I lay on the infirmary cot for several more minutes after waking, trying to steady the churning feeling inside my chest. The air tasted thin—like the moment before a storm breaks—and my hands wouldn't stop trembling, no matter how tightly I curled them into fists.
My parents.
That memory.
The truth.
It hovered at the edges of my vision, blurring everything else. I tried to blink it away, to force myself into calm, but each breath felt like swallowing shards of ice.
Finally, when the pressure inside my ribs became unbearable, I forced myself to stand. My legs felt like paper, light and unsteady beneath me, but I refused to sink back down.
Jerry slithered onto my shoulder, his voice small. "Are you… sure you should be moving?"
"No," I muttered. "But if I lie here any longer, I might actually lose my mind."
The nurse wasn't there—I had been alone since waking—but I left a polite note on the bed before stepping out into the hallway. The corridors felt unnaturally bright after the dark haze of my vision. Students moved in waves, talking loudly, laughing, living. All of it contrasted sharply with the heaviness inside my chest.
Swordsmanship class wasn't for hours. Plenty of time to fall apart quietly.
I walked back to my dorm room on autopilot, barely aware of the turns my feet took. When I finally reached the door and shut it behind me, sealing myself away from the rest of the world, something inside me loosened just enough to breathe again.
Then the tightness returned, sharper than before.
I sank onto my bed, elbows on my knees, face buried in my hands.
Jerry shifted on my shoulder, then slithered down to sit beside me. "Okay," he said softly. "Tell me."
I inhaled, exhaled, but my voice cracked anyway. "Jerry… I have to get stronger."
"That much is obvious," he said. "You were stabbed in the chest by a spoiled noble during a school exam."
I shot him a sharp look.
"What?" he said defensively. "I'm not wrong."
"It's not just that." My throat tightened. "My kingdom… my people… they're still trapped. The fog, the starvation, the cold—they're still suffering while I'm here learning how to write essays."
Jerry blinked. "Well, when you put it like that, yes, it sounds bad."
"It is bad," I snapped, then softened. "They don't have time. I don't have time. If I don't grow stronger—strong enough to tear through that fog, to reclaim my home—then everything I do here is meaningless."
I swallowed hard.
"And I can't let that happen. I won't."
"during class..I watched my parents get murdered. Murdered by a man I trusted. Now, my people are trapped with that man."
His eyes softened, "I'm sorry Mavis.."
I sat straighter, my voice steadier. "Hel told me I could summon the dead… warriors from Valhalla and Helhiem. I could use them to take back my kingdom. To dethrone the captain and whoever else betrayed us. One army isn't enough anymore—not with how strong the fog has grown."
"And?" Jerry prompted.
"And," I groaned, "I don't know how to use the blessing. No rune, no incantation, no visual cue. Nothing. Just an extremely painful eye modification and vague dramatic warnings."
Jerry let out a long, suffering sigh. "Yes, that sounds like Hel, alright."
I rubbed my temples. "And Odin? I don't even understand what the eyewitness part means. Or how to activate any of it."
Jerry drummed his tail thoughtfully. "Many stories say Odin can summon his warriors from Valhalla. Hel can do the same from her domain. But none of them mention how."
"That's helpful," I said flatly.
"I'm not finished." He lifted his tail in a shushing motion. "There are, however, records of mortals calling upon spirits using votive offerings."
"…Offerings," I repeated slowly. "Like sacrifices?"
"Well—" Jerry coughed. "Not always sacrifices. Sometimes tokens. Objects tied to the deceased. Sometimes blood."
I stared.
He cleared his throat. "Just a drop! Or two."
"That sounds worse."
Jerry ignored me and continued. "But people misunderstand summons entirely. They treat them like pets or pets-who-do-magic. Your 'summon'—that's me, your glorious, unmatched companion—is actually a Fylgja. A guardian spirit."
I tilted my head. "Guardian spirit?"
"Yes. A being tied to your soul. Your destiny. The representation of your inner self."
I blinked at him. "So you're saying my inner self is a sarcastic, bitey sea snake with a superiority complex?"
He flicked my forehead with his tail. "Your spirit is a deep ocean serpent of ancient power and myth, thank you very much."
I rubbed the spot he hit. "So… what about the Fylgja thing helps me use my blessing?"
Jerry hesitated, then slithered closer, his expression unusually serious.
"Because," he said quietly, "as your Fylgja… I can see you."
I blinked. "You can already see me."
"I can see into you," he corrected. "Your soul. Your essence. Your status."
"Status?" I echoed.
"Yes. Your blessings. Your abilities. Your weaknesses. Your truths. Everything tied to your destiny. It's like… your soul's script. If you give me permission, I can access all of it."
My heartbeat stuttered.
"You can see my blessings," I whispered. "And how to use them?"
"Yes."
"You can also see my… origins?"
"Yes."
"And… everything about me."
Jerry nodded. "Everything."
I looked down at my hands.
Scarred.
Calloused.
Shaking.
My entire life—my real life—had been buried under lies, trauma, and fog. Even I didn't know who I truly was. But someone could. Someone tied to me so deeply that my truth was his truth.
I was terrified.
But more than that—
I was desperate.
If this was the only path forward, then I would take it.
Even if it meant exposing everything I was.
I lifted my gaze. "If it's what it takes to get stronger… then do it."
Jerry froze. His wings twitched—barely noticeable—but enough to betray his surprise.
"You're sure?" he asked softly. "Once I look, I look. There's no forgetting what I learn."
"I know."
"And you're not afraid of what I'll see?"
I inhaled, slow and steady.
"Jerry," I said quietly. "I don't know who I am. But I need to. My people need me to. If this helps me protect them, then—yes. Do it."
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then nodded solemnly.
"Very well," he said. "Then… give me your hand."
I extended it.
Jerry curled around my wrist—gentler than I expected—and his forehead pressed against the back of my hand.
A sudden warmth seeped beneath my skin.
Then—
A pull.