The moment Fenrir patted my shoulder and said, "You'll do great," I knew I was in trouble.
Not the mild kind of trouble where you misplace your socks before work—no, this was the kind of trouble where your life expectancy drops dramatically if you blink wrong.
"So, just to clarify," I began, adjusting the straps of my utility vest, "if I guess wrong, I'll be encased in runic ice for eternity?"
Fenrir grinned, showing too many teeth. "Oh, it won't be eternal. Just until someone manages to break the spell. That could be, what, a century or two?"
I stared at him, deadpan. "Wow. That's so comforting. Thanks."
The wolf god shrugged, his massive shoulders rippling like storm clouds. "You've got this, Carl. I've seen you bluff your way out of tougher spots. Besides, I'll be watching… for entertainment purposes, of course."
Oh, good. Nothing like being the prime-time act for a literal god.
The "magical enclosure" Fenrir led me to looked like an idyllic garden plucked straight out of a fantasy postcard: crystalline streams, golden grass, and glowing flowers that smelled like childhood nostalgia.
But the serene façade didn't fool me.
Somewhere among the creatures milling about—a talking squirrel, a grumpy troll, a literal chicken with flames for feathers—was a Jotunn. A shapeshifting giant who could take on any form.
My task? Find it before it found me.
I took a deep breath and scanned the crowd. "All right, folks," I said, clapping my hands. "We're going to play a game called 'Let's Not Freeze Carl.' It's simple: I ask questions, and you answer honestly. Cool?"
The flaming chicken squawked indignantly.
"I'll take that as a yes." I pointed at the troll, who was busy picking his teeth with what suspiciously looked like a rib bone. "You. Favorite pizza topping?"
He blinked at me, his massive brow furrowing. "Uh… mushrooms?"
"Solid choice," I said. "You're clear."
Next, I turned to the squirrel, who was clutching a tiny acorn staff like it was the key to the universe. "Same question."
"Acorn shavings," it replied primly.
"Creative. You're clear."
The process went on, each creature giving increasingly bizarre answers—molten lava, moon dust, fermented kelp—until I got to a small, nondescript rabbit chewing on a glowing blade of grass. Its beady eyes narrowed as I crouched down to its level.
"What's your favorite pizza topping?" I asked, keeping my tone casual.
The rabbit hesitated, its nose twitching. Then it blurted, "Giants don't eat pizza!"
I straightened, masking my triumph with an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, sure, makes sense. Well, thanks for playing."
I started to walk away, then stopped mid-step.
"Oh, one more thing… could you step over here for a sec? I just need you to sign this waiver."
The "rabbit" eyed me suspiciously but hopped forward. As soon as it crossed the circle I'd discreetly etched into the dirt, the runes flared to life.
In an instant, the rabbit exploded—not literally, thankfully—into its true form: a towering, frost-covered giant with glowing blue eyes and a very annoyed expression.
"You tricked me!" it roared, shaking the ground.
"And you fell for it," I shot back. "Pro tip, work on your improv skills."
Fenrir appeared at my side, clapping slowly. "Pizza. Really?"
"Food always works," I said with a shrug. "It's a universal truth."
Barely an hour later, I found myself standing at the simulated base of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, staring up at the coiled form of Nidhogg for my second trial test. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn N()velFire.net
The dragon was massive, its scales shimmering like an oil slick in the dappled light filtering through the tree's roots. Somewhere up there, nestled among a pile of magical debris, was its stolen egg.
My task this time? Retrieve it without waking the dragon.
"Remember," Fenrir whispered, his voice tinged with amusement, "if you wake it, you'll have about three seconds before it incinerates you."
"Wow, your motivational speeches are legendary," I muttered, pulling a compact mirror from my vest. I silently thanked Agnos for pestering me to buy it. Turns out, this thing could actually be useful.
It was enchanted, of course, designed to reflect sunlight with laser-like precision. "Okay, big guy, let's see how you handle a light show."
Carefully, I angled the mirror, catching a ray of sunlight and directing it onto Nidhogg's massive eyelid.
The effect was immediate. The dragon's eyes fluttered open, pupils contracting into slits as it gazed, mesmerized, at the dancing lights.
"Disco-ball dragon," I whispered, creeping forward. "Works every time."
The egg was perched precariously atop the pile, glowing faintly with a soft, golden light. I reached for it, my fingers brushing its smooth surface, when my foot slipped on something slimy.
I glanced down, horrified, to see a puddle of… well, let's just say dragon saliva isn't a substitute for floor wax.
The egg wobbled, then tipped over the edge.
"No, no, no!" I lunged, barely catching it before it hit the ground. But my momentum carried me forward, and I landed face-first in the saliva puddle, clutching the egg like a life preserver.
Behind me, Nidhogg stirred, its massive tail twitching.
"Time to go," I hissed, scrambling to my feet. I bolted back toward the tree's edge, egg in hand, just as the dragon let out a low, rumbling growl.
Fenrir was waiting, smirking as I emerged, drenched and panting. "Dragon spit," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Bold choice."
I held up the egg triumphantly. "Better slimy than crispy."
Back at Fenrir's headquarters, I handed over the egg, my heart still racing from the close call. The wolf god examined it, nodding in approval. "Not bad, Carl. You might actually survive this test."
"Gee, thanks," I said, collapsing into a chair. "Glad to know my survival rate has gone from zero to 'maybe.'"
Fenrir chuckled, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't get too happy yet; there are four more trials waiting for you. Rest up today, and I'll see you here tomorrow."
I groaned, already dreading whatever fresh chaos lay ahead. But as I wiped the dragon spit from my vest, I couldn't help but smile. "Bring it on!"