The four recruits sank down into the grass, slinging their packs and swords off their backs and slipping their shields off of their arms. Skalfi lifted her face to the warm, pleasant light from the sun as Blader took a sip of water from his canteen.

"The sun's nearing the west," he observed. "We should make camp here, use the time to rest up and see if we can scavenge up some food and water."

Wolfsted nodded. "We've only got a couple venison strips left, and I do not want to eat lichen if I don't have to."

"If we find a stream, Erik and I probably could catch some fish," Skalfi said. "I'll have to make a new spear, though. I don't know what happened to the other one."

"We can have a fire," Erik sighed. "And not sleep on stone for once."

"Wolfsted and I will collect firewood and refill the canteens," Blader said. "We'll ready the camp."

Wolfsted frowned at Blader. "Why do I have to do that?"

"Because we're fishing?" Skalfi pointed out. "This way, the camp will be ready when Erik and I bring in our catch."

Wolfsted scowled, not looking happy at his assignment, but he didn't complain any further. Skalfi and Erik grabbed up their weapons and started up the slope of the mountain. "Blader, come with us for the water," Skalfi called back. "We'll meet you back here, Wolfsted."

Blader snatched up his shield, sword, and the canteens, grinning at the look on his friend's face. "It won't take long, Wolfsted," he said, and hurried after the two recruits from Drottning.

It didn't take them long to find a clear stream flowing down the mountain. Skalfi and Erik immediately set to breaking branches from nearby trees and sharpening the tips as Blader knelt by the stream's banks and splashed the refreshingly cool water over his face and neck.

"Ah," he sighed as the water dripped down his face, slipping under the collar of his tunic and shivering over his skin. Blader splashed more over his hair and shook his head, water droplets flying everywhere.

Erik and Skalfi glanced up to watch Blader and within moments they had joined him, washing off their faces and sighing in contentment. "That's better," Skalfi murmured, before taking up her makeshift spear and finishing with the tip. She handed her dagger to Erik. "Be careful."

As Erik worked at his spear point and Skalfi watched the stream's current and the fish meandering along with it, Blader emptied the canteens out and refilled them with the cool water before heading back to the campsite. Wolfsted was gone, probably gathering the firewood.

Blader knelt and scraped up some of the grass, clearing a spot for the fire. Heading back to the stream, he gathered an armload of rocks from the banks and carried them back to the campsite, arranging them around the bare spot he had prepared.

Returning to the stream, Blader borrowed Skalfi's dagger and began to prepare four sturdy sticks to hold the fish for roasting. After handing her blade back to her, he headed back to the camp and found Wolfsted was still not there. Neither was there any firewood to point to his presence.

With a frown, Blader glanced around, wondering where the Aldrian could have gone. Setting his shield down but keeping his sheathed sword on his back, he started up the slope, glancing around for any sign of Wolfsted.

Blader ducked through some thick shrubbery, the bushes rustling around him as he pushed his way through. Just as he stepped into the little clearing on the other side, he heard the sound of footsteps and rustling and turned to see Wolfsted burst into the clearing, chasing a rabbit with his sword.

The rabbit shot across the clearing and disappeared in the shrubbery on the other side and Wolfsted skidded to a halt on seeing Blader. His dark eyebrows drew down in a scowl.

"What are you doing?" Blader queried.

"I was trying to catch us a rabbit," Wolfsted said, pointing with his sword in the direction the animal had vanished.

"With a sword?" Blader asked curiously.

Wolfsted looked put out. "Perhaps not the best move on my part, but I saw it move and I reacted. Aldrian instinct. We tend to kill anything that moves. Before it has a chance to kill us." And without sheathing his weapon, the Aldrian stalked haughtily from the clearing, like the idea of a rabbit somehow killing him wasn't laughable.

Blader bit his lip, repressing a laugh, and followed after his friend. Wolfsted now had replaced his sword on his back, with his shield, and had fallen to gathering firewood. Blader joined him and soon they had a sizable pile, which they brought back to the camp.

"I'll grab another load," Blader said. "Wolfsted, head to the stream and wash up as soon as Skalfi and Erik are done fishing."

Wolfsted nodded curtly and set off in the direction Blader indicated. Blader turned back and headed to where they had been gathering wood before, continuing to gather fuel for their cooking fire.

The peacefulness of the mountainside invaded his senses, calming and relaxing him further. It didn't matter that this was all some sort of simulation. It was still restful, and Blader could hear birds chirping to each other, and the patter of small animals moving through the undergrowth. It almost reminded him of the woods on his family's farm, which weren't thick enough to block out all sunlight, but with branches that caused a good deal of shade and refuge for the wood creatures.

As Blader finished assembling together a good pile of firewood, he heard a sharp crack. Snapping his head up, he rose and drew his sword, glancing around him for any sign of the being that had made that sound. He saw no one, saw no movements to indicate another's presence. He stood still, listening.

The sound came again, the splitting crack reverberating through the trees and shrubbery, causing some birds to take flight. This time, Blader was able to pinpoint its location. Holding his sword hilt by his waist defensively, he stepped forward towards the sound.

Pushing aside a tree branch, his eyes widened as part of the mountainside before him suddenly disappeared. In its place, framed by the branches of the trees that had remained, perched a tall throne, with a figure seated on it. Behind the throne were stars, their light small and insignificant compared to the utter darkness that engulfed the throne and its occupant, cloaking the figure from view.

"Blader Thrym," a deep, masculine voice intoned. "Do you think you can survive this war? Do you think you have what it takes to be an einherjar?"

The only thing Blader could think was But we aren't at war.

Unless the figure meant the Reenactment itself was a war?

"Don't disillusion yourself," the voice reprimanded. "For in the end, you will have your Ragnarok. You can't fight the chaos. Just like your grandfather couldn't. He was stabbed in the back by one of his allies. Chaos, Blader Thrym. Chaos only sides with itself."

"Who are you?" Blader demanded.

"Chaos," the voice replied smugly.

Then the throne vanished completely, the missing part of the mountain reappearing in its place.

Blader lowered his sword, staring at the spot where the throne had been in confusion. A quick glance around him showed that everything was the same. He waited several minutes before sheathing his sword and walking back to his pile of firewood, gathering it up and carrying it down the slope.

Wolfsted, Skalfi, and Erik glanced up as Blader walked up to the campsite. The Aldrian raised an eyebrow, crouched by the cleared space building a fire. His tousled black hair was dripping wet. "Now who's been chasing rabbits?" he asked jokingly. "What took you?"

Blader, however, was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay much attention to his friend. He set the wood down with the rest and looked at Skalfi and Erik preparing the fish for cooking.

Skalfi caught his eye and frowned. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost, Blader."

Blader glanced at her, deliberating over what he should tell them. Erik and Wolfsted both looked up at him, drawing their eyebrows together.

"Something strange happened," Blader said, sitting down. "This...this figure appeared on a throne, with a backdrop of stars. Part of the mountain had just vanished and he appeared where it had been. He...spoke to me. Talked about chaos, and war."

Erik lifted an eyebrow. "War with whom?"

Blader shrugged. "Perhaps it was a reference to the Reenactment."

"We are soldiers," Skalfi said. "At least, we will be. Our primary occupation is to fight, against whoever threatens us. It simply could just be a reference to our future."

Wolfsted frowned. "Chaos. That's Loki's thing."

"Did he say anything else?" Skalfi asked.

"He mentioned my grandfather," Blader said softly. "About how he was killed by his ally, about how he couldn't fight the chaos."

Erik raised his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Aetlun Thrym was killed by an ally? Didn't he die in the Battle of Sigra?"

Blader nodded. "Yes, he did die at Sigra, but he was killed by Dyr Gunar there."

"I did not know that," Wolfsted said, frowning. "I should pay more attention to these things."

Blader frowned. He remembered the driver on the Transriot talking about Aetlun Thrym's death, how Loqé, a Valkyrie and Gunar's own daughter, hadn't known about it. He hadn't even been told about how his grandfather had died.

"I didn't know, either," Skalfi confessed. "That's odd. You'd tend to remember something like that, with General Thrym being such a big hero and Gunar such a big threat."

Erik's eyes were downcast, absently studying the fish in his hand. "Perhaps you never heard about it."

All three recruits turned to look at him. "What do you mean?" Wolfsted asked.

"I've never heard about this," Erik declared. "Ever. My parents may not be einherjar, but they did keep up with the news, and same with my older sister. My sister was seven when the Battle of Sigra occurred and she vividly remembers hearing about it, watching the news reports about it. General Thrym's death was big news and Dyr Gunar declared his reign of the Wolf King directly after it. My sister watched the emergency news report about the battle with my parents. She remembers the announcement about General Thrym being dead, and so do they. All the report said was he died in combat. Even after Gunar became top priority, it was never announced that he had killed Thrym. If they had, we would all have known it, for your grandfather, Blader, would have been made more of a martyr than he already was."

"How did you find out?" Skalfi asked Blader curiously.

"A Transriot driver told me," Blader said. "My Valkyrie didn't even know."

"Maybe the driver was lying," Wolfsted said.

Blader thought back to their encounter with the Transriot driver. Loqé said he wasn't lying. "That thought crossed my mind at first, but I don't know. He could have been. He recognized me as Aetlun Thrym's grandson, spoke disrespectfully to my Valkyrie, and talked badly of Asgard and the High King. He talked about chaos a lot, said Dyr Gunar had killed my grandfather."

"Sounds like he doesn't like the gods," Skalfi said, and Erik nodded.

"Perhaps he was lying," Blader said thoughtfully. "I'll have to ask my father. He should know."

"Didn't your parents ever tell you?" Wolfsted asked.

Blader shook his head. "No. They just said that he died in combat."

"Perhaps they don't know," Wolfsted suggested. "If he was killed by Gunar and the gods didn't want news of it getting out, perhaps not even your family was told."

"Whatever it was," Skalfi interjected. "The figure appearing to you sounds odd, Blader. But it's all a just part of the Reenactment."

Erik shook his head. "Or is it? This sounds too strange. I don't remember mysterious figures showing up and pronouncing doom and chaos in the legends. Showing up at your house, sure. Bringing you home your dead son, yes. Eating your food, of course. But normally, they're gods, or jotuns, and the jotuns always go as birds of prey, the gods as mortals. But trying to tell you you're not good enough? I don't think so." His eyes gleamed. "The Reenactment is faulty after all."

[----]

Wolfsted woke Blader up later that night to take his turn at watch. As the Aldrian took his place on the wolf skin, Blader headed over to sit by the low-burning fire.

The moon was bright overhead, surrounded by hundreds of twinkling stars. Blader looked for the constellations he had been taught as a child, but couldn't see them. The sky either wasn't made to mirror actual skies, or its constellations belonged to the days of past.

How did that driver know about Dyr Gunar killing my grandfather?

Loqé had seemed so sure he was right, despite never have being told. What was it she had said? It makes sense. Dyr Gunar, the Wolf King, killing the mighty General Aetlun Thrym, third-generation legacy.

It makes sense.

Blader gazed at the glowing embers, picking up a stick and poking at them. He had told Loqé it might be a lie. She had said it wasn't.

Was the driver lying? Why would he lie? Just to prove a point to Blader and Loqé about chaos? Or did he know, actually know? If he knew, how did he know? No one else seemed to know. Why wasn't that more common knowledge? Dyr Gunar killing Aetlun Thrym at the beginning of the Wolf King's reign should have been news; it should have been known. Yet it wasn't.

So how did he know?

[----]

The following day, the four recruits broke camp and started out across the meadow. The grass came up to their knees, filled with flowers, blue, pink, yellow, red. Blader couldn't help but smile, thinking of Freyja and Hilda's flower wreaths.

The day was warm, the sun's rays bright. Blader couldn't help but recall the summers where he and his siblings would play tag in the fields, racing through the grass in a futile attempt to outpace Ivan, who was the fastest in their family until Blader had finally beaten him at the age of thirteen and Ivan had been forced to surrender his title.

It had been nice, to be carefree, the only worry that existed being that Ivan might catch you. And since he was fastest, it was inevitable.

Blader furrowed his brow. He still didn't like that word, inevitable. He'd heard it used before, especially in the legends when Ragnarok was discussed. Ragnarok was inevitable. There had been nothing Odin or anyone else could do to stop it. There was no choice, only fate.

Is anything really inevitable?

The time had come when Blader was the fastest of the Thryms, and being tagged by him was inevitable. Ivan hadn't been inevitable forever in tag.

"Look," Skalfi said suddenly, breaking the companionable silence. She pointed up ahead. "What's that?"

The recruits stopped, shading their eyes and gazing in the direction Skalfi was indicating. "Are those buildings?" Erik asked.

"I think so," Wolfsted said.

"Looks like it," Blader affirmed.

"Should we keep heading towards it?" Skalfi asked.

"Why not?" Wolfsted said with a shrug. "That's probably where the seers want us."

"That's what worries me," Erik muttered. "But we might as well. Only way to get out of this is to keep going, right?"

The recruits kept going, their eyes on the slowly growing group of buildings rising from the meadow grasses. Eventually, it became clear they were approaching a small village, a cluster of buildings around a main street. The meadow grasses changed into fields of growing wheat, which Blader was careful to lead his friends around. Even if these fields only belonged to rekkr, he couldn't just walk through their carefully grown crops.

When they reached the village and walked in on the main road, Blader was surprised to see that the village was occupied. People were striding to and fro, bringing back their purchases from the market, sitting outside working on broken equipment. When they spotted the four recruits, the rekkr villagers would look up and then whisper to their neighbors, indicating the einherjar walking down the street.

Wolfsted kept glancing back over his shoulder. "Are they going to attack us or something?" he whispered.

"Villagers generally don't just attack you," Blader told him. "We're not provoking them, so they shouldn't."

Wolfsted gave him a look. "What kind of world do you live in where that is not a real possibility?"

"The better question is what kind of world do you live in where that is a real possibility?" Erik muttered.

"This is the Reenactment, though," Skalfi pointed out. "They might attack."

"Thank you, Skalfi," Wolfsted said, lifting an eyebrow at Blader and Erik. "See, my watchfulness will pay off."

"Calling paranoia 'watchfulness' is generous," Erik said with a laugh, earning a glare from the Aldrian.

The rekkr all around them looked like real people. They laughed, talked, worked, pursed their lips in frustration. Even more was shown in the depth in their eyes. There was emotion there, there was life there.

"Erik?"

The surprised voice called Blader out of his reverie and he glanced up to see Sodull standing by a building, staring at the group. A grin spread across his face and Sodull raced down the street, skidding to a halt once he'd reached them.

"Sodull!" Erik exclaimed, clapping his friend on the back. Blader grinned as he, Wolfsted, and Skalfi welcomed Sodull as well.

"Am I glad to see you," Sodull sighed. "I haven't seen anyone since I was dropped in here. Well, no real people anyway. Just rekkr." He frowned. "It's odd, because they're surprisingly good conversationalists for people that don't exist."

"They talk?" Wolfsted demanded. "What about?"

Sodull thought for a moment. "Their lives, I guess? Their crops, their families, just day to day stuff. You know, just happenings. But what's been up with you four?" Before they could start talking, he held up his hand. "Look, let's get off the street first and grab a meal. I've got a friend who will provide some food. I stopped a robbery last night and the rekkr here think I'm some sort of hero." Gesturing for them to follow him, Sodull set off down the street.

/**/

Sorry for the late update! But Sodull finally shows up! What did you think, of the rekkr village, of the voice that spoke to Blader?

Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed! Please vote and comment!

Skylar Wittenborn