no strength in her limbs and her eyes refused to open. She pulled for her magic but felt nothing, no mana within her core, no core at all.
The pain stopped but all that did was let her think unabated by distraction. She had hoped she lived a life worthy of the Forest Father and worthy of the Salstar name at least in death. It was a funny thing that in life all she wanted was to show that she could achieve what no other thought possible. She wanted to be a wendigo without reproach who would leave a legacy as grand as the Founding King of Yuhia.
As she ruminated on all that she had done she did not feel the glory. She felt tired, she felt alone in the darkness. Her mind longed for her family, Ulfar, Ragnar and Eira. They were the reason she tried so hard, and she knew one day she would leave this world to her children but it felt too soon. She left too many shadows behind, too many words unsaid.
Then she thought of Freja. The one she had alway assumed was a failure. The one that in life caused so much shame and so much bitterness. She had been wrong about her daughter, more wrong than she had been about anything else in her life. She was sure, without any doubt, that the demoness she had seen in the final days in Lavi was Freja.
Ingrid knew the moment she saw her anger filled eyes. The moment she felt her strange aura, that Freja had become a greater wendigo. Disowning her was the greatest sin she had committed to the Salstar name. Somewhere along the way Ingrid new she was destined to die because of that sin.
Another pain rocked her from the darkness. Her eyes flew open but she could not move. Her chest was open—actually open and she could see into herself. Flesh was peeled back in careful, surgical precision, ribs pried apart like the pages of a book. Tiny, metal-jointed arms extended from the ceiling above, working with eerie silent precision, their tips glowing faintly as they cut, sealed, and reconstructed.
She saw the mess that was her own organs shifting under their touch, some being knitted back together with threads of shimmering blue light, others like her still heart, were lifted free and taken away. She could not gasp her lungs were being reconstructed, she could not move her arms were also disabled. She could not speak as tubs were in her throat.
She saw the arms lower something into her chest where the heart had been. A thing of dark metal and pulsing veins, slick with some unknown essence, nestled into the vacant cavity. It beat, not just with rhythm, but with purpose, a cadence both alien and terrifyingly familiar. Magic? No. Not magic. This was something else, something beyond her understanding. The moment it settled within her it felt as if something was sinking its roots into her very being. It was not merely repairing her. It was remaking her.
Awe and horror fought within her as she tried to move, to cry out. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her throat was raw, dry, incapable of speech. Her struggle seemed to catch someone's attention and they came into view. A man, no, not a man. A being. He stood among the machines, completely bare, as if clothing had never been a concept to him. His skin was dark, smooth, untouched by scars or age. His eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the light of the mechanical arms as they worked. He did not command them, yet they moved in perfect harmony with him, as if he and the machines were the same.
He looked human but Ingrid could tell he was not human. Something about him was otherworldly in a way a human could never be. Her breath hitched as he turned to her, his expression one of calm certainty. When he spoke, his voice was not sound alone—it was presence. It resonated through the sterile chamber, filling it with something far greater than mere words. The air itself seemed to hum with meaning.
"Fear not, Daughter. You will be all right," he intoned, his words a soothing current against the storm within her. "I am Huginn, the living Memory of the Forest Father. The will of the Forest Father has spoken."
She did not understand.
Was this the domain of the Forest Father? She had prayed to Him in blood and battle, in honor and duty, but never had she known Him to touch such things—such cold creations of metal and glass and yet… she felt Him here.
In the reverence of the being's words. In the silent hymn thrumming through the machines. In the steady, unrelenting beat of her new, unnatural heart. This was His will. She felt it claim her. Huginn stepped closer, the weight of his presence settling over her like an unshakable truth.
"Sleep now, Daughter," he murmured, and the world began to slip away. "We have much to discuss when you awaken."
Darkness closed in, but this time, it was not the abyss it was rest.
***
Ingrid woke with a start sitting up off of the surgical table that once held her captive. She was bare, her clothing had been removed during the surgery. There was no pain, no scars, no lingering feeling of weakness. She reached for her magic and it came readily to her pulsing like a star in her chest as she channeled it into her hands.
"Where am I?" Ingrid said in complete bewilderment.
She looked over herself carefully; she was unchanged aside for one unsettling fact. Her heart did not beat yet her blood flowed, her chest did not rise and fall with her breathing and instead remained motionless despite her breath. She had been altered; it was no dream if the strange room did not tell her that already.
She scooted to the edge of the surgical table and placed her feet on the ground. As she had expected there was no lingering lethargy. She was whole and she was alive but she didn't understand why. That was when she saw her reflection in a mirror. Her hair was no longer raven black, and her eyes no longer brown, both were white. Her antlers which she had lost in her final battle had regrown as large and strong as they had been before.
"Memory Huginn?" she called out, hesitant. "Are you there?"
She didn't know the man's title but he called himself the Living Memory of Forest Father and she believed him. Until she was told otherwise she decided that Memory would be his title. There was nothing else in the room with her but other surgical tables. They were also pristine as if never used. There were no clothing but nakedness was the least of her concerns. She walked around until she came to an open door.
She was hesitant to approach at first, but her warrior nature did not let hesitation rule her actions. She confidently strode out the door. Only for her breath to hitch in her throat. Her mouth fell open wide as she saw out through a wall of windows into the void. Beneath her was her world glowing like a blue and green jewel in the heavens. She was in the realm of the Trues.
"You are awake." Huginn's voice beckoned. "Good."
Tears came to Ingrid's eyes as she gazed out onto the world beyond. She was speechless. Frozen in place in a manner she hadn't been since she was a little girl. Huginn didn't rush her and she didn't know how long she just stood there. Looking out into the universe the way the Trues did.
"Am I dead?" She whispered
"I would hope not," Huginn replied with a knowing smile. "Not after all I did to save you."
Huginn held out a hand and she took it like a little girl holding onto the hand of her father. He led her down the long corridor not saying a word as she stole glances at the world below them.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Huginn said.
"Y-yes, Memory Huginn."
"Memory Huginn?" he echoed, amused.
She hesitated. "Pardon. I do not know your title."
Huginn chuckled, deep and warm. "A title, is it? I suppose I should have one when dealing with His children." He glanced at her, his luminous gaze thoughtful. "The Living Memory of the Forest Father is what I am, Hrafn, not my title. But if I recall correctly, the wendigo call their highest ranked subordinates 'Hand,' yes? Then you may refer to me as the Left Hand of the Forest Father. Or simply, True Hand Huginn."
"Of course, True Hand." She agreed.
"Ah, here we are." Huginn released her hand, gesturing toward a chamber ahead. "Go inside and get changed. We will speak once you are dressed. Then, I will return you to Gladsheim."
"But… why am I here?"
Huginn folded his arms. "When you are dressed, I am not going anywhere."
***
Ingrid stood in front of the mirror, her fingers grazing the newly restored armor that encased her form. The very same armor she had nearly died in. She wondered how long ago that had been. How long was she unconscious a day, a week? All she knew is that now she and her armor were whole. The armor's enchantments reforged, its runes blazing with renewed power. Every sigil, every magic circle had been enhanced beyond their original state. The red cape draped over her shoulders shimmered under the light, embroidered with gold and platinum thread forming the proud crest of Salstar.
Her sword rested in her grip, a massive two-handed weapon that had cut through countless foes. It felt different, lighter, yet more powerful. She caused her anti-magic through it and felt it respond with a connection she never felt in the blade before as if it had been reforged alongside her very being. It was just as refined, just as elegant as the day it was first forged. With a flick of her wrist, the blade vanished into her ring inventory, followed swiftly by her helmet.
She turned and left, stepping into the hallway where Huginn awaited her. He stood tall, his form draped in a simple green tunic. He had no embellishment and aside for his eyes he looked too human, a stark contrast to the gravity of the moment. Wordlessly, he led her through the grand halls to a meeting chamber, where he took his seat at the head of the table. With a gesture, he motioned to the chair on his right. She sat without hesitation.
"It is good to see you in good health, Lady Salstar," Huginn said, his voice calm yet heavy with unspoken weight. "I know you have many questions. Where you are, why you yet live, and what I placed within your chest in place of your heart. You want to know if you are a Greater Wendigo now, if this is the Higher Planes. You wonder about what has changed. I promise, you will answer most but for now, I need you to listen."
"Of course, True Hand," Ingrid replied with a respectful nod.
Huginn leaned forward slightly. "The Salstar bloodline has always been… special. But within you, it has unlocked potential even the Forest Father did not foresee. Your daughter Helga was a prodigy among prodigies. Ragnar will one day wield the Forest Father's Thunder. Eira has hidden her true abilities from you, but not from me. Watch her closely and she may save your life. Alone, each of these would make you a soul worth taking."
Ingrid's expression remained composed, but her mind worked furiously. "And what of Freja?"
Huginn's lips curled into the barest hint of a smile. "Ah, yes. The most extraordinary of them all. Freja. Tanisha. Sif. Sage. The Patron Saintess of Lavi. The Fourteenth Princess. The Cernunnos Greater Wendigo."
Ingrid shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. She had known Freja was the woman she had met, but this—this revelation shook her to the core. She forced herself to breathe, to regain control, and slowly lowered herself back into her seat.
"She is a… Greater Wendigo?" Ingrid whispered. "A sage?"
"Yes, but she is no longer a concern of your house, but instead the True Right Hand. Only one truth matters now: through your union with Ulfar, miracles have been born. It is for that reason alone that you were saved. The Forest Father requires another."
Ingrid's hands clenched into fists as Huginn continued.
"The First Princess has brokered a deal with Ulfar to release you from her service. In exchange, you will give her your next child. This is the Will of the Forest Father." His eyes bore into hers, unwavering. "Your next child shall be named Freyr and raised in the courts of the Qar, to learn the ways of the rulers of Yuhia.
"Do not fear, daughter of Salstar, for the gifts bestowed upon you are not just for your progeny. To save you, we had to give you the Heart of Jötunn. You are no longer merely Wendigo, nor are you truly Greater. From this day forward, you are Skaði the Jötunn of Winter."
"It will be my honor," Ingrid said, her voice unwavering. "But pardon my ignorance—what does this mean for me?"
"It means you have been chosen to bring forth a new era for Yuhia. However, this gift requires blood. The Fourth Prince has overstepped his duty. Baldur must die. This task falls to you, Jötunn Skaði. Soon, war will come. A war unlike anything this Plane has ever seen. We must ensure His people are united to face what is coming."
"What is coming?" Skaði asked.
"The Great Winter." Huginn said with a deadly edge. "It's coming, Daughter. Soon."
Skaði like any wendigo knew what the long been taught of the end times. When war would come for the Lower Planes from above. When the Divide will break and the Trues walk amongst mortals again. She exhaled slowly. She had fought wars before, and had seen countless battles. What was coming was worse, unlike anything the wendigo had suffered.
Still Skaði would rise to the occasion like she always had. She was the Sword of Salstar. For her the horizon had alway held war. This time it also held a new purpose, and now a new name. She was Jötunn of Winter and soon Baldur would be her first offering to the storm.