Shard of Ljósbrjótinn

It came not from hunger, nor grief, nor vengeance—but from arrogance.

The Rising Pride

Jón of Helgabyr had fed his warriors well. Their spirits were sharp. Their bodies strong.

But among them, a sickness grew—not in flesh, but in ego.

They spoke loudly of glory. Boasted of battles not yet fought. And one even dared say, "Not even the gods themselves could match our strength."

The Fallen Fire

Jón said nothing. But that night, he climbed the ridge to the shrine of Helga Fire-Eye.

He brought with him a piece of cracked mirror, the broken pommel of a sword never drawn, and a lock of hair taken from a warrior who once believed himself more than mortal.

He placed them in the coals.

The fire did not rise.

It fell.

Collapsed into itself, hissing like a wound.

"Pride may lift you... But even gods cast down what rises too far."

The Tale of Ljósbrjótinn

And a name came through the smoke—one never written in the skald books, never sung:

Ljósbrjótinn – "The Lightbreaker."

A warrior of old who believed himself equal to the gods. Who carved runes not meant for mortal hands. Who strode toward the Bifröst with crown in hand, thinking himself worthy.

The gods struck him down.

And all he carried shattered.

The Northern Journey

Jón followed the trail of that fall—far north, where lights dance across the sky like shattered spears.

And there, in a field scorched long ago by skyfire, he found it:

A fruit, twisted and brilliant—coloured in all hues at once, yet none truly its own.

The Humbling Taste

He tasted it and staggered.

Sweet. Then sharp. Then strange. Like a song that changed keys with every verse.

He gathered it carefully and ground it fine.

The Feast of Humility

That night, when the boasting began again, he said nothing.

He served the meal laced with the dust of the shard.

And when they ate, the room fell silent.

The burn was not cruel. It was humbling.

One warrior wept and whispered the name of a boyhood rival.

Another took off his crown-braid and laid it at the fire.

For the Shard of Ljósbrjótinn does not punish. It reminds.

That pride may lift you...

But even gods cast down what rises too far.