The missing scout had hidden further into the depths of Hel than Aela had ever imagined, though whether they travelled towards fighting or away, she wasn't certain. Days went by with gruelling slowness, each hour spent trekking both a test of patience and a trial on her sanity. When she'd realised her punishment, where she was being sent…she'd expected… more . More death and fighting and punishing battle, rather than the sheer boredom came from sneaking endlessly through near identical tunnels and the endless fear of being ambushed. She wasn't about to complain about the calm , but the anxiety of the group was…grating. Every drip, and scrape, and falling stone had them falling silent. Breath held tight until they knew for certain they weren't being attacked.

There was a reason platoons always travelled in big groups - Hel was unpredictable. One fight would be a few stragglers, hunting for death on the outskirts; and the next would be a rush of hundreds, swarming like spiders. Thankfully, the few they'd had in the depths whilst looking for the scout were the former, rage filled stragglers searching for battle and blood.

You could never ignore the chance of the latter though, the possibility that your footsteps would draw an army, a great swell of rotting death. They kept a near-punishing pace, never staying still for long and only sleeping when they needed to; always ensuring someone was keeping watch. It didn't help that she felt watched, even when everything rational told her it was impossible. They were in the dark, in tight tunnels and scrambling down rockfaces - any undead would have attacked.

They at least had direction now. They'd been hunting at random, going down paths they knew he'd been aiming for…areas he tended to frequent, and it had paid off - they'd started finding symbols days ago. Tiny, almost invisible signs that were only familiar to those who'd been on the front lines, who'd spent years living cramped in the dark. Sten knew some, and her sparring partner knew more, but she felt…lacking.

She needed to learn.

She forced herself to focus on every little detail, feeling the walls as they did. Mirroring their actions and manually noting each symbol. She observed them carefully, copying the way they held themselves, forcing her mind to focus and cut out everything else - not caring about the dark, the damp, the standing water and the stagnant smell of the place. If she focused enough, then she wouldn't get distracted. She wouldn't think every glimpse of orange or green was…him. She kept telling herself the ghost wasn't a ghost, just her stress. Her imagination. They say you saw your life, before dying. Perhaps she saw the dead before truly living . That, or it was some remnant of his magic, infused with hers. An inevitably of activating that Asgardian magic. She had to remain sharp, never distracted. Couldn't allow herself to dwell. Couldn't let her mind wander to the reality that she felt…watched, and what that could mean. Couldn't dwell on her grief, or her fear, or the dreams that felt like they were cracking her psyche like a nut.

She needed to fix so much. So much within herself, within her people, but most importantly, down here. Down in the dark, where all her expectations were entirely wrong. She knew she needed to plan, but had no idea where to start - knowing the easy option would lead to her death. If she were to kill the Lieutenant it would certainly get rid of the figurehead, but would be pointless in the long run - she'd be wiped out in an instant. Loki had gotten it so won't, and she needed to ensure she didn't do the same. She needed time to think, to plan. To bring these soldiers on side.

Fear inspired an army, yes. But loyalty? If they were loyal to her, they'd follow her into the unknown without thought.

So she made sure that they saw her learning, following their lead and absorbing their knowledge with reverence. And as if turned out, the scout had left quite the trail, if you know where to look - and she thanked the Ancestors every moment that the cave dwellers knew exactly that. They found every scrape and nick in the walls - both purposeful and accidental. They led the entire party forward through that dark, steps whisperlight for such large beings.

The frost giant at the front swore quietly under his breath, sighing deeply and turning to the rest of the group. "He's gone into the city"

Another cave-dweller at the rear of the group groaned; rubbing at her face and Aela looked back towards her with confusion, glad to see the same expression on Geva's filthy face, behind her as the man stepped forward, asking the question before Aela got the chance to. "A city?"

"From… before " came the whispered reply. "It was a city, Ancestors, must have been aeons ago - we suspect it was ours, Nifl maybe - settlers who didn't realise they'd moved between realms, or some original residents of Hel who were the first guards, or maybe a race of people before it became Hel. We…don't know"

Aela blinked, confused. She'd grown up with tales of Hel exactly as this Nifl had, of it being dark, desolate, ruled by no one and swarming with reanimated undead, ready to seep into the living world and kill it at any moment. She remembered the shock Thor had shown when she'd said as such without mentioning Valhalla, Folkvang or Ran's watery domain.

She'd hoped to end up in Valhalla, obviously, but in Niflheim, it was treated as an ideal…a wish. It was too hard not to be incredibly practical, to expect Hel when one passed. She'd chuckled, and had told him not to worry, that the warriors of Hel faced fighting most days, as promised, and had been forced to apologise to the Prince later, as wounded as he was. He didn't know though, hadn't seen warriors returning wounded and exhausted. He hadn't witnessed small towns, raised to the ground by a crack left unfilled. He hadn't spoken to the witches, who often kept those cracks sealed with powerful magic without telling a soul.

But a civilisation, down in the gloom? It felt impossible, but she'd learned over the week she'd spent with these cave-dwelling warriors not to naysay what they promised was truth. They knew this land, survived off it, and were experts in its intricacies.

And they were right. By the Ancestors, as they trekked ever forward and scrambled down what felt like a sheer cliff edge she was faced with a cavernous space filled with rolling mists and the queer shape of buildings. She held in her gasp, not wanting to be the one to draw the enemy and simply took in what was before her. The space was impossibly large, lit enough by the bioluminescence that she could see a deep ravine, though she'd know it was there by the mere sound of it, rushing below them. Within the mists, which stunk of lichen and earth, she could see towering, tottering buildings and couldn't help but wonder just how long it had taken to pull wood so far underground, to build these ancient homes.

Or did they not have to? Was there vegetation down here, originally? Had they been able to farm, and feed themselves? Had there been great caverns with light and earth enough to grow trees? The idea of it was practically unthinkable - they'd only been able to forage mushrooms and lichen, water that sheened uncomfortably. But if this many people had lived down here, enough to fill these houses, there had to be more.

They were piled high, extensions upon extensions of rickety buildings with peeling, cracked paint. Lichen and moss covered and tilting uncomfortably against one another like drunkards stumbling home.

She steadied herself on the wall in shock, letting the cold slowly seep in through her gloves and bring her back to a place of steadiness and calm.

"It's overwhelming, isn't it"

She glanced back to the Nifl from before, hair so cropped the pale skin of her scalp was visible under the mushroom glow, even streaked with mud as it was.

"Like he said earlier" the woman continued, handing Aela a waterskin and gesturing to the Elf who'd spoken before. It had a different stopper than the others, and as she lifted the cork Aela chuckled, seeing it certainly wasn't water within. "A city"

She handed the waterskin back, savouring the burn as it slid down her throat and stepped forward onto a wooden bridge, frowning at the sway and height of it, the age of the ropes.

"It's repaired, whenever someone scouts down here. This isn't ours, but it's too useful to let fall into total ruin"

Oh. She stepped forward, watching how the heavy, large frost giants at the front carefully tested each plank, making it safety across before holding a hand out to help her. She accepted it, grateful to feel that cool, familiar brush of magic across her skin; and immediately followed one of the giants into a building, paying careful attention to the total silence of the group, the way they'd tied fabric around their mouths and noses to try and muffle even the slightest noise.

So this was useful territory, but completely contested . Marvellous. She could see why the scout had come through though, it had more than enough places to hide. They ducked through what looked to be some sort of storeroom - the shelves long empty - and down a thin, winding path. Each house they pushed open, and moved through, quickly and quietly. Unable to separate, to cover ground in small pairs - unable to sound to each other from a distance. She'd managed to go a few days without…without thinking of her pack, but their mind-speak would have been so useful in this moment. They could have covered the ground quickly, mentally signing off that each dwelling was safe. That it was free of undead, and of missing scout.

Instead, they moved as one, tapping an all-clear into the hand of the person in front, treading lightly to avoid making any noise. They looked for any sins, and breathed with relief at the first carving, a simple arrow laid upon the remnants of a butcher's block.

…A Butchers, so far underground

It felt so suddenly, achingly familiar, and she shoved her feelings down. What did they eat? What did they hunt? One of the frost giants caught her expression and she mimed shooting an arrow, gesturing towards the meat hooks to show her question and he smiled before flattening his nose up and raising his arms, miming flight.

"Bats?"

She kept her voice low, moving in as close as possible before talking, before asking, and shook her head as she could see him try not to laugh. She hadn't seen a bat since they very first came into the caves, but by the size of the hooks, these were no ordinary bats…

She gestured with her hands, about the size of the pure black bats they'd seen when they'd entered - a dinner plate or so, and he shook his head, stretching his hands to about the size of a pig instead.

Ancestors…

He pointed below them, and she grimaced. Lower down, in the chasm, or further into the tunnels and caves? It was bad enough avoiding the undead, trying to dodge almost certain mauling at their hands…but to worry about the wildlife too?

They moved in groups for a reason…but the scout - were they even alive?

They left the butchers, dodging rotten floorboards and planks, watching out for any more signs among the detritus - a scratching into a doorframe here, a table there, cups arranged to form arrows and sigils she mentally catalogued, knowing how helpful it would be to read them as the seasoned veterans did. They continued moving through as one, carefully moving around tables that still seemed set, beds that had rotten down to nothing decades before and great piles of what looked horrendously like guano.

It was quiet, but the entire group somehow fell into a further unsettled silence as they came across a blooded handprint - still vaguely damp and impossibly stark against the brown of the doorframe.

"Do your people bleed red?"

The question came from behind, and Aela bit her lip, knowing the answer.

No

But neither did the undead. Someone was down here, and they were bleeding. Badly, looking at the visible trail they'd left behind them. She brushed a finger through the stained doorframe, frowning as her digit came away mostly clean. How old was the blood? And why did it feel almost familiar?

She pushed forward, feeling something in the dark call out to her magic, her soul .

Unfortunately, one of the Frost giants moved forward too, and a loud creak was the only warning sign as the very floor gave way underneath them, dropping herself and a few of their party down into the dark.

She desperately clamped down on her scream but it was pointless, the shocked and terrified screams of the others echoing through the chasm. A hook flew past her, one of the others quickwitted enough to scramble their grappling hook from its holster. Aela glanced downwards, realising quickly that yes they'd fallen, but this was a settlement built entirely on top of itself. Her own grappling hook unclipped easily but instead of up, she threw it out; feeling the judder throughout her entire body as the hook scraped along a roof before wedging in the supports.

She'd never been so glad for her gloves as she gripped hard and slid down the length of the rope, heart thundering in her chest as she came to a juddering stop towards the end. She was latched against the side of a house, and heaved her legs upwards; contemplating dropping her pack for a brief moment before deciding against it, instead forcing her aching body up the long length of rope.

Her muscles strained and bulged with the effort and she slipped more than once, grip giving way and sending her down the rope.

"Ancestors, if you're watching…" the words died on her tongue, rasping and dry from misuse. "Anyone watching, please. Please give me strength"

If Heimdal was watching would he laugh or would he pity her? Filthy, exhausted, sweating and crusted and unwashed, hanging by a rope over a ravine in the pits of Hel?

If she let go…

No. She planted the flat of her foot against the wood and pushed, lifting her hands one at a time and dragging herself up the side of the building. She wasn't going to die here, flailing against the side of a rotten hut .

She reached the top and hauled herself onto the roof, glad for its flatness, the gable long since worn through. Breathed deeply, unclipping her water skein and sinfully gulping a great glug of it into her parched, cracked mouth. She needed to get back to the others, needed to find the others.

"Horns, you alive?"

They'd given up on subtlety then…

Sten had made it. It must have been his hook she'd seen, as he was two or three roofs beside hers, looking just as pale and shaken as she felt. She gave him a thumbs up before laying back for a second, willing her heart to calm.

"Sound off!"

She scrambled to the edge, trying to squint and peer up at the others, but saw nothing. It was too dark, too misty. Beneath her though, another soldier whistled, and from the distant dark she heard a second whistle - each slightly different.

Only four, then. How many had fallen? It had happened so quickly…

"Did you see how many fell?" she asked, looking over to Sten, who shook his head. "Both giants, I think, but…I don't know"

"The other Nifl was behind us"

"The elf too, maybe?"

She hadn't been paying attention. She'd been focused on their stupid fucking symbols and hadn't paid a lick of attention to who was beside them. Behind them…

She sighed down at her half-ripped gloves and dislodged the grappling hook, checking the house beneath her feet and groaned as she realised she couldn't see the floor, couldn't check if the boards were safe. She needed light…she could see in the dark well enough, as all Nifl's could, but…

No.

She concentrated, and blinked away the darkness, realising she could see the inside of the hut, there just weren't any floorboards to focus on. Lord, if she'd have dropped in, she'd have been right back to square one, dropping down into nothing.

The focus did her good though. She needed it, for what was to come. Because if she couldn't go down …then her only option was across. She focused her vision as much as possible, glad for the slight night vision her bloodline gave her as she willed her strength, her determination, and jumped across to the next roof - hearing the faint whisper of Sten swearing ahead of her.

She crawled forward a few feet before stumbling to her feet and scrambling through the gaping window of the following house and carefully moving through its bedroom. The floorboards in this one were sturdy, and her chest ached at the knickknacks in the small space - crumbling frames with pictures, toys, a wardrobe falling off its hinges to reveal hanging tatters of clothes.

A family had lived here…with children…

She forced herself to keep moving, climbing out of the large window at the other side of the room and up onto the next roof - bracing herself against another gust of stagnant, sweet-smelling air. Sten was close now, but also so far away, further than she'd be able to jump.

She looked around for a ladder, a trellis…anything to make the journey mildly easier.

"I'll meet you half-way, and then you just throw me your grapple!"

Was he insane ? He was safe, on his roof - she could see from her position that it was strong, stronger than the ones she danced across, anyway…If he were to leave his position, to climb down and make his way over, it would simply put them both in danger, rather than just her.

"Aela, you can't make it alone"

She wanted to agree, to fall into a pit of self-doubt…but it had never really been her style. She'd always been the one to prove people wrong, after all, not give in. She'd trained her whole life to fight, to lead. She'd shown naysayers again and again, and she could feel the strength in her own body, regardless of her lack of sleep, of food. She could feel the magic inside of her body welling up, strengthening her from her very core.

She felt…radiant.

Everything grew light as she sized up the difference and ordered Sten to stay in a voice that wasn't quite her own.

Whatever was in that voice, whatever was showing on her face, he listened. He stepped back and moved his hands desperately - as if praying, as she stepped back and bounced on her heels for a moment before darting forward - feeling swifter than the wind itself and launching herself from the edge of the roof, throwing the grappling hook in her hand forwards with impossible energy and light.

Everything was light, as she made that bound; radiating outwards from her very core, as if determination was a magic in itself.