(“Völuspá [The Prophecy of the Seeress]”, from the
Three robed figures sat in the shade, gazing into the still waters at the foot of the great ash.
The tree, Yggdrasil, stretched forth throughout the heavens, connecting the Nine Realms, and these women, the Nornir, tended it, while weaving the destinies of men and gods alike.
There were dappled reflections on the pool, not of leaves and the canopy above, but of worlds, of lives.
The one most central in their view belonged to a pale, raven-haired youth, twice-royal son of a king, daughter of a queen, rival to a prince. Troubled. Troublesome.
The oldest of them pointed, and one small life at the edge of the water came forward easily, willingly, and placed itself next to the one they'd been studying.
This image was curious, open, steady.
, they nodded.
The youngest among them indicated another: it was shimmering, brightness both magnified and obscured. It drifted, serene and purposeful, not once faltering in its direction.
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