Silent Gods

Askel woke up.

The room was a white cube, one of those prefabricated modules the university passes off as "personal spaces." Smooth walls, too clean, lit by a light that wasn't really light: a neon hidden above the door, still on from the night, spitting a cold glow. The bed was narrow, a campus single, with a thin mattress that bent under anyone's weight. The wardrobe, standard university issue, had hinges that creaked and a smell of cheap wood. The desk was covered in campus flyers, dirty cups, a laptop switched off with a battery dead for days.

The window overlooked an internal courtyard of the dormitory. A square of concrete surrounded by other white cubes, full of students living noisy, messy lives. The morning light was gray, filtered between the buildings, as if New York didn't want to grant a real dawn to those sleeping there. From the courtyard came scattered noises: a laugh, a door slamming, the sound of a ball bouncing against a wall.

And then, further away, New York hummed. A continuous hum, a metallic breath. The traffic on 3rd Avenue, sirens mixing with horns, the rumble of air conditioners on the roofs. The city was a huge animal that never really slept.

It wasn't his room. It wasn't his city. It wasn't his life.

He got up. His feet touched the cold floor, a linoleum that always looked dirty even when it wasn't. His movement made the bed creak, a sound lost in the dormitory's buzz.

He dressed.

Black t-shirt, the worn-out print of a band no one remembered anymore. The fabric was thin, almost transparent, as if it had gone through too many campus washing machines. Black hoodie, tight, hugging his body, the hood always up: a way not to be seen, or perhaps not to see. Black jeans, torn at the knees, with frayed edges brushing against his skin. Black Converse, dirty, laces untied because tying them was a formality that didn't belong to him.

He didn't look in the mirror. In the dormitory, the mirrors were small, distorting, hung badly. And anyway there was nothing to see that he didn't already know.

He put on his headphones. Large, over-ear, heavy. The cord dangled like a vein leaving his body and connecting to something more real than him.

The melody of Turbonegro burst into his ears. Norwegian rock, dirty, violent. Hank's voice screamed something incomprehensible and perfect. Askel turned up the volume. Turned up the wall. Let the music become his armor against the university world surrounding him.

He walked out.

The dormitory corridor was a tunnel of identical doors, each with a name written in colored markers, stickers, inside jokes. It smelled of burnt coffee, cheap deodorant, and lives that crossed without touching. A door opened, someone was laughing, someone was arguing on the phone. Askel walked through it all without being part of anything.

New York, outside, was waiting for him. Even if he didn't know who he was.

---

Askel found the bar.

It was the campus bar, but it looked more like a makeshift refuge than a place designed to make anyone feel at home. Square tables, scratched, with initials carved by bored students. Plastic chairs that creaked every time someone sat down. A coffee machine wheezing like an old lung, spitting steam and noise. Students talking in low voices, with that morning caution that precedes classes. The light was yellow, dim, as if half the lightbulbs had decided not to cooperate.

Askel crossed the room like a shadow that didn't want to be noticed. He went to the counter.

"A beer."

The bartender looked at him as if he were a scheduling error.

"It's morning."

"So what?"

The bartender stared at him. Askel stared back. It wasn't a challenge. It was indifference. Two people who had no reason to convince each other.

The bartender opened the can. The metallic click echoed through the bar like a small crime. He handed it over.

Askel paid. Didn't say thank you. Took the can and headed to a table in the back, the one against the wall, where no one ever sat. He dropped onto the chair, as if his body had decided to stop cooperating with gravity.

Headphones on.

Beer in hand.

The world outside that didn't exist.

Around him students talked. Laughed. Exchanged stories of classes, professors, parties, loves that lasted a night. Askel didn't look at them. Didn't listen to them. Ignored them with the naturalness of someone who had learned to live in his own private universe.

Someone approached. A girl. Or a guy. Short hair, too big a backpack, a kind expression. The excuse of a free table, a ritual question.

"Is this seat taken?"

Askel looked up. Looked at them without really seeing them. His eyes passed through the figure as if it were transparent.

"Yeah."

The person nodded, didn't protest, and walked away. A shadow that had left no trace.

Askel looked back at the window. The music screamed in his ears. Cobain. Always Cobain. The only voice that made sense, the only one that could fill the void without asking for anything in return.

He sat there for a long time.

The beer was warm now. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything, in that moment.

Through the window he could see the campus. The red bricks, the perfectly cut green lawns, the students moving like ants, following paths that had been traced for them by someone they would never meet. Everything seemed orderly, clean, predictable. A world that had no room for him.

He thought about Copenhagen. About Mimir. About the bar full of smoke and blue lights. About the blonde who had left with the guy with the bigger biceps. About the rune on his back, drawn with a care that no one had ever had for him.

He touched his shoulder blade. Felt nothing. Just skin. Just silence.

His phone vibrated. A message.

---

His phone vibrated.

A message.

"I've arrived. Me too, in New York. I'm staying with an old friend of Mom's, in Brooklyn. Tell me where you are. We need to see each other."

Askel stared at the screen.

He didn't answer.

Not because he didn't want to.

Because he didn't know what to say.

Because he had no space inside himself for that news.

He put his headphones back on.

Turned up the volume.

The guitars screamed.

The world outside dissolved into a wall of distortion.

He stayed there.

Alone.

A wolf in a cage of glass and concrete.

But now the cage had a crack.

Thora had arrived.

The thunder was in the same city.

And when the thunder comes, the fire can't keep pretending to be extinguished.

Stolen story; please report.

Askel took a sip of warm beer.

Looked at the window.

The campus moved like a quiet anthill, unaware of everything.

His phone vibrated again.

"Askel. Don't make me come find you."

He closed his eyes.

The music filled his skull.

But it wasn't enough anymore to cover the truth.

Thora was there.

And she wanted to see him.

And when Thora wanted something, the world moved.

Askel stayed seated.

Waiting.

He didn't know for what.

He didn't know if he wanted to find out.

But he knew one thing:

he couldn't ignore her anymore.

---

Askel walked out of the campus bar.

The door closed behind him with a dry sound, like a period. The New York air hit his face: a mix of smog, coffee, old rain, and metal. The campus was a neat island inside a city that wasn't. Red bricks, clean paths, students moving as if they had a precise direction.

Askel didn't.

He walked without a destination, with his headphones around his neck and the warm beer still in his hand. The music was off, but the silence wasn't better.

He crossed the courtyard. The lawn was green, too green, as if someone had painted it. The leaves of the trees trembled in the wind, but it wasn't a natural wind: it was the city's breath, a gust that came from the skyscrapers and descended like a warning.

Askel walked down the campus steps.

The city swallowed him.

---

The street was a river.

Yellow taxis gliding like nervous fish.

Buses puffing black smoke.

Bicycles darting between cars like bullets.

People everywhere: students, office workers, tourists, homeless, street vendors.

New York wasn't a city.

It was an animal.

And he was walking inside it like an intruder.

Askel shoved his hands in his pockets.

The rune on his back was cold, but not silent.

It was like a closed eye that was waking up.

He crossed 3rd Avenue.

A horn exploded near him.

A cab driver yelled something in a language he didn't recognize.

A hot dog vendor passed him with a cart that smelled of burnt onion and overcooked meat.

Askel wasn't looking at anyone.

But he was looking at everything.

The shop windows reflected his figure: a skinny guy, black hoodie, eyes that didn't want to be there.

Behind the glass, perfect mannequins stared at him like silent judges.

A group of students laughed on the sidewalk.

A girl passed him, scent of vanilla and new books.

A man sitting on the ground played an out-of-tune guitar, a melody that sounded like a lament.

Askel kept walking.

Thora's message burned in his phone.

He hadn't opened it again.

He hadn't replied.

But his legs were still moving in the right direction.

He went down into the subway.

The tunnel was a concrete intestine.

The lights flickered.

The noise of the trains was a metallic thunder that vibrated in his bones.

Askel stopped on the platform.

The people around him were a mosaic of tired faces.

A man slept standing up.

A mother held a child crying without sound.

A tattooed guy listened to music too loud.

The train arrived.

A steel serpent that screamed.

Askel got on.

Sat down.

Looked at his reflection in the dirty glass.

For an instant — just one instant — he saw something behind him.

A shape.

A shadow.

A blue glow.

Mia?

No.

Just the subway light.

Or maybe not.

He closed his eyes.

Breathed.

The train ran beneath the city like an underground river.

The subway stopped.

Askel got off.

Brooklyn was different.

Slower.

More human.

Low houses, worn bricks, graffiti telling stories no one wanted to hear.

The sky was more open, but not kinder.

Askel walked along a residential street.

The leaves of the trees trembled.

The windows of the houses reflected the full moon — a moon that seemed too big, too white, too alive.

The rune on his back pulsed.

Once.

Like a heartbeat.

Askel stopped.

Looked at the house in front of him.

The door opened.

Thora came out.

There was no music.

There was no noise.

There was no city.

Just the two of them. Brother and sister.

Thora stood on the threshold.

Blonde hair, eyes that weren't afraid of anything.

Askel looked at her.

She looked at him.

They didn't hug.

They didn't run toward each other.

They didn't say "I missed you."

They weren't that kind of siblings.

Thora took a step forward.

The sidewalk crunched under her shoes.

"You took your time," she said.

Askel ran a hand through his hair.

"I didn't know if I should come."

"You knew."

Her voice was a dry cut.

"You always know."

Askel lowered his gaze.

The rune pulsed again.

Thora noticed.

She always notices.

"Do you feel it?" she asked.

Askel nodded.

"I feel it."

Thora stepped closer.

Now they were a meter apart.

Fire and thunder.

"Then let's go," she said.

"Before it wakes up completely."

Askel looked at her.

For the first time in days, in weeks, in months...

he didn't feel alone.

The city breathed around them.

The Valkyrie of the Moon watched.

---

Thora looked at him for a long moment.

Askel didn't look away.

Not this time.

"You look like shit," she said.

Askel snorted. "New York works wonders."

Thora tilted her head. "The rune is awake."

"A little."

Askel touched his shoulder blade, as if that gesture could calm something that had never been calm.

"When did it start?" Thora asked.

"Since I arrived.. I don't know."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know anything anymore."

Thora took a step toward him.

It wasn't an affectionate gesture.

It was a soldier's gesture, checking on another soldier.

"Did you see anything?" she asked.

Askel hesitated.

Then nodded.

"On the subway. A light. A shadow. Maybe Mia."

Thora didn't seem surprised.

"If she's here, it means we don't have much time."

Askel laughed, a short, bitter sound.

"We never have time, Thora. That's the problem."

She studied him.

Her eyes were hard, but not hostile.

They were eyes that had seen too much, too soon.

"You didn't come for me," she said. "You came because there's a reason."

Askel lowered his gaze.

"Maybe."

"I don't care."

Thora shrugged. "You're here. That's enough."

Askel looked at her again.

"And you? Why did you really come?"

Thora didn't answer right away.

She looked at the street, the houses, the moon.

Then she said:

"Because I'm not leaving you alone with this. I never have. I won't start now."

Askel felt something move inside him.

Not the rune.

Something more human.

More fragile.

"I don't know if I can make it," he said.

Thora smiled.

Not a sweet smile.

A war smile.

"You don't have to make it alone."

Askel breathed in.

The Brooklyn air was heavy, full of smells he didn't know.

But for the first time in days, he could really breathe.

"And now?" he asked.

Thora turned toward Mrs. Lund's house.

"Now you come in. Eat something. Then you tell me everything, little brother."

"Everything about what?"

"Everything you saw."

Her voice dropped. "And everything you felt."

Askel nodded.

The rune pulsed.

The moon trembled.

The city held its breath.

Thora opened the door.

"Move, Áskell. The fire can't stay outside forever."

---

Thora went in first.

Askel followed, closing the door behind him.

The noise of the city went out, as if someone had flipped a switch.

The house was small.

Walls covered in books.

Ancient objects everywhere: ceramic bowls, polished stones, pieces of carved wood.

"Is she here?" he asked, in a low voice.

"Mrs. Lund?" said Thora. "Yes. But she won't bother us."

Askel wasn't convinced.

That house didn't seem like a place where someone "didn't bother."

It seemed like a place that watched.

Thora sat at the kitchen table.

Askel remained standing, as if sitting were too big a commitment.

"Talk," said Thora.

Askel ran a hand over his face.

"I don't know where to start."

"From the beginning."

Thora crossed her arms. "Always from the beginning."

Askel breathed in.

The smell of salt was stronger now.

As if the house was breathing with them.

"The rune," he said. "It pulsed. Twice. Once at the bar. Once while I was coming here."

Thora nodded.

"It was inevitable."

"Not for me."

Askel touched his shoulder blade. "For me, nothing is inevitable."

Thora looked at him with those eyes that weren't afraid of anything.

"Did you see anything?"

Askel hesitated.

Then he said:

"On the subway. A light. A shadow. It looked like... it looked like her."

"Mia."

"Yes."

Thora didn't move.

Didn't seem surprised.

Didn't seem scared.

"If the Valkyrie of the Moon is here," she said, "it means the Father of the Sea is not far."

Askel stiffened.

The name entered his blood like a cold needle.

"Don't say that name," he whispered.

"Why?"

Thora tilted her head. "Does it scare you?"

"It disgusts me."

Askel clenched his fists. "It's different."

Thora studied him.

"It's not different. It's the same thing."

Askel turned toward the window.

The moon was still there, white and still.

It seemed closer.

Too close.

"New York isn't Copenhagen," he said. "Here there's no sea."

Thora laughed.

A short, sharp sound.

"The sea doesn't need water to arrive."

She stood up.

Came closer to him.

"The sea is blood, Áskell. It's always been blood."

Askel looked at her.

"Do you feel it?"

Thora nodded.

"Since I got off the plane."

"And what do you feel?"

Thora placed a hand on the table.

Her fingers touched a small engraving.

A rune.

Ancient.

Alive.

"I feel that something is looking for us," she said. "And that it doesn't like to wait."

Askel swallowed.

The rune on his back pulsed.

Once.

Strong.

Thora saw it.

"It's awake."

"I don't want it to be awake."

"It doesn't matter what you want."

Thora stepped closer still.

"What matters is what you are."

Askel closed his eyes.

The house seemed smaller.

Warmer.

More alive.

"And what am I?" he asked.

Thora smiled.

Not a gentle smile.

A war smile.

"The blood that boils, Áskell. The fire that cannot be extinguished."

The house trembled slightly.

A distant noise.

A rumble.

Not an earthquake.

Not a truck.

Something deeper.

Older.

Thora felt it.

Askel felt it.

The rune pulsed.

The house breathed.

Thora turned toward him.

"We don't have to do anything, Áskell. Just wait for the Valkyrie to find us."

Askel clenched his jaw.

"I don't want all this shit on me, Thora."

His voice was low, broken.

"I don't want the sea. I don't want the blood. I don't want the fate."

Thora looked at him the way you look at a brother who can no longer hide.

Thora smiled.

Not a gentle smile.

A war smile.

"And you're already in it, Áskell. Whether you like it or not." - "Before you go, eat something, little brother."

---

Outside, the moon watched.

Inside, the house breathed.

And something, very far away, very deep, very ancient...

had opened its eyes.

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