The Sweetness of a Flame Soul

It was after the feast of Surtr's Crown that Helgabyr grew restless. The warriors had seen fire's fury. They had tasted the void.

The Search for Joy

But now, they sought a different edge.

Not a burn of punishment... But a burn that felt alive.

Jón felt it too. A stirring in his chest, like laughter half-remembered.

The Dancing Flame

So he returned to the shrine of Helga Fire-Eye. This time, the flame did not crackle—it swayed.

And in it, the vision of a flame that danced like a woman's shadow beneath the moon.

"Go where the trees sing and the nights never hush. Seek the soul of the flame—not of war, but of joy."

The Southern Journey

Jón journeyed far—beyond the cold rivers and stone fjords—into the jungled coastlands of the south.

There, he found the Dancers of Árelud, a tribe who spoke with drums and fed their fires with fruit.

They knew of the flame he sought. They did not name it. They sang it.

The Grove of Rhythm

And led him, barefoot, through tangled green to a grove that pulsed like a heartbeat.

At its center: a tree coiled in golden vines, bearing fruit that glowed not with light—but with rhythm.

The Taste of Joy

It was warm to the touch, even in shadow.

When he bit it, it did not sting.

It sang—a sweetness on the tongue, followed by a flicker behind the eyes, then the rise... of a smiling burn.

He laughed. He had not laughed in weeks.

The Feast of Joy

He dried the fruit, crushed it gently, and carried the flame back in song.

That night's meal was sweet at first. Then heat. Then... laughter.

And the warriors rose from their seats, stomping feet, banging fists, and shouting old verses forgotten by the sober.

For The Sweetness of a Flame Soul is not a battle cry— It is a reminder that joy, too, burns.