Skill:

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The bull was unsettled, and that much was evident in the way that she moved. Powerful limbs strode with a force that was perhaps faster than it needed to be, propelling a massive body North with all of the determination she could muster. Though she did not know why she needed to go there. And that, perhaps, heighted her anxiety and instability.

That dream.

It had been so vivid.

And when she'd shared the contents of it, she'd realized that she'd not been the only one to have had such a perplexing dreamscape. It would seem that many of them were plagued with a random vision — a calling North.

But why?

She'd questioned it for days, forcing herself to believe it was just circumstance. But she could not get past the strange, heavy feeling in the pit of her chest. She could not exactly pinpoint what she felt, but the closest emotion she could garner was one of dread.

So she went North, dragging Shiloh along with her, for he too had suffered from the same dream. Their journey had been relatively silent, save for the occasional glimpse of her eyes back toward him as they began to climb the steep side of the mountain that rose ominously ahead of them. This seems crazy, she murmured, flattening her ears back as she cast him another anticipatory glance. But the bull would not stop, not now.

They would ascend.

And as they did, she noted the scents of others. Of Sólúlfur and Euphemia, Vitus and Wadruna ... and Millie? Had they all had the same dream? Tiberii would push forward, suddenly finding herself ... uncharacteristically winded. It would slow her pace significantly, her eyes squinting against the snow that now seemed to burn her face when it hit her. She would cough, expunging something putrid from her depths as she began to lose visibility within the strange storm. Was she crazy? Was the snow ... purple?

She would cough again, slowing enough to land at Shiloh's side.

What ... tha fuck is goin' on?

She hadn't yet seen that the rest of the wolves were charging for the caves.

---

「 Skill Point ― scout 」

Their child had gone missing from the island, another one lost to the tundra out of the blue. Tyr had notified Cupid, but both of the father's worry was evident. It had to be when they'd lost so much in so little time. Sindri was one of the smaller of the pack, nowhere near the size of the titans that Tyr had sired. She was fair game on her own, even with her fear blindness. If anything, that put her at further risk of endangerment.

Like now.

The northern summit was like a dark omen, casting a shadow of dread on the male as he ventured through the fading winterscape. The tyke's scent wandered alone, roaming towards the mountain as if something pulled at her being. It was a pull that, so too, Tyr felt deep within his tightly bound chest. Fear ebbed and flowed through the god's blood, worry marring his expression as his features tensed with furrowed brows.

What was going on?

A whistle in the wind, a frigid cold that began to circle his body as he began his ascent. Her scent blurred as the burning scent of sulphur began to fizzle, memories of the great fires from the year before retracing his mind's eye. Something was wrong. It smelt volcanic, just like the hot springs, but the snow... It was the snow that was leaden with the smell.

Alarm bells were ringing in his mind. The gods, this had to be the gods. Odin was punishing him for allegiance, for his mortal body that he refused to give up. Tyr felt his teeth clench and jaw tick. Was the Allfather going to claim yet another one of his children? Sindri wasn't even his blood but it still pained him the same.

With each step climbing higher, his lungs struggled more. They burned, wheezed, and spluttered. It was only when he paused to take a breather that he began to notice the array of other scents lured to this place. Panic furthered the pounding of his heart, the norseman hurrying to rush up to the summit.

He didn't care who he ran past, he was blind to them in that moment. He had a goal and that was to find his child. His daughter.

She was finally in sight, the blinkered man clambouring to her side with a flurry of words falling from his lips.

å takk gudene (oh thank the gods) he uttered before pulling the child into a rushed embrace, turning her to face him as he hurriedly looked the piebald child over, Jeg trodde du var borte, dumme jente! (I thought you were gone, you silly girl)

It was only then that he looked around him, his scattered eyes looking briefly at all the strange faces until they landed on the obvious. The snow, it had changed.

It was purple.

Piece : 「 3」 

---

As the sulfur scented snow begins to pile up, your chest is still growing tight paired with the difficulty of breathing. You begin to fight yourself internally; was it better to risk the bad air and descend the peaks or should you press forward into the cave of bone-chilling air? The first choice may have been best, since you know things were normal at lower altitudes, but there is no denying the unnatural draw you feel to the depths of the windy cavern. What was it? Perhaps a path straight through to the other side of the mountain? Maybe the air was less thin and irritating wherever this tunnel led to. Why were you trying so hard to justify staying?

Push forward, can’t you feel its presence? Do not rest or settle, even as the cave offers you an unknowing comfort. You must not rest here, the sudden voice in your head surprisingly doesn’t catch you off guard, as if you had known the whole time he was with you. The presence of what, exactly? Sure, you felt the unexplainable urge to venture forth, but what exactly was summoning you?

It is not far, I can sense its life. It is calling to you. Follow the wind, Suggested words were enough to spur your body into action. As if the Visitor had control over your consciousness, you follow the gusts just as he had instructed. The tunnel grew wider until it ended with a forked path: one side an open room made of ice and stone and the other a seemingly endless darkness. You can feel a sense of comfort and serenity from the endless darkness. It seems so welcoming, you have a hard time denying the invitation. You must resist. You must go to the chamber.

The other side, a room with a single crack on one side that was creating the frigid air. You shiver, wanting nothing more than embrace the darkness of the other path. Those that manage to refrain will find themselves inspecting along the cracked wall. It is there you notice a line of unreadable markings. They are uneven in texture and appear to be weakly glowing. How strange…

The Dream Visitor’s voice raised within you, his tone steady and firm as he recited a string of words that you couldn’t make heads or tails of. Eaken aln antsir iar klus, eaken ali walk dre wolf’al kadr ali sale drial wirlk lith eipal hale kasonil widr iar selfit natore. Whatever it was that he said, it caused the broken symbols to grow in their luminance. They now beamed brightly, lighting up the room with ease.

Another part of the incantation is complete due to your aid. With it activated, the air is regaining its natural purity. Hurry, you must descend before it worsens again. Reach safety so I may come to you tonight. Do not fall victim to the tunnel’s pull, A faint warning was all he had given as a farewell. Your body only holds your own consciousness now, every choice you make is no longer influenced by the visitor — but perhaps it’s best to leave, as he has suggested.

She was not alone. Dawnbreak wolves were here. None she knew personally, however. There was a little woman. Painted softly like a doe and smelling sweetly. More fluttered in - a rangy greyscale man, a pie piebald coated child, the vibrant red wolf who had won the tournament, more and more drawn by this unrelenting pull and - her nephew!

Vitus! She calls out to the silver and golden man through the whipping winds. drífa sig! (Hurry!) She urges, only to be overwhelmed with another wave of coughs. She waits for him as long as she could, watching as others pile into the opening along the rock faced. Eventually Wardruna too pushes her way within.

Yet there is no time for respite here. No time to catch her breath. She couldn't stop, couldn't. The voice compells her forward. She goes bravely deeper into the darkness further within until she comes to a fork: ice and rock one in one room, a darkness so deep she could see nothing within in the other. Endless, soundless, sweet darkness... she means to go within, to curl up and sleep. So worn from her travel here, so worn from the lack of oxygen. She just wanted to...

But no! The voice urged, pushing and pulling at her mind and finally brain waves moved to paw muscles and she is moving into the ice and rock room. A large crevice, the winds from it, the symbols, the glow... She can hardly keep up with what had happened and just as quickly as she was compelled to come here was she driven to flee. Flee while she still could! But what? But why?? What were they even doing here to begin with!?

(We leave while we still can.)Við förum á meðan við getum enn. She speaks allowed, turning and olive eyes seeking for Vitus through the crowd.

Skill 2/5: Ranger

He’d climbed this far under the delusion that it might offer clarity—that the Summit, even blanketed in unseasonable snow, would be quiet. But the air clawed at his throat like frostbitten fingers, each breath thinner than the last, and the sulfur-laced flakes stung his nostrils with every inhale. His legs ached. His lungs rasped. He should have turned back.

He didn’t.

A gust rolled down the mountainside and slipped into the crevice ahead, its howling swallowed by something colder than stone. Isúlfr narrowed his eyes toward the opening, searching instinctively for threats. And there, within the jagged dark, something shifted.

A shape. A shadow. Feminine in the most indistinct way—unsettling, but not entirely foreign. The voice that followed felt like an echo of something long buried, a command that pulled at his instincts rather than his memory. For a moment, it made no sense. Then it did.

Inside. With haste.

He didn’t move at first. The voice hadn’t startled him. It hadn’t even sounded foreign. If anything, it felt like something he had forgotten—an order he had already accepted. He stepped toward the crevice and vanished inside.

The air grew worse. The snow outside had bitten, but the tunnel gnawed. Still, he pressed on. His ears twitched as whispers began to bleed from the stone. Not the woman this time—others. Many. Some ahead. Some behind. He turned once, twice, but the cave was empty. And yet… not. Something lingered. Breaths too soft to echo. Words too blurred to understand.

The path bent. Then forked.

Darkness stretched to the right like a velvet tongue, full of false promises and soothing weight. Isúlfr’s body tilted toward it before he knew he’d moved. It felt like sleep. Like the edge of peace. And then—

You must resist.

He froze. The voice came not from the walls, but from within him. Steady. Cold. As though it had been there all along. He did not answer. He only shifted, one step, then another, toward the chamber on the left. The wind there tore through him like a blade, but he entered all the same.

There—a crack in the wall, breathing ice into the chamber’s heart. Carved beside it were markings: old, unreadable, softly pulsing. He squinted at them, the ache in his chest flaring again, then—

Eaken aln antsir iar klus ...

The voice wove through him. Words he didn’t recognize, but didn’t question. The symbols brightened until the cave glowed blue-white, and suddenly he could breathe again. Slowly. Fully. The pain in his chest began to ease.

Another part of the incantation is complete. Hurry ...

And then the voice was gone.

The whispers had faded. The pull of the dark had gone quiet. Isúlfr stood in stillness, staring at the far end of the tunnel as if it might call again. Nothing came.

He exhaled, long and low, then turned to leave—reluctantly. There were no answers here. Not yet.

Skill: Seer

As luck would have it, the task of caring for a child was no longer his, as what he assumes to be the father comes rushing and fretting over the young wolf. He hears Wardruna call for him, as the pull gets stronger, moving quickly to his aunt's side.

It was odd, how his body seemed to be moving on it's own, the god's voice in his mind that he assumes to be within the others as well the way they moved in unison until the chanting. The voice again, as the runes glowed, the teenager moving forward to study the markings, to put his paw on the glowing symbols in reverence before Wardruna's voice reached him again. Ég er með þér (I'm with you) The seer rushed, away, toward his elder, nosing at her side briefly to reassure her that he was there as they made their escape. guðirnir eru reiðir við okkur (The gods are angry with us)