I felt… exposed.
Like something had peeled back the layers of my thoughts and memories, spread them across a table, and let someone else—Jerry, of all creatures—thumb through them one by one. My skin prickled. My chest felt hollow. The back of my neck tingled with the eerie sense of having been watched.
Jerry lay coiled on my blanket, breathing strangely fast for an ancient serpent. His scales shimmered faintly, as though whatever he'd just seen hadn't left him entirely.
"Jerry?" I whispered. "What happened?"
He didn't answer immediately. His tail twitched. His pupils were narrow, sharp. He kept opening his mouth like he was going to say something, then shutting it again.
Finally, he exhaled—a tiny hiss.
"…I found out how to use the blessing."
His voice was quiet. Quiet in a way I rarely heard from him.
My stomach tightened. "You did?"
"Yes." He shifted, trying to appear casual, but the way his coils bunched betrayed him. "You need to give an offering at the holy altar. That's what lets you summon them."
"As Fylgja?"
"Yes."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
"…Jerry," I said slowly, "I thought you could only have one summon. One Fylgja. That's what every book says."
"Mortals," he scoffed, "know nothing."
"That's comforting."
"You can have multiple Fylgja," he continued, ignoring me. "But the process is different. Infinitely different. They aren't companions you gain through emotion—they're bound through offerings. Oaths. Bloodlines. Divine contracts."
"So you're saying," I summarized, "that nobody knows it's possible because it usually isn't possible."
He bobbed his head. "Correct."
"And I can just… do it? As in… now?"
"Yes and no." He hesitated again. "You still need an altar."
"Right." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "An altar. In a school. Totally sensible."
Jerry blinked once, then twice, before letting out a long groan.
"I forgot to tell you how to reach it."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
"You forgot?"
"It was hectic!" he snapped. "Your soul realm is—how do I put this? Chaotic. Unstable. Like a shipwreck in a thunderstorm."
I glared.
"Anyway," he continued quickly, "you can go to the altar anytime you want. You don't need to physically find it. Just say the phrase."
"What phrase?"
Jerry sat up straighter, as if reciting something sacred.
"'By the grace of Odin, take me to the altar.'"
I blinked.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
It sounded too simple. Too easy. Too dangerous.
I stood up slowly, my legs trembling slightly from everything that had just happened. The room felt colder somehow. Or maybe that was just me.
Jerry watched me with a mixture of curiosity and dread.
"What," he finally asked, "are you planning?"
I looked at him.
And I smiled.
Not the forced smile I wore in front of nobles.
Not the awkward smile I used with professors.
Not the hollow smile I had mastered in the fog.
A real one.
His pupils dilated. "Wait—Mavis—hold on—let's think rationally—"