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Odin stood on the creaking porch of the farmhouse, the mountain air cold and sharp, cutting through the warmth of the late afternoon sun. He cradled little Saga in his arms, her small hands clutching at the collar of his shirt as she babbled and giggled as he smiled down at her.
Freya stepped through the front door behind him, carrying the last box of her belongings. She set it down at the top of the steps, moving to stand next to Odin. The bed of her truck was already neatly filled, stacked with cardboard boxes and suitcases - filled with her life, packed up and ready to leave.
She made it look so easy, so matter-of-fact, as if she wasn’t abandoning everything she’d ever known.
But Odin couldn’t find it in himself to blame her, not after what he and Tor had done. He didn’t regret making that deal with Door - it had kept their family safe, kept Freya safe - but the price... they had lost Freya, after she had found out about their role in her Saga's father leaving. It gnawed at him, a dull ache that settled deep in his chest, and he had spent countless nights wondering if they had made the right choice.
But they were safe, he reminded himself, Freya and Saga were safe, and that was what mattered. Even if it meant that Freya would be raising Saga far from Bright Falls, far from the farmhouse they called Valhalla and the secrets that lurked in the dark waters of Cauldron Lake.
Freya looked to Odin, taking in the sight of him holding her daughter. For a brief moment, her expression softened, and something flickered between them - something almost like understanding, even if it was tinged with resentment.
And he found that he couldn't blame her for resenting them.
"I’ll miss you," Odin said, his voice barely more than a murmur, thick with emotion he couldn’t quite swallow. He forced a smile as he glanced down at Saga, letting his thumb trace gentle circles on her tiny hand as she tried to reach up and grab at his eyepatch. "And little Saga. You'll have to take up the role of storyteller for her, now."
Freya managed a small smile in return, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She took Saga back into her arms, settling the baby against her chest, and Odin felt the warmth leave his own. He knew she was trying to keep her distance, trying not to let herself break in front of him. But he could see the struggle in the tense line of her shoulders, in the way she blinked rapidly against the afternoon light.
He knew she didn't want to go - but he also knew she couldn't bare to stay.
"I’ll make sure to call and write," she said, but they both knew the words were empty, the kind of lie you told when the truth hurt too much to admit. The kind of lie that was as see-through as glass, but neither mentioned it.
Odin nodded anyway, his hands lingering awkwardly by his sides, unsure of what to do with the restlessness that had settled into his bones.
He thought of Tor, hidden upstairs, refusing to face the reality of Freya’s departure. The two brothers hadn’t spoken since that final, bitter argument between Tor and Freya - Tor taking to dealing with his frustration by drinking and loudly abusing his drums. The sharp words that both Freya and Tor had said during their argument still echoed in the empty spaces of the farmhouse, ugly truths and lies that neither party wanted to think about.
When everything settled, Odin knew that Tor would regret what he had said.
Odin swallowed hard, feeling the weight of unspoken words pressing down on him like the clouds rolling in over the mountains.
"Tor, he’ll—" Odin began, but his voice faltered, the rest of the sentence withering before it could take shape. He’ll miss you too. But Freya’s eyes hardened, and she shook her head sharply.
"Don’t," she said, her voice a tight, controlled whisper. "Dad is... Tor is the reason I’m leaving. Don’t defend him. Please." She glanced down, adjusting Saga’s blanket around her shoulders to shield her from the cold, and Odin saw the pain in her eyes - the same pain that was now driving her away from Valhalla, away from the life she’d tried to build here.
Away from her family.
Freya carefully walked down the porch steps, easily avoiding the loose board Tor had been meaning to fix for the last month, rocking Saga lightly as she went. Odin picked up the last box that had been sitting at his feet, following her down the steps to the truck. He placed it carefully in the bed of her truck, fitting it in among the others, and turned back to face Freya. She lingered beside the driver’s side door, her arms wrapped around Saga like a shield. Her expression softened, just for a moment, as she looked up at him, the lines of tension smoothing from her face.
"I know you were involved too, Uncle," she said, her voice rough but steady. "But I don’t blame you the same. You... you didn’t try to lie to my face. You aren't my dad."
He nodded, feeling the words settle like a stone in his chest.
Odin took a step closer, his heart pounding in his chest. He hesitated, searching her face for any sign that she might refuse, but then he reached out, pulling her into a hug, the kind of embrace that had always been second nature between them, ever since Freya had been a child much like Saga would soon be. Saga was held between them, her eyes big as she quietly looked up at her mother and grand-uncle.
Odin didn't want to think about how Saga wouldn't remember this. Remember them.
Would Freya tell her about them?
Freya stiffened at first, her body rigid and unyielding, but after a few seconds, she sagged against him, her forehead pressing against his shoulder. Her breath came in shaky, uneven bursts, and Odin clung to her just a little too tightly, as if trying to hold onto her for just a moment longer. He could feel his heart breaking in his chest as reality began to set in, the final price of the deal they had made coming to fruition.
He felt her fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt, trembling with the effort to keep herself together. He could feel the damp warmth of her tears soaking into his shirt, the quiet, choked sobs she tried so hard to hold back.
It was a hug that burned, that left a raw, aching hole in his chest even before she pulled away.
"I wish it could have been different," he whispered, the words slipping out unguarded, carrying all the regret he couldn’t quite put into words. Freya tensed, her grip tightening for a heartbeat, and when she pulled back, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I'm sorry, Freya."
And he was, truly, so terribly sorry.
But if he had the chance to change it, he would still make that deal.
"This doesn’t change anything, Uncle," she whispered back, voice rough and unsteady as she tucked Saga's head close to her chest. "I can’t forgive him. Not now, and... I don't know about ever."
Her words struck him like a blow, but he nodded. "I know, Freya. I... I know." Freya rubbed her arm absently where his grip had been, as if trying to brush away the lingering touch. "I’ll miss you, kiddo," he whispered, his voice raw. "And Saga. Take care of her. If you ever need anything... you know where to find me."
Freya pulled back, offering him a smile that wavered at the edges before she turned away, climbing into the driver’s seat. She twisted to settle Saga in the car seat on the passenger seat, quickly snapping the harness clips and settling her blanket over her. As he watched, Odin felt the distance between them stretch like a thread, fragile and ready to snap. He watched as Freya turned the key, the old truck sputtering to life, and he felt his heart shatter as he watched Freya look to the gate that led out and away from her home.
Suddenly it was real.
She was leaving.
Freya hesitated for a moment, one hand resting on the steering wheel, before glancing back at him through the open window.
She looked unsure, her eyes darting to look at the farmhouse behind Odin for a brief moment, and all Odin wanted to do was beg for her to stay.
But... he knew that it was for the best, for her and Saga to leave.
"Where will you go?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it, though he already knew he wouldn’t get an answer.
Freya’s lips twitched, curving into a small, cryptic smile that reminded him of Tor at his most stubborn. "I won’t be telling you that, Uncle," she replied softly. "You know why."
If she told him, it would only be so long until Tor managed to drag the information out of him.
And then, with a final look back, Freya pulled her gaze away and drove away, the tires crunching over gravel as she guided the truck down the long, winding road that led away from Valhalla. Odin stood on the lawn, watching until the red glow of her taillights vanished into the dense line of trees, swallowed by the shadows of the forest.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the farm in muted shades of orange and purple, and Odin felt the emptiness of the farmhouse settle around him like a shroud.
He glanced up at the second-story window, half-expecting to see Tor standing there, but there was only darkness behind the glass.
And as the night crept in, Odin knew that he would never see his niece again.