If any other knows it, I know it best. Out of destruction comes rebirth. And so I sing as I fly out over the frosted land to find the one I loathe the most. Loki.

Out of shuddering ice
Out of the shattering shields
Out of the scattering hordes
Out of the skittering gales
Out of the scathing white frost
A new world.

Somewhere in the crackling mists, Loki hides, shapeshifting as fast as I can track him, just out of sight.

A ship! There! A blink of his cunning eyeshine. The tatters of my burned cloak whirl around me as I land lightly on the mast, howling with rage.