The towering creation of steel held no weapons like its counterpart in the tomb of Dwarfhome; instead, it had hands curled into fists that now struck. Halfdan awkwardly rolled to the side, and instead, the blow smashed through furniture, breaking a table and sending a Dwarven corpse flying through the air.

  Back on his feet, Halfdan raised the metal stick in his hands and struck it against the guardian. He knew how to win; beat open its chest plate and destroy the heart within. His rod hit against that exact spot and accomplished nothing, leaving not even a mark. In return, with alarming speed, the steel creature swung a fist and made impact directly on his face.

  Halfdan was lifted off the ground and soared across the room until he hit the wall. His jaw was broken, undoubtedly, and his vision blurred. It was tempting to call upon [Berserker's Rage] and sink into oblivion, pain banished, but mindless fury and strength would not win this battle. He needed his head clear to attack the guardian’s only vulnerability.

  Scrambling back on his feet, he clenched his hands, noticing that he had lost the haft serving as his weapon. He swallowed in realisation, followed by a flash of pain from his broken jaw. This would be a fist fight.

  [Swifter Than Them] stood at fourth rank, one of his strongest. Surely that would make him faster than this man of metal. Raising his hands in front of him, Halfdan dodged a blow and landed one in return, striking the chest plate as before.

  This pattern continued several times more. In the weak light of the fallen lantern, Halfdan saw the disheartening truth; his blows accomplished nothing. It was doubtful if even using his full berserker strength would be enough; not that it mattered, as embracing the rage would see him abandon tactics.

  Halfdan thought about acquiring a weapon – the smith’s hammer. Small and not intended for combat, it was better than a fist. Evading another blow, he realised that he did not need to fight this battle. He had Sif’s rune token still, allowing him to flee. He just needed to get the hammer and then make his escape, leaving the guardian behind.

  Ducking under its attacks, Halfdan circumvented his enemy to reach the corner with the smashed furniture. Between debris and Dwarven bones, he saw it; a small, unassuming hammer fit for a forge, but not battle. Seizing it, Halfdan’s triumphant feeling lasted only a moment until the guardian punched him in his back, and he was hurled into the wall face first.

  His nose broke, and the pain was only overtaken by how his jaw felt at this second strike. Absolutely racked by agony, Halfdan got back on his feet and turned around. He did not need to fight, just escape.

  Whether the guardian had some base cunning or fate simply toyed with Halfdan, it was hard to tell; the steel monstrosity moved back and placed its heavy legs on top of the gate, raising fists to await the berserker.

  Halfdan would have gritted his teeth, except the very thought sent radiating pain through his jaw. He refused to let the nornir have the satisfaction of predicting his death in this desolate place, dying with only disgrace for a companion. He raised the hammer, though it was scarcely bigger than his hand, ready to defy fate.

  The guardian awaited him with a faceless expression, as emotional as the trolls it was inspired by, yet stronger and hardier, steel rather than stone.

  A battle cry forced its way to Halfdan’s lips, though the pain immediately turned the words into incomprehensible sounds. Striding forward, Halfdan struck with the hammer, taking a fist to his own chest in return. As before, it sent him hurtling backwards, and he dropped his meagre weapon.

  But the effect upon his enemy was profound. The guardian shook, its limbs rattling. Without further warning, it fell to pieces. Confused, but relieved, Halfdan closed his eyes and embraced the waves of pain washing over him.

  *

  Once [Mend Your Wounds] had dealt with the worst, Halfdan opened his eyes again. He could still feel broken bone, but that would heal in time as well. Better to finish what he came for and return to Sif.

  Getting on his feet, he returned the lantern to an upright position. Despite the fight, it remained in good condition, and its light spread across the room, showing the destroyed furniture, smashed up corpse of a Dwarf, and the remains of the guardian. Next to the pile of metal lay the hammer.

  Still mystified by how a single blow had brought his enemy down, Halfdan picked up the tool. Now that death no longer breathed down his neck, he had a moment to inspect it. Although simple in shape, clearly made for a straightforward purpose, the head was beautifully carved with runes, reminiscent of the hammer that Halfdan had been given as a gift by the Dwarves.

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  As Halfdan held it, a strange transformation took place. Startled, he nearly dropped the hammer. In his grip, the haft grew, becoming several times longer. The head likewise changed form, growing smaller to allow for a more concentrated strike to punch through heavy resistance, such as armour. In short, it transformed itself into a two-handed war hammer. And as Halfdan held it, he knew it to be the [Heart of Yggdrasil].

  Transfixed, Halfdan stared in the weak light at the weapon in his hands. Although his gift favoured the axe with two skills aimed at that, his Seeds in that regard had primarily been invested in [Wielder of Weapons], allowing him to use the hammer expertly. And if it did to any enemy what it had done to the guardian, it would more than suffice.

  Halfdan blinked out of curiosity if his victory had earned him Seeds. He saw two lying ready, but even the quick glance at the familiar tree made him realise something else was different. He closed his eyes to properly examine it and soon noticed what had caught his attention. [Twice the Edge] and [Deeper the Cut], his two skills that strengthened his use with axes, were different. Instead, they were named [Twice the Blow] and [Deeper the Strike], and intuitively, Halfdan knew that they increased his fighting ability and strength along with striking power when wielding a hammer.

  The berserker had never heard of an implement that could affect someone’s gift in this way. But not only that, he had likewise affected the hammer, changing it from a smith’s tool to a warrior’s weapon. Truly, it was an artefact beyond anything he had imagined. No wonder Loki sought it; no matter his plans, the hammer would undoubtedly be powerful to possess.

  Halfdan’s gaze fell back on the Dwarven corpse, no longer peaceful at rest in a chair but weirdly contorted after the destruction. In the wooden debris, he saw the letter that had been written, now partly covered by ink from the destroyed inkwell that had spilled onto the floor. Curious, he rescued the parchment and found it still readable with strong letters, written as confidently and beautifully as runes carved in stone.

  All is lost, and deservedly so. Fuelled by selfish desire, I inflamed my brethren and emboldened their greed. With the strength of the Aesir, we drove them out. We gave them a hideous name to disguise our crime and lessen our guilt. The children of the living rock, once our neighbours, became our enemies, and we took their home. Blinded by ambition, I made my forge. I cared only for the wonders I would create. Were not the worlds carved from Ymir’s corpse? Creation requires sacrifice, I told myself. And I would carve my name as the greatest smith of all the nine realms, making creations only second to Yggdrasil itself. The moment my hand touched the hammer, gifted by Odin, my fate was sealed.

  But I cannot blame others. I knew what I did. I knew if ever there was a price to pay, what it would be. And when the Aesir withdrew, abandoning us, I understood that we had only ourselves to blame. We made Myrkheim a place of battle and laughed, drunk with victory. Now, we are satiated with defeat. The trolls have broken our defences. The last of my people flee, if they can. Snorri begged me to go with him, but his envious eye fell on the hammer. No more. This city, a monument to my folly, has fallen. I shall fall with it, and I shall take my tool with me. We created our miracles by enslaving another people. No more.

  The confession was unsigned, but Halfdan knew beyond doubt this was Sindri. He stared at the skeleton, still clothed, lying in a bundle on the ground. A thread of pity wound itself around his heart; whether Sindri’s acts should be considered evil or not, he had suffered the consequences and died filled with regret, starved in this small refuge while his city fell.

  Halfdan bent down and arranged his bones correctly, making him lie on the ground with his bony hands clasped on top of his stomach in a restful pose. Burial was not an option, but this would afford him a little dignity, at least. “Best I can do for you,” he muttered and tensed up, feeling the pain in his jaw. Still too early for speech.

  The wondrous hammer, Halfdan placed in the strap on his back. He was ready to leave, and he pulled out the rune token given to him by Sif. Looking at it, he recalled how the guardian of the Dwarven tombs had worked, possessing a rune heart. Assuming this was the same, which seemed a safe bet, Halfdan crouched down to rummage through the pile of metal pieces that remained of this guardian.

  Pushing the plates aside, he found it. A rock, perfectly round and smooth except for the symbols carved into it. Halfdan could not read them, like Sif could; he only knew the common letters. But he felt the power dormant within this stone, much like the one his own little skáld had given him. He remembered the rune hammer with its head of stone and what the troll had said and done with it. Perhaps the creature would likewise appreciate the return of this pebble. No harm in bringing it with him. Halfdan placed the rune stone from the guardian inside his pocket and grabbed the one from Sif instead.

  One last time, Halfdan glanced around the room. Perhaps other artefacts could be found down here. Maybe he should search it thoroughly. He looked at the lantern that glowed without fire or fuel; although just a practical item rather than a weapon or such, it was still an impressive feat of craftsmanship. And who knew what else Sindri might have taken with him to hide?

  Exhaling, Halfdan rejected the temptation. Greed had driven the Dwarves and led to their ruin. He had the hammer he had come for. Leaving the Dwarven city while burdened with plunder seemed an ill move, possibly offensive to the trolls – and he would rely on the goodwill from at least one of their number. With a final look towards the dead Dwarf, Halfdan bowed his head and lay down on the gate, same as how he had arrived, and placed Sif’s token against the ground. Around him, the symbols began to glow until the entire circle was bright, and the light intensified until it swallowed him up, transporting him away.

  As Halfdan arrived, he resisted the urge to sit up, knowing there was a ceiling one foot above his head. He was surrounded by darkness again, but this time, only because he was inside the alcove. To his left, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the eerie light resulting from a river of lava mixing with Dwarven runes and glowing moss. Carefully, he moved out of the alcove and saw a ring of trolls filling the living forge.