Ebba led me down towards the forges.

 

“I feel privileged.”

 

“I trust you because, no offense, I don’t think you would understand what we do here.”

 

I laughed. “You’re right. I’m not meant to be a smith or an enchanter.”

 

“No. You are meant to be a protector.”

 

And would I live long enough to find out what it was my task to protect. “I…”

 

“I see things sometimes. It radiates from you. You want to keep Kanesha safe. You respect her enough to know you can’t do so, but it hurts.”

 

“It does,” I admitted to the dwarfmaid. “I want to know she will always be waiting for me, and…”

 

“And you don’t trust your own ability to preserve her essence.”

 

“No. I don’t. I’m not sure I know what I’m doing.”

 

We stopped at a sort of balcony. Below, a dwarf was making an axe blade. Preparations for war.

 

“At least you know you might not. Far too many refuse to admit the basic fact that we are all ignorant of something.”

 

I laughed.

 

“Take Balur down there, for example. Fantastic weaponsmith. Never eat his cooking.”

 

I laughed again. “You’re trying to cheer me up, aren’t you.”

 

“No, I’m reminding you that people, like tools, have their purpose. Try not to use them against it.”

 

“I’ll try,” I promised. “Although learning to see it clearly…”

 

“Pheh. I think you’ll manage.”

 

“If I survive.”

 

She seemed to consider that. “That I can’t guarantee. The fire seeks you.”

 

I let a bit of fire form on my palm. “I think it’s found me.”

 

“Not quite yet. You could still turn and walk away and be something else.”

 

And live, went unspoken.

 

But the fire sought me, and I knew that whatever happened, if I took one more step towards stopping Surtur it would claim me.

 

One way or another.

 

“Maybe I can, but…”

 

“But you are trying to find a way to stop Ragnarok and there’s no sense walking away if there’s nothing else to be.”

 

“I’m afraid it’s too late.”
Ebba looked down again, the forgelight brightening her features. “No. It is not too late.”