The traveller journeyed through a white hell.

The blizzard had appeared from nowhere, rolling over the mountain peaks to drown the valley in roaring torrents of jagged snow. Before, the path of ever-ascending, snowcapped hills had been blessed with a clear, summer sky. She had expected to reach the campsite before sundown and had been looking forwards to enjoying the resources stashed away before making the final steps of her pilgrimage. But now, she wondered if she would ever leave the Kingsend Peaks alive.

The traveller had been well prepared for the journey beforehand, well stocked, properly clothed and equipped, her mind familiar with the trails ahead of her. Her family had taught her how to make this trek many times, and though her friends had warned her against going alone, she had been determined to go anyways. It wasn’t as if she was incapable of defending herself, for this world was cruel, and one didn’t survive in it without being strong. Amongst her many supplies and tools was the spear her mother had handed down to her, something she had had to use more than once.

But skill with a weapon couldn’t protect one soul from the harshness of raging elements. The sheer thickness of the snow made it so that she could barely see a few feet in front of her, if she wasn’t shielding her eyes with her arm. No, she had to flee from this enemy, take shelter somewhere. She had been close to some caves when the worst of the storm had hit, and now made her way toward them. Or at least, where she thought they were. With the winds blowing strong enough to make trees bend, forcing her to readjust her footing and steady her stance every moment, she wasn’t sure what direction she truly was heading. But better the wrong choice than simply standing there, waiting to die.

The snow was up above her knees and climbing. The winds battered her fur and cloth-covered body, her strength the only thing preventing her from falling into a frigid tomb. Her fingers and face were beginning to feel heavy and numb, her ragged breaths forming into pale mist. She began to shake, the cold slowly phasing through her clothing and sinking into her bones. She couldn’t make a single thing besides shifting white, the whole world beyond her utterly frozen.

Darkness began to close in as sensation faded. She didn’t feel cold anymore. She began to feel… nothing at all. Not even her own strength, and dimly, at the edge of her senses, she thought she could perceive her body beginning to fall.

Death doesn’t seem so bad, she thought tiredly.

Then, everything snapped back into focus. Strength returned to her as she rose back to her full height. There, just ahead of her, were the caves. What was even better was that she could see firelight dancing within the stone shelter. Mustering what remained of her energy, she surged forwards, fighting through the screaming cold and pushing beyond the threshold of the cave. She stumbled in, letting out an almost blissful cry as she finally escaped the punishing winds. She pressed her back against the wall, edged as far away from the entrance as she could have, then slumped down to the ground.

“Hello,” a calm voice said.

She looked up to see the strangest figure sitting cross-legged across from her. He was wrapped in a simple, pale cloak, hood drawn up over his head. A black mask was set over his face, revealing nothing of his features. His hands were gloved, boots covering his feet, revealing not a single part of his skin anywhere. Despite that, she felt a certain sense of… safety, in his presence.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind if I shared your fire?” she asked wryly.

She got the sense that he was smiling. “Not at all. It would be rude to deny you at this point.”

She moved over to sit opposite him around the fire. The crackling warmth slowly began to seep into her body, the numbness slowly fading from her body. She rubbed at her body, hastening the warming process, delighting in the smell of woodsmoke and the shifting shapes within the fire.

“Do you have a name, stranger?” she asked, rubbing her hands together.

He paused, but only for a moment. “Aurvandus.”

“Gisla Stonebrand,” she replied, smiling faintly. “I’d shake your hand, Aurvandus, but I’m sure you understand.”

“Please,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I can only imagine how cold it is out there.”

She frowned at him, taking him in once more. “Your clothing doesn’t seem suited to this terrain. What are you doing up here?”

He paused for a moment, staring away from her, lost in thought before he replied. “Hiding.”

She raised a scarlet eyebrow. “Got something you’re running away from?”

“Someone,” he corrected gently. 

Her interest was piqued. “A lover you’re afraid of? You get on their nerves badly enough to come hole up here?”

He laughed. “No, no, not that sort of trouble.”

“Then why?”

Aurvandus looked at her, and she noticed something strange about his mask. There was something… crystalline about it, with faint lights shining within its facets. “I’ve recently come into a new line of work. Now, there are others who have been in this field for far longer than I have who think they have the right to determine my future.”

“I see,” she replied, settling back down, beginning to feel the last vestiges of the truly harsh cold leaving her body. “How long do you intend on hiding?”

“I’m… not entirely sure, Gisla,” he said, looking away from her. “All I do know is that I can’t let anyone else dictate my fate for me, no matter how experienced.”

Gisla nodded. “Fair enough.” She paused for a moment. “My apologies, I’ve never even thanked you for allowing me to stay with you. Here I am, barging in on you in your privacy, interrogating you as to your purposes, and you’ve been kind enough to both be honest with me and let me warm myself by your fire.”

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“Nonsense,” he said, shrugging. “You were clearly in need, and conversation is a luxury up in these peaks. Though if it would help unburden you, please do reciprocate. What are you doing here?”

“Family business,” she replied with a smile, surprised by the stranger’s generosity. “There’s a shrine to the Allfather up above that we’ve supposedly tended to for generations. I went to perform the rites of sanctity.”

He studied her then, clearly interested. “You’re a holy woman, then?”

“Of a kind,” she replied, smiling. Normally, she wasn’t so open and sharing, but a brush with death and Aurvandus’ good nature were leaving her feeling in a trusting mood. “As far as I’m aware, no member of my immediate family has had the power to work miracles or smite their foes. But we do keep faith with Asgard, and it was our family that built the shrine.”

“And the other Aesir? Balder, Forsetti… Thor?”

She shrugged non-committedly. “My mother told me that we tried to honour them all, way back when. But as the years passed and the other clans went extinct or forsook their duties, the burden of the shrine fell on us all. We chose to honour the Allfather only, as we simply couldn’t handle the others all alone.”

“No one else was willing to help?” Aurvandus asked.

She shook her head. “The way up the Kingsend Peaks was supposedly easier, back then. Plus, few are willing to make the journey when it’s so risky.”

“Yet here you are,” he noted, “alone, forging your way through a blizzard, to do your duty.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“Do they?” Aurvandus asked, curiously. “I certainly mean no offence to your family traditions, but the Aesir have no lack of worship spread across the land. This shrine wouldn’t be the first sacred site to fall into ruin, and it certainly won’t be the last. Why not maintain something closer to home?”

To that, she had no reply. She had asked those very questions to her mother as a child, wondering at the futility of it all. She had received a… sharp lesson afterwards. From that point on, she dedicated herself to the traditions of her family. It came to the point that the other Stonebrands mattered more to her than Odin himself. She still believed in the power and righteousness of Asgard, but Aurvandus certainly had a point as well.

“Stuck in our ways, I suppose,” she said, smiling falsely. “If it makes it seem any better, the blizzard was entirely unexpected. I consulted magi and weather-watchers for a week before daring to make the trek, and they all promised clear skies for at least as long as my journey would take.”

“I see,” he responded. “Would you mind if I accompanied you, once the blizzard passes? Staying in this cave seems rather dull, and your journey sounds as if it’ll be anything but.”

She hesitated. Thus far, this man had been kind enough to share his fire with her and hadn’t exactly been the most difficult company. She wanted to trust him, but that was the problem. She was normally a cautious woman, carefully weighing the intentions of every soul she interacted with. Additionally, her senses should have been screaming at her in alarm. A kind man with a fire, right when she needed it? It was probably too good to be true, and this world rarely coughed up such fortunate encounters. 

Yet… her instincts trusted him. She had correctly judged dozens before, surely this should be no different? Besides, having a travelling companion would be practical for the remainder of her journey. 

“Very well,” she said, with a smile. “But on one condition.”

“Name it,” he replied earnestly.

“The mask,” she answered. “I don’t trust people who hide their faces. Let me see yours.”

He laughed, reaching up to pull back his hood. With that down, he clasped the mask with his hands and removed it. 

She noted that, as he shifted, there was a sheathed sword lying on the ground behind him.

His face wasn’t anything particularly special. Fair, youthful features, green eyes, slightly pointed ears, and a messs of short, silvery hair on his head. Though he seemed used to smiling, there hardly was a blemish or line at all on him. His skin was practically in perfect, radiant health. Yet there was a tiredness, a sadness, in his eyes that belied his seemingly young age. Before her was a hurt being, despite the aura of liveliness that emanated from him without the mask.

“A half-elf?” she asked simply, covering up her own intrigue. “Hardly what I was expecting.”

He raised a pale eyebrow. “Pray tell, what were you expecting?”

“To be quite honest,” Gisla answered, “perhaps something more monstrous.”

“You consider other races to be monstrous?” he asked teasingly.

She snorted. “Not at all. But I thought you may have been cursed or infected with some sort of disease, given how you were covering up your face.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you hiding your face?”

He held up the mask, those same lights still shining within. “The mask affords me certain advantages, beyond merely disguising my identity.”

“It’s magical?” she asked, leaning forwards, ignoring the heat of the flames on her face.

“Yes,” he replied, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Where did you find such a thing?” she questioned, suddenly very, very intrigued.

He was about to respond, then smiled and placed the mask down by his side. “I’ll tell you that tale on our journey tomorrow. It’ll allow for an enjoyable conversation if the sheer interest you’re displaying is anything to go by.”

She reclined back into her sitting position, thankful the fire was covering her blush. “Very well.”

They talked only for a few moments longer before she felt exhaustion begin to take hold of her. Using her pack as a pillow, she found herself laying down as Aurvandus continued to tend to the fire. As she faded into slumber’s grip, she noticed him don the mask once more, rising to stand before the storm. For but a moment, she thought she saw him shine, like a guiding star.

Aurvandus stood before the frigid tempest, sensing it fading as his hunter slowly but surely moved beyond the Kingsend Peaks. His pursuer had chased him for months now, with no sign of relent. Aurvandus’ journey to the Hells had proved to be a temporary shelter from this being’s constant hounding. He was not yet ready to face up to what it meant to confront this… eventuality. Though perhaps Gisla was right. Better to face him, to rush headlong into danger. He had done it so many times before, what made this any different?

In recent memory, the sword had been his constant companion. No matter the shape it had taken, the blade had been his most reliable implement in facing the challenges life had thrown at him. But the responsibility upon him was far greater now. Since his… change, he had begun to wonder. Was conflict his sole means of achieving victory? Surely there were other ways? If he was to represent the ideal he now embodied, there must be more than just bloodshed as a means of conquering the challenges of existence.

The storm began to recede, his hunter now moving elsewhere. Aurvandus would make certain that his presence wouldn’t be as noticeable, at least for a time. He would help Gisla complete her journey, see this mountain temple of hers, then help her home safely. After that… after that, he would have words for his hunter.

Relying on his bare hands, he began to shore up a barrier between them and the storm. Leaning back against the cave wall, he stretched out with his newfound powers, doing what he could to shield Gisla from any possible dreams the divine whirlwind possibly could inflict. Wouldn’t do for her to know the truth just yet, if at all.