The wind howled across the tarmac as Indiana Jones stepped off the plane, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. Tromsø was as unforgiving as he remembered - - an icy edge to the air that seemed to bite right through his coat. He adjusted his fedora, squinting against the late afternoon sun hanging low on the horizon.
The town was small, a scattering of wooden buildings huddled together against the looming mountains. Fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, their sails stiff with ice. Despite the peaceful facade, something about the place felt uneasy, like the silence was hiding something.
Indy pulled his satchel tighter as he approached the terminal. A man was waiting for him just inside, bundled in a thick wool coat and a hat that barely contained his wild blond hair. He stood with the rigid posture of someone who had spent years in military service.
"You must be Dr. Jones,” the man said, extending a gloved hand. His English carried a strong Norwegian accent. “I’m Erik Solberg. I worked with Ingrid briefly before she - - " He hesitated, his expression clouding. “Before she disappeared.”
“Good to meet you, Erik,” Indy replied, shaking his hand. “You’re the one who sent word to Marcus?” Erik nodded. “I found her cabin after she stopped coming into town. It was empty - - ransacked. I thought... maybe you’d be able to make sense of what she left behind.” Indy frowned. “Ransacked by who? Locals?”
Erik shook his head, lowering his voice. “No. This was something else. Whoever went through that place, they were looking for something specific.” Indy’s stomach tightened. He motioned for Erik to lead the way. “Take me to the cabin.”
The drive into the mountains was treacherous. Snow-laden trees loomed on either side of the narrow road, their branches clawing at the sky. Erik’s truck rattled and groaned as it climbed higher, the tires slipping on patches of ice.
“You said Ingrid had been working out of this cabin for months,” Indy said, his voice steady despite the bumpy ride. “What was she working on?” Erik glanced at him, hesitating. “She kept to herself mostly. But she talked about finding something... important. She called it a breakthrough, said it could change everything we know about the Vikings.”
“That’s vague,” Indy said, narrowing his eyes.
“She didn’t like to share her research until she was certain. But she kept mentioning the old stories - - myths about gods walking the earth, about bridges between worlds.” Erik paused. “I thought it was just folklore, but... the way she spoke about it, it was like she believed it was real.”
Indy leaned back, absorbing the information. Ingrid had always been a skeptic, even when it came to legends that fascinated others. For her to chase a story like this - - it meant she had proof. “Did she ever mention anyone taking an interest in her work?” Indy asked.
Erik’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “A few weeks before she disappeared, strangers started showing up in town. Men who didn’t belong here. They asked a lot of questions about Ingrid, about her research. They didn’t say who they were, but they weren’t locals, and they didn’t seem friendly.”
The truck rounded a bend, and Erik slowed. Ahead, nestled at the base of a cliff, was the cabin. The sight of it sent a chill through Indy.
The windows were shattered, the door hanging askew. Snow had drifted inside, covering the floor like a shroud. The air was heavy with the scent of charred wood - -evidence of a fire that had been started but not fully consumed the place.
“Hell of a mess,” Indy muttered, stepping out of the truck. “I didn’t touch anything,” Erik said as they approached. “Thought it best to leave it for someone who knows what to look for.”
Indy nodded, stepping cautiously through the broken door. Inside, the cabin was a wreck. Books lay scattered across the floor, their pages torn and trampled. Furniture had been overturned, and the desk in the corner was splintered as though someone had taken a crowbar to it.
But despite the chaos, Indy’s eyes were drawn to the symbols carved into the walls. Norse runes, faintly visible beneath the soot. He knelt, brushing away the snow and ash to get a better look. “What do you make of it?” Erik asked, standing behind him.
Indy traced a line of runes with his gloved hand. “These aren’t decorative. They’re wards - - protective markings.” He glanced back at Erik. “Whoever put these here wasn’t just studying mythology. They believed they were keeping something out - - or in.”
Erik shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting toward the door. “You think Ingrid did this?”
“Maybe,” Indy said, rising to his feet. “Or maybe she found them like this.”
He moved to the broken desk, searching through the wreckage. His fingers brushed against something cold and metallic - - a small box, battered but intact. He pulled it free, studying the intricate engravings on its surface. “What is it?” Erik asked, leaning closer.
"A clue,” Indy said, prying the box open. Inside was a bundle of parchment, the ink faded but still legible. Diagrams, notes, and a map - - one that marked a path through the mountains. Indy’s pulse quickened as he studied the map. At the top was a single word written in Ingrid’s hand: Yggdrasil.
“The world tree,” Erik said, his voice barely above a whisper. Indy nodded, his mind racing. “She was onto something. Something big.” A sound outside made them both freeze. The crunch of footsteps on snow. Indy’s hand instinctively went to the whip at his belt. Erik grabbed a hunting rifle from the corner, his knuckles white as he held it.
The footsteps stopped just outside the door.
“Stay back,” Erik whispered, raising the rifle.
Indy held up a hand, motioning for silence. He stepped forward carefully, his eyes fixed on the broken doorway. A shadow moved outside - - then another.
And then, the voice came. Low, sharp, and unmistakably German.
“Such a shame,” the man said. “You’ve come all this way, only to find nothing but ashes.”
Indy’s grip on his whip tightened. Erik’s face paled. "Stay calm,” Indy muttered under his breath. “But be ready.”
The man stepped into the doorway, his black coat dusted with snow. His pale eyes gleamed with a cold, predatory intelligence. Behind him, more figures emerged, their weapons glinting in the dying light.
“Dr. Jones,” the man said, his lips curling into a thin smile. “We’ve been expecting you.”