💙15 - Instrument of Truth [Runes of Wyrd - vol 2]🤍

V5.5

In the pic, from left to right
- Mikell Skar
- Ash, The Ash-Walker
- Mikal‑Finnvard Arvast

Album : https://suno.com/playlist/d3b85d17-41e5-4f6c-bfbc-4086191ed19e

💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍

The wind had finally begun to settle as night fell over the Land of Ice. Only a few cold whistles still drifted between the rocks while Arvast and Torstein raised the camp beneath the flickering glow of their lanterns.

A short distance away, Skörta sat beside the mysterious musician. Ravens lingered nearby, perfectly still, as though standing watch over her. Ever since their meeting, the queen had felt an irresistible pull toward this strange woman. As an Andfuglsjá, such an almost sacred presence stirred within her as much fascination as it did unanswered questions.

The young woman gently rested her instrument against a stone.

"I promised I would tell you my story..."

She glanced toward the two men stretching a canvas between wooden stakes.

"Hey, I can listen while I'm putting up the camp!" Torstein called out. "You'll all be grateful once it's finished."

Skörta smiled.

"What is your name?"

The musician remained silent for a moment before answering.

"I don't remember. It reaches far beyond my memory. People call me Ash-Walker. If you wish... simply call me Ash."

Torstein looked over his shoulder.

"And yet I still see the fire burning inside you, Ash."

Pleased with his own joke, he returned to his work. Ash did not reply, though the faintest smile crossed her lips. Her eyes met Mikki's, and for a brief instant, an unspoken understanding passed between them.

Then she began.

"I remember nothing of my youth. My first memories were born in Niflheim."

"The realm of Hel..." Mikki murmured.

Ash nodded.

"I lived near Hvergelmir, where the frozen rivers of Élivágar are born. It is a world ruled by cold, yet one where the strangest creations can come into existence."

The companions exchanged uncertain glances.

"There, I learned music through suffering. Every note refused to become what I wished it to be. My instrument seemed to possess a will of its own. It was a torment unlike any other."

She gently ran her fingers across the dark wood.

"Only later did I understand that my music did not resonate the same way in every realm. You see a hurdy-gurdy. The gods hear something entirely different. Both melodies can never be heard together... except by those who are like me."

As she spoke, her gaze rested upon Mikki.

Skörta frowned thoughtfully.

"How did you survive in such a place? And... how long did you remain there?"

"Perhaps four... perhaps five centuries."

"Five centuries?!" Torstein, the Jarl and the queen exclaimed in perfect unison.

Ash merely inclined her head.

"I left that realm when the Bifröst collapsed. That was roughly a century ago. But I am not like you. I do not come from Midgard."

Mikki chuckled softly.

"It's the charm of our family, hehehe. We always seem to end up scattered across every world."

No one laughed. The revelations came far too quickly.

Skörta spoke again.

"And these ravens? This music? What purpose do they serve?"

Ash drew a slow breath.

"They are two entirely different things. My years of study taught me to hear every vibration. A note's frequency... its resonance... its strength... all of it allows me to perceive what listeners try to conceal."

She studied their faces before continuing.

"A lie carries a different resonance than truth. I do not hear your words... I hear what they are trying to hide."

A thoughtful silence followed.

"As for the ravens... they followed me just as you followed me, Skörta."

"What do you mean?"

Ash lifted her eyes toward the circling birds.

"The ancient rites of the Andfuglsjá began with me. When you performed your ritual, I felt your call. The ravens guided me toward you... and guided you toward me."

Mikal‑Finnvard stepped closer.

"Are you saying you led the queen here? For what purpose?"

"No. I commanded nothing. I merely became the passage. The ravens choose for themselves who is worthy of being heard."

The Jarl studied her carefully.

"So... you're a goddess?"

Ash laughed quietly.

"That is far too generous. No... but neither am I a woman of your realm. Much like Mikki, I do not truly belong here, although he has embraced your customs far better than I ever could."

Torstein scratched his beard.

"A century still sounds like plenty of time to learn."

This time Ash looked at him with amused eyes.

"You would be surprised how quickly time passes once you stop counting the years."

Skörta's expression grew more serious.

"I must find Yggdrasil. I have friends to reunite with, and..."

Ash interrupted her.

"Crossing between worlds is never without consequence, young queen. Still... I am not the one who will forbid you. Tell me... why do you seek it?"

Skörta hesitated.

"My father died under mysterious circumstances. I believe Fenrir may somehow be responsible."

Ash rose abruptly. Above her, the ravens burst into flight.

"Fenrir... Even in chains, his breath still reaches every realm. As for his mother... that is a name I never expected to hear again. If your path truly leads to Niflheim... then perhaps our meeting was destined from the very beginning."

Mikell stepped forward.

"Then travel with us. Just... don't use your music against us."

Ash tilted her head slightly.

"Why? Do you have something to hide? Don't worry... it doesn't hurt."

Her teasing smile left Mikell uncertain whether she was joking.

At last, Skörta stood.

"Let us get some rest. We still have several days of marching before we reach the volcano."

For a long moment, her gaze lingered on the campfire.

She had spoken with Helena through the ravens, and somehow that mystery remained even more unsettling than everything Ash had revealed that night.

💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍

I woke where rivers dreamed of ice
No sunrise carried any name
Each note refused the hand I gave
Each silence answered back with frost
The wind became my only guide
My bow learned sorrow before hope
The cold remembered every tear
While I forgot my own face

Each soul unveils another face
Each kingdom bends another tone
The faithful hear what gods conceal
The others hear themselves

Listen...
The string already knows your soul
Every smile can hide a wound
No crown survives a truthful note
Instrument of Truth
The hidden heart begins to speak
The silent mask falls into dust
Every lie becomes a whisper
Instrument of Truth
I hear...
What you cannot hide

Five hundred winters shaped my breath
Niflheim became my cradle
The frost composed my first refrain
My tears became my teacher
Long ago they named me...
The Franconian Witch
Yet every world rewrote my song
Until no song was ever one

"Still staring, Torstein? Still staring..."

No dawn...
Only frozen names.
My shadow answered every prayer.
The dead became my audience.
Each note returned without a soul.
The darkness tuned my trembling hands.
I learned to breathe beneath the frost.
...and called it home.

Each soul unveils another face
Each kingdom...

Each soul unveils another face
Each kingdom bends another tone
The faithful hear what gods conceal
The others hear themselves

Instrument of Truth

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In the pic, from left to right - Mikell Skar - Ash, The Ash-Walker - Mikal‑Finnvard Arvast Album : https://suno.com/playlist/d3b85d17-41e5-4f6c-bfbc-4086191ed19e 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 The wind had finally begun to settle as night fell over the Land of Ice. Only a few cold whistles still drifted between the rocks while Arvast and Torstein raised the camp beneath the flickering glow of their lanterns. A short distance away, Skörta sat beside the mysterious musician. Ravens lingered nearby, perfectly still, as though standing watch over her. Ever since their meeting, the queen had felt an irresistible pull toward this strange woman. As an Andfuglsjá, such an almost sacred presence stirred within her as much fascination as it did unanswered questions. The young woman gently rested her instrument against a stone. "I promised I would tell you my story..." She glanced toward the two men stretching a canvas between wooden stakes. "Hey, I can listen while I'm putting up the camp!" Torstein called out. "You'll all be grateful once it's finished." Skörta smiled. "What is your name?" The musician remained silent for a moment before answering. "I don't remember. It reaches far beyond my memory. People call me Ash-Walker. If you wish... simply call me Ash." Torstein looked over his shoulder. "And yet I still see the fire burning inside you, Ash." Pleased with his own joke, he returned to his work. Ash did not reply, though the faintest smile crossed her lips. Her eyes met Mikki's, and for a brief instant, an unspoken understanding passed between them. Then she began. "I remember nothing of my youth. My first memories were born in Niflheim." "The realm of Hel..." Mikki murmured. Ash nodded. "I lived near Hvergelmir, where the frozen rivers of Élivágar are born. It is a world ruled by cold, yet one where the strangest creations can come into existence." The companions exchanged uncertain glances. "There, I learned music through suffering. Every note refused to become what I wished it to be. My instrument seemed to possess a will of its own. It was a torment unlike any other." She gently ran her fingers across the dark wood. "Only later did I understand that my music did not resonate the same way in every realm. You see a hurdy-gurdy. The gods hear something entirely different. Both melodies can never be heard together... except by those who are like me." As she spoke, her gaze rested upon Mikki. Skörta frowned thoughtfully. "How did you survive in such a place? And... how long did you remain there?" "Perhaps four... perhaps five centuries." "Five centuries?!" Torstein, the Jarl and the queen exclaimed in perfect unison. Ash merely inclined her head. "I left that realm when the Bifröst collapsed. That was roughly a century ago. But I am not like you. I do not come from Midgard." Mikki chuckled softly. "It's the charm of our family, hehehe. We always seem to end up scattered across every world." No one laughed. The revelations came far too quickly. Skörta spoke again. "And these ravens? This music? What purpose do they serve?" Ash drew a slow breath. "They are two entirely different things. My years of study taught me to hear every vibration. A note's frequency... its resonance... its strength... all of it allows me to perceive what listeners try to conceal." She studied their faces before continuing. "A lie carries a different resonance than truth. I do not hear your words... I hear what they are trying to hide." A thoughtful silence followed. "As for the ravens... they followed me just as you followed me, Skörta." "What do you mean?" Ash lifted her eyes toward the circling birds. "The ancient rites of the Andfuglsjá began with me. When you performed your ritual, I felt your call. The ravens guided me toward you... and guided you toward me." Mikal‑Finnvard stepped closer. "Are you saying you led the queen here? For what purpose?" "No. I commanded nothing. I merely became the passage. The ravens choose for themselves who is worthy of being heard." The Jarl studied her carefully. "So... you're a goddess?" Ash laughed quietly. "That is far too generous. No... but neither am I a woman of your realm. Much like Mikki, I do not truly belong here, although he has embraced your customs far better than I ever could." Torstein scratched his beard. "A century still sounds like plenty of time to learn." This time Ash looked at him with amused eyes. "You would be surprised how quickly time passes once you stop counting the years." Skörta's expression grew more serious. "I must find Yggdrasil. I have friends to reunite with, and..." Ash interrupted her. "Crossing between worlds is never without consequence, young queen. Still... I am not the one who will forbid you. Tell me... why do you seek it?" Skörta hesitated. "My father died under mysterious circumstances. I believe Fenrir may somehow be responsible." Ash rose abruptly. Above her, the ravens burst into flight. "Fenrir... Even in chains, his breath still reaches every realm. As for his mother... that is a name I never expected to hear again. If your path truly leads to Niflheim... then perhaps our meeting was destined from the very beginning." Mikell stepped forward. "Then travel with us. Just... don't use your music against us." Ash tilted her head slightly. "Why? Do you have something to hide? Don't worry... it doesn't hurt." Her teasing smile left Mikell uncertain whether she was joking. At last, Skörta stood. "Let us get some rest. We still have several days of marching before we reach the volcano." For a long moment, her gaze lingered on the campfire. She had spoken with Helena through the ravens, and somehow that mystery remained even more unsettling than everything Ash had revealed that night. 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 I woke where rivers dreamed of ice No sunrise carried any name Each note refused the hand I gave Each silence answered back with frost The wind became my only guide My bow learned sorrow before hope The cold remembered every tear While I forgot my own face Each soul unveils another face Each kingdom bends another tone The faithful hear what gods conceal The others hear themselves Listen... The string already knows your soul Every smile can hide a wound No crown survives a truthful note Instrument of Truth The hidden heart begins to speak The silent mask falls into dust Every lie becomes a whisper Instrument of Truth I hear... What you cannot hide Five hundred winters shaped my breath Niflheim became my cradle The frost composed my first refrain My tears became my teacher Long ago they named me... The Franconian Witch Yet every world rewrote my song Until no song was ever one "Still staring, Torstein? Still staring..." No dawn... Only frozen names. My shadow answered every prayer. The dead became my audience. Each note returned without a soul. The darkness tuned my trembling hands. I learned to breathe beneath the frost. ...and called it home. Each soul unveils another face Each kingdom... Each soul unveils another face Each kingdom bends another tone The faithful hear what gods conceal The others hear themselves Listen... The string already knows your soul Every smile can hide a wound No crown survives a truthful note Instrument of Truth The hidden heart begins to speak The silent mask falls into dust Every lie becomes a whisper Instrument of Truth I hear... What you cannot hide Instrument of Truth

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