Rúna's fingers danced across the lute's neck, plucking and pressing in combination to produce beautiful notes. She had learned many instruments over the course of her training, but she enjoyed the delicate stringed instruments most of all. They were easy to sing with.

Currently she was the size of a human, just to enjoy the higher notes. Even singing from the depths of her chest, her voice at this shape was not as deep or resonant. It had a different quality, airy and breathy.

She let her voice lilt, moving effortlessly between notes, rising and falling smoothly. Her current retelling was a love song, two hearts entwined even as their selves were parted by thousands of miles. It was an aching promise to return, a yearning vow to wait.

"You sing very well," a soft, deep voice said from behind her. "As ever."

Rúna dropped the last note, almost jumping out of her skin. "Áleifr, don't do that!"

Áleifr took a seat beside Rúna. One of the giants who existed between male and female, they were companion to Rúna often, matched with her in tasks of healing and challenged by her in expressions of combat.

Even in smaller form, Áleifr was tall and lithe, well muscled from combat training. They wore their armor at the moment, offset by the way their hair was cut to their chin, some locks braided and tied with yellow ribbons. At the moment, dappling patterns of stars in gold marked their body, a stylized sun on their forehead sending down six golden rays across their face. "I apologize for the offense," Áleifr said with a smile that more teasing than apologetic.

Rúna set her lute aside. "What brings you my way?"

Áleifr's look grew more serious. "The Gatekeeper asked me to fetch you. I'll take your instrument to its home, as you are expected at the Pinnacle. I think she's going to cast the bones."

Rúna felt a tremor of nerves flash out through her limbs as she stood up. It was no small thing, seeking to gaze into the weave of Fate itself. Such was a task only accomplished by a Gatekeeper or the cleric of Mode who sat at their right hand. "I'd best not keep them waiting. Thanks, Áleifr."

"I don't know what's going on, but I hope it will end well," Áleifr said, carefully taking the lute before standing as well. "Take care, Rúna, whatever happens."

Rúna nodded. She'd fortunately grown more adroit at shapeshifting over the course of the past five years since learning the shape of the nightingale. She flowed from the size of a human to her true self with a minimum of effort, to cover the distance more quickly with long strides.

She loped along the path towards Stormhenge's center, a mammoth pillar like the hub of a great wheel with a path snaking up in a spiral around it. The murals that followed it were thousands of years of myth, or perhaps history, not that the giants drew a line separating the two. Things could be true even if they never happened, something Rúna felt deep in her bones as a storyteller.

Besides, to a giant, anything was possible through magic, though theirs was contained to shapeshifting and for a scarce few, the curse of prophecy. It was a great gift to be given glimpses into the future, but at a terrible cost: knowledge of the deaths of all one met, the self included, and how it could never truly be avoided. Rúna had always heard it was perhaps the heaviest of burdens to bear, but it brought great wisdom and perspective, which was why the Gatekeeper and Mode's chosen led.

She was almost out of breath by the time she made it to the top of the great pillar that dwarfed even giants. Admittedly, half of her exhaustion stemmed from the fact that she'd been almost at the bottom when she started instead of linking to the spiral from one of the great bridges.

"There you are," Tóla said, turning to face her daughter from Dálkr's side. Little lines had formed in her brow, hints of a deep worry. "We've been waiting."

"Sorry," Rúna panted, trying to pull her composure together as she gazed past her parents at the two figures on the opposite side of an unassuming bowl resting on the ground, both seated.

Eydís the Gatekeeper wore her armor, beautifully polished steel that seemed somehow smoky save for the flashes of brilliant gleam that resembled lightning, over dark fabric. Her large, round hardwood shield bore a metal boss with similar patterns. Across her lap lay her legendary sword, Storm-Caller. The blade was as cold and deadly as a midwinter storm on the Sea of Glass, seamlessly fit to a hilt of dragonbone. It was an Elder Blade, one of the very few, whose shape could change with the giant, a gift from the Gatekeeper before her. Vakr had died in glorious battle against the demons, but passed down the blade instead of having it buried with him. He had taken Eydís's with him instead. Most remarkable of the legendary warrior were her eyes. Both were grey stone inlaid with divine runes in a lighter grey, but whatever they truly were, her vision seemed more enhanced than destroyed. Not once had Rúna seen the Gatekeeper fumble blindly for anything.

At the Gatekeeper's side, attired only in a wrap of simple brown cloth that covered him from his waist to his knees, was the current chosen of seer and high priest of their god, Sialfi Sótrson. The eight pointed star of Mode had been inked onto his forehead in rich brown, a mark of a mind given a very different perspective just as the Gatekeeper's eyes were.

"Well met, Rúna," Eydís said, her words stern but not sharp with displeasure. Of all the giants, she was the most severe, seldom smiling and laughing even when she was amused. Hers was a spirit of ferocity and unerring focus. The Gatekeeper turned her stone eyes to Rúna's parents. "Dálkr, Tóla, thank you for speaking with us. Your perspective brings clarity. Sialfi will summon you when we have finished."

"They could stay," Sialfi said in his soft voice, offering Rúna's parents a small smile. "It is not forbidden in rite."

The gaze of stone settled on Rúna. "It is her fate, Sialfi, and she must face it alone. Bravery that relies upon the presence of others is not bravery." Eydís titled her head slightly, studying the young giant. "Are you brave enough, Rúna?"

Rúna nodded, approaching. Something about even just Eydís's presence filled her with an electric energy. The Gatekeeper was apparently far different than her predecessor, who had died before Rúna was even born. Eydís was effortless command, the kind of woman who would sail to the edge of the world and over it if she thought it would save her people. There were stories of her on the battlefield, hitting the great demons like a titanic wave of raw power, scattering the formations of the little folk with her war-scream alone. Eydís was the kind of leader who inspired with her mere presence, but she demanded courage from all who followed her.

"Good," Eydís said. She gave Rúna's parents a deep nod. Both of them stepped away to the edge, shifting into a pair of hawks and soaring down. "You are a reflection of your ancestors, Rúna, and your actions should honor them. Approach.”

Sialfi arranged the fragments of bone in the polished cedar bowl. They seemed from a great beast, perhaps a dragon or similar predator. All were unmarked, only worn from touch over who knew how many centuries. "Kneel before the bones," the priest said calmly as he moved his hands to the drum at his side. "Your blood must ink your wyrd onto them. The Gatekeeper will be your guide. Close your eyes, Rúna."

Rúna knew enough to fall into the ritual. She extended a hand over the bowl and closed her eyes, heart hammering in her chest. She knew even without sight that those stone eyes still were fixed upon her. She didn't flinch when she felt the blade drawn carefully across her flesh, allowing the blood to splash down over the bones. Pain was not new, courtesy of Steinnvor if no one else, so she wasn't very frightened of it.

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The drum almost hummed to life as the blood dripped down. The bones clacked against each other and the bowl itself when Eydís spun the bowl, ensuring each bone was properly coated. Sialfi's voice matched the rhythm of the bones as he began a deep, resonant song in the speech of gods, a language Rúna could recognize, but not understand.

It was hard to describe, but Rúna felt like she was being pulled forward, towards the bones, though her body's only motion was a soft swaying in time to the music.

"Open your eyes, Rúna," Eydís commanded.

Rúna obeyed, gazing down. The spin of the bowl was hypnotizing, but she focused more on the contents. The inside was slick with blood that seemed to highlight in crimson intricate script on the bones that had been invisible before.

"Open your mind, Rúna," the Gatekeeper said. "Gaze through the bones, gaze through this world and into the wyrd. See as I have seen."

Rúna's vision swam as if she was caught between shapes, wrapped in Creation's raw power. She couldn't move, but everything began to move around her. Images and sensations flashed somehow both all around her and in her at the same time.

—following the scorched lands left by a great fire, down through great mountains to a kingdom that had to be human. Yet somehow the lands were anything but desolate. Smoke filled the air, but didn't choke her, flames raced but the forests seemed undamaged. Only the cities seemed destroyed. To the south, to the place she was going, a titanic battle seemed to be raging between light and dark. Then, suddenly, the light winked out and everything went dark—

—lips against hers, fingers in her hair, soft words lost against her breath as they drew back for a moment, a flash of a smile. "I love you," the words she wanted to hear, but didn't—

—her sword-hand burned from exertion and she felt blood dripping down a blade onto it. She was in a battle, a terrible one, a hopeless one. "You promised you would protect them and yet here you are, all but dead. What good is your precious word?"—

—"The only thing harder than dying is losing you," she heard herself say, eyes closed as she tried to keep tears back, tried to pretend her heart wasn't splintered and bleeding inside.—

—a voice like no other spoke, so beautiful she wanted to cry. "Know the soul," it whispered beside her ear, every word surrounding her with the smell of dead flowers and dried grasses, aconite and decay. Gnarled fingers caressed her shoulders. "How cruel of them, to not know you when you know them so well." The being spoke again. "Allow me to offer you the power to change them, to change the world."—

As suddenly as they had come, the visions faded. The slowing drum brought her back into her body, back to the pain of her wound being cleaned and then bound. The chant faded away and she regained herself, looking up tearfully into Eydís's expression. Whatever she had thought her future would hold, this was not it.

"Dry your eyes," Eydís said firmly, offering a cloth. "Your wyrd is dark, but that means the gods find you worthy for the challenge."

"What does it mean?" Rúna asked softly.

"Much of it is yet unclear. You follow the path of the Champion to the south, to the kingdom of Genev. Something there remains undone," Eydís said. She was quiet for a moment before saying, "Sialfi, leave us. You may summon Rúna's parents in a few minutes."

The priest nodded, rising to his feet. He put a hand on Rúna's shoulder. "It will be alright," he said with a sincere smile. Then he departed, shifting into the form of an owl to descend much as her parents had.

"There's something else," Rúna said. It wasn't a question.

"There is," Eydís said. "To the south, there is a creature, the last voice you heard in your vision, a thing of corruption and sin. I do not know if it can be slain, but it must not be allowed to pollute the world any longer. Its influence has already twisted further mortal evil. I recognize that this is no small feat."

"It offered me things," Rúna said softly.

"The course of our lives is ruled by the choices we make," the Gatekeeper said. "Glory is to give everything for something more than the self. It is to do what is right even when it is most difficult. Courage is nothing without honor, without love." Her stone eyes were fixed on Rúna. "I have seen and heard much of you, poet. I would not have showed you this vision if I thought you were not capable of the task before you. You are here because it is time for you to leave Stormhenge."

Runa's spirits rose even as her heart sank. She didn't want to leave, but that wanderlust that had been creeping up over the past few years was almost impossible to ignore. "It will be hard to leave," she admitted.

"Worthwhile things are seldom easy. Now, there is one last thing that must be addressed," Eydís said sternly. "You carry a burden greater than the others who have gone out into the world. You seek to mend things shattered by the death of the First World. It is only fitting then, that the fury of the storm bear you forward."

Rúna's eyes widened as Eydís lifted her sword in its scabbard and held it out to the young giant. "Are you sure?" she blurted out.

"This is a blade of legend, passed down since before the war between gods and demons. It carries with it the legacy of every giant who has wielded it, even those otherwise forgotten. Your story will be another saga, another layer added to the power of the sword. I know that you will be worthy of it," Eydís said seriously. "Take it, Rúna, and with it carve your mark onto the world. Make us proud."

"I will," Rúna promised softly. The sword felt both featherlight and immensely heavy with history as she lifted it reverently from Eydís's hands.

It changed the moment she touched it. The hilt became cruciform steel and plain oak wrapped with rayskin. When she drew the blade, it was gleaming damascus, but seemed nowhere near as keen or imposing. Rúna sheathed the blade. "Did I break it?"

Eydís laughed. "It will change as you do," she said, tapping the hilt. "And never will it forget who you truly are."

Rúna looked down and smiled. There, at the juncture between crosshilt and blade, was a carving of a nightingale with its wings spread and beak open in song. She looked up at the older giant. "Thank you, Gatekeeper."

"Make us proud, Rúna."

The beating of wings announced the return of Sialfi and her parents. Rúna tucked the sword in its scabbard through her belt for the time being.

"Tell them as much as you will, but you need not tell them everything. It is your wyrd, not theirs," Eydís said quietly. Then she turned her attention to Rúna's parents. "It is time. She has seen a glimpse of what lies before her. She will be missed, but the world beyond calls."

Dálkr glanced over at his wife for a moment, reading something in her expression. "I will make things ready," he said. "Someone must see to it that she has everything she needs for crossing the Sea of Glass, so surely I can."

"We will meet you at home," Tóla promised softly. "Rúna, walk with me."

The walk back to their home was quiet, at least until they were almost to their destination. Tóla stopped and turned to her daughter, pulling her into a tight hug. Despite all the times they had butted heads, Rúna hugged tightly as well. She felt safer this way. It was not enough for her to forget her future, but it eased some of the frightful worry.

"My little girl," Tóla whispered, stroking her daughter's hair. There was an edge of tears to her voice. "My prayers and thoughts will ever be with you."

"I don't know if I can do this," Rúna said, clinging tightly.

"You will thrive, nightingale," her mother promised. "I know you well enough to know that." Her mother inhaled sharply. "Every day that you are gone, our hearts will ache to see you again. I long already for the day when you return to us full of fire, full of glory."

"I'll do my best," Rúna promised, conscious of the weight of the sword at her side.

Tóla smiled through a trickle of tears. "I know you will. You always do. Now come, your father will be waiting."

They followed a gleaming bridge made to mirror sunlight to where Dálkr waited beside a pack. It was not too large and beside it sat her armor and weapons. The swirls in the damascus patterns looked like feathers and her breastplate bore markings that were suggestions of wings, spreading down the steel that guarded her arms. The shield that lay beside it was reinforced mahogany, an unmistakable stylized symbol of a nightingale as the closest giants came to heraldry. Her weapons there were her seax, keen and deadly, and a lethal spear with langets that would guard it well.

The armor was lighter than it looked, stronger than it seemed. It would not be destroyed when she shifted forms, tucked away by Creation until needed. That, at least, was something that Rúna was well-versed in.

Dálkr enveloped his daughter in a tight embrace. "I love you, Rúna," he said quietly. "We will always be proud of you. Be strong and careful and brave...and all those other things."

"I will," Rúna promised. Her eyes prickled with tears. "I will miss you and Modir."

"Look forward, not back," Dálkr said. "We will wait for you, but you must find your way. That is what it means to be a giant. You are ready. Now come, we will follow you to the storm wall, for a true goodbye."

Rúna nodded, stepping back to allow him time and space to shift into a great white bear before doing the same.

So began her journey. She prayed that it would go well and that she would be strong enough to weather the storm of her fate.