My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and my vision clouded. I felt my body shake slightly, and when I opened my eyes, I stood before a vast spire of unnatural waves, with water columns spiraling into the air. The water turned into tendrils — and a giant skull formed at the end of the columns.

Five moons hung in the sky, but only one shone brightest.

As I stared into that moon, a radiant symbol pulsed around me. The cliff beneath my feet began to rise, pushing me upward until I stood at the highest point in the world. It felt natural — inevitable — to be lifted toward the heavens.

Then I fell back into a throne overlooking the world below. The marble of the throne began to shift beneath my hands, turning to bone and skull. Shock rippled through me — I looked down to find that at some point, my own body had turned skeletal, sitting atop a throne of the dead.

Behind me, a sun rose — brilliant and divine — casting its light across the barren horizon. And as I gazed into that world, a single phrase reverberated within my mind:

“Pride is a slow-acting poison; it slowly infects. And before you know it, you have already walked a path toward destruction.”

__________________________

I awoke.

Merlin was staring at me curiously. My breath came fast, markings shifting across my body like restless flame.

“Pride,” I spat, answering his unspoken question.

Merlin’s eyes widened. “That sounds like an Individuality. You were born a paragon, my prince.” A smile crept onto his face as he turned away. The students had already finished their introspection and were staring at me, but I paid them no mind.

“Jotuns are a long-lived species,” Merlin began. “The more connected one is to Seithr — the stronger their body, the longer their lifespan. But even that has limits.

“Demigods, on the other hand, are born at the pinnacle of existence — longer lifespans, stronger bodies, immense potential. They are rare — a sign of divine intervention. And they usually never know who one of their parents truly is.”

He paused. His smile faded.

“The Jotun turned their backs on their gods centuries ago. No one remembers when that betrayal began, but it angered the All-Father Odin, Freyja the Goddess of Fertility and Love, Sif the Goddess of the Harvest, Thor the God of Thunder, and even Loki the Trickster.

“The gods despise the Jotun for that betrayal. To them, the Jotun are as children who spurned their father’s hand. In their anger, the gods refused our prayers — and curses took root among our people.”

The class ended there. Merlin had gone on a tangent about gods, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said — the gods, Seithr, paragons, and Edward’s short lifespan.

No wonder he looks so bad — he’s already close to death. I promised myself I’d make sure he lived longer. How can he serve me if he’s dead?

The day passed in a haze of history, etiquette, military strategy, and language lessons. But my thoughts wouldn’t settle. Are the gods real? Why did the Jotun abandon them? It made no sense — how could an entire species turn away from divinity?

That evening, I sat at my new table, the chessboard off to the side, staring at Edward.

“Edward, you will die before me.”

“Yes, I will, prince,” he said flatly.

“I command you not to die.”

“Prince, if I had control over my life and death, I wouldn’t be a slave.” His tone was tired — as if he were humoring a child throwing a fit. Which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth.

“Tch.” I clicked my tongue. “You don’t have control over your life and death. I do. You’ll serve me until I get bored — or I let you die.”

I almost laughed at his expression. “From now on, you’ll join me for a workout every evening. And I’ll teach you what I know of Seithr. The food hasn’t helped your face much.”

Edward sighed and followed me out to the courtyard.

We trained like that for months — father’s drills at dawn, classes by day, sparring and chess with Edward by night. I asked Merlin again about the paragons and the gods, but by then he was gone. A new teacher had replaced him — I didn’t bother to learn his name.

One day, I climbed the massive pillar father had ordered built in the city’s center. It grew taller every day.

“Can you fix things with Ama?” I asked him when I reached the top. “She won’t talk to me. I’m worried about her.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “We will not be training here today. Follow me.” Then he leapt off the side of the cliff.

“Why did I climb the damn thing then?” I muttered. Heights no longer scared me — father had thrown me off cliffs enough times for that. I jumped down after him.

We walked through the estate — halls, storage rooms, silent corridors.

“Fear is a poison that makes you weak,” Father said.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied. He’d said that every day since we began training.

“Conquer all your fears, and nothing will stop you. Nothing will make you hesitate.”

We stopped before an old wooden door. He turned to me, eyes searching mine.

“You will go into this room,” he said, voice calm and absolute, “and you will kill everyone who steps inside.”

My stomach tightened.

He handed me a sword. I waited — hoping he’d take it back, explain it away, say anything.

He didn’t.

My feet moved on their own as I entered the room. The air was cold, my pulse loud in my ears. The room was bare, save for a single torch. The sword’s hilt was engraved with our family crest — a cruel, simple mark.

Then — the grinding of stone.

A wall shifted, revealing an opening. A woman was thrown inside — bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Her skin was pale, marked with bruises.

The wall sealed again, trapping us both.

I froze.

Then I dropped the sword.

CLANG.

The woman jolted awake, scrambling away from me, muffled cries breaking through the gag. I approached slowly. She pressed herself against the wall. When I reached her, I knelt and pulled the cloth from her mouth.

“Why was I told to kill you?” I asked. My voice was calm — too calm.

“…a child?” she breathed, startled.

“Yes. Now answer my question.”

“My prince!” she gasped. She tried to bow, but her restraints held her fast. Then, remembering my question, she whispered, “Because of my faith.”

“Religion?” I frowned.

“Yes. They caught us practicing in secret.” She looked down. “We knew the risk, but we prayed anyway. I made peace with my death when I converted.”

“So this wasn’t your original faith?”

“Humans don’t usually follow the Jotun gods. But a Jotun taught me their ways — the joy of faith and hope.” She smiled faintly, eyes distant.

“Wait,” I said. “You follow the gods — like Odin? And there were Jotun among your group?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Those who pray to the Norse gods — Jotun or human — are taken alike. None are ever seen again.”

I stepped back, shocked. I had suspected something — but this confirmed it.

Father was capable of many things, but this was idiocy beyond measure. Religious persecution? That was how kingdoms fell.

After pacing the room, I turned back to her and sat down.

“Tell me about your gods,” I said.

She grinned — as if I had just given her life back — and began to speak.