💙08 - Sköll rís [Runes of Wyrd]🤍

In the picture, from left to right: Mikal-Finnvard Arvast – Jarl of Skalvheim, follower of the “Green Faith,” who rejects the old gods Min Shieldthrower – Iberian-born, now a servant of the Jarl, and his mistress Mikki Þríkungr – Druid, healer, and just as mysterious Album : https://suno.com/playlist/d3b85d17-41e5-4f6c-bfbc-4086191ed19e 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 Skeldrún Island welcomed them in a silence that felt almost deliberate, as if the land itself observed those who dared to walk upon it. The wilderness was dense and ancient, dominated by towering pines whose heavy branches filtered the light and softened the northern cold. The air carried the scent of damp bark and resin, while the ground beneath their feet shifted between roots, moss, and hidden stone. Nothing here felt shaped by men. Everything endured on its own terms. The jarl stepped forward and turned to his crew, his presence alone enough to quiet the last murmurs. “You will make camp here. Gather what you can. We return with supplies.” He paused briefly, then added with a firmer tone. “Min comes with me. We find him.” No one questioned the order. He took her by the arm and led her inland. She followed without resistance, yet her silence carried a weight that did not escape him. As they moved deeper into the island, the terrain grew uneven, forcing them through narrow passages between rocks, across cold streams that soaked their boots, and along ridges where the wind returned in sharp, cutting gusts. Min spoke little, and when she did, her voice lacked its usual steadiness. The jarl noticed the tension in her shoulders, the restraint in her breathing. “You are not at ease,” he said eventually. “I am,” she replied, though the answer came too quickly. He did not press further, but he did not forget. By the time they reached the clearing, the light had begun to dim. The place stood apart from the forest, wide and open, yet marked by something older than nature alone. Stone circles lay scattered in irregular patterns, their surfaces worn but purposeful. Several huts dotted the area, some abandoned to time, others barely intact. Only one showed clear signs of life, with a thin trail of smoke rising from its chimney. The jarl slowed, taking in the place. “We are here.” He stepped forward, scanning the clearing. “So where is that old man.” The answer came in the slow creak of a wooden door. Mikki Þríkungr emerged from the hut, his body bent by age but his presence far from frail. His clothes hung in layered disarray, yet his eyes burned with a clarity that felt deeply unsettling. He coughed before speaking, his voice rough but strangely resonant. “So the old axe returns.” A crooked smile formed on his lips. “And this time... did you bring me something worth my attention.” Min’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You mean me.” The druid laughed, the sound dry and unrestrained. “Of course I do.” He stepped closer, focusing on her with unsettling intensity. “There is something in you. I can feel it.” He began circling her slowly, studying her not like a man, but like a creature sensing something beneath the surface. His breath carried a foul edge, forcing her to shift slightly, though she refused to step back. “You interest me,” he added, almost pleased. The jarl’s voice cut through the moment. “That is enough. You know why I am here. My people are sick, and you will come to heal them. You will do so in the name of the Green Faith.” Mikki lifted a hand, dismissing the urgency with a faint gesture. “Always rushing, always commanding...” His eyes returned to Min, lingering longer than necessary. “My dear MF, you rarely visit, and today you bring me something... unusual.” Min’s patience broke. “I am not here for your amusement.” The druid let out a softer laugh. “No... not amusement.” He leaned slightly closer. “Something far more important.” He turned toward the hut with sudden energy. “Come inside.” The jarl stepped forward, but Mikki placed a firm hand against his chest, stopping him with surprising ease. “Not you. This requires privacy.” The jarl hesitated, his jaw tightening before he finally stepped back and gave Min a brief, controlled gesture to proceed. She entered alone. Inside, the space was dim and heavy, filled with the scent of herbs, smoke, and something older that lingered beneath it all. Bones, carved symbols, and hanging charms covered the walls, forming a place that felt less like a home and more like a ritual ground. “Sit,” Mikki said. She obeyed, watching him carefully. He placed his hands on her head and closed his eyes. The silence stretched until it became oppressive. Then suddenly, his body tensed. His head lifted sharply, his pupils shrinking until only the white of his eyes remained visible. For a moment, he seemed entirely elsewhere, as though something beyond him had taken hold. When he returned, it was with a slow breath and a stunned expression. “I knew it...” His voice was quieter now. “You are the bridge. The key.” Min frowned. “What does that even mean.” “The gods are not gone,” he said. “And you know that.” “I do not understand.” He stepped closer, lowering his tone. “Perhaps you do... but you choose silence.” His gaze locked onto hers. “You do not want the jarl to know.” Her breath caught, her eyes widening as a cold realization took hold. It did not feel like a guess. It felt like he had seen through her. Mikki suddenly burst into laughter, breaking the tension entirely. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. “Enough of that. Let us go.” They stepped outside together, his laughter echoing across the clearing. The jarl stood waiting, watching them closely. Mikki walked straight toward him, still smiling. “Well then, shall we go heal your people.” He tilted his head slightly, his tone shifting into something almost playful. “And I trust you will offer me food and drink as well. I am starving.” The jarl remained silent for a moment, caught by something he could not yet name. His gaze shifted to Min. Her face had lost all color. Her expression was rigid, her eyes slightly widened, as though something within her had been exposed or broken open. He said nothing. But he understood enough to know this was no small matter. Something had changed, and whatever it was, it had only just begun. 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 Sköll rís (Sköll rís...) Blóð rennr jörð (blóð... jörð...) Nótt kemr hægt (nótt... kemr...) Vindr hvíslar (hvíslar... hvíslar...) Eld vaknar nú (eld... vaknar...) Hjarta slær hart (slær... slær...) Skuggar dansa (dansa... dansa...) Andi kallar (kallar... kallar...) Sköll rís! Sól hverfr burt (sól... hverfr...) Fenrir vaknar nú (vaknar... vaknar...) Rök nálgast hratt (nálgast... nálgast...) Blóð mitt rennr (blóð... mitt rennr) Ég sé merki (sé... merki...) Skuggi vex hér (Ótti lifir) Ótti lifir (lifir... lifir...) Sköll rís! (Sköll rís...) Nótt rís nú (nótt... rís nú) Sköll rís! (Sköll rís...) Nótt rís nú (nótt... rís nú) Allt brennr hér (Endr byrjar nú) Allt brennr hér (Endr byrjar nú!) Sköll!!!