Asbjørn had never liked parties. He wasn’t exactly studying anthropology for the socialising aspect, and it was almost exclusively when Jarl dragged him along, that he left the university campus.

The air inside the big apartment was filled with smoke and the smell of liquor and warm bodies. The place had not been maintained for many years, as were the case with most of the apartments left behind by the aristocracy after the collapse of the second coalition after the Dark Period. Now the wealthy lived outside of the big cities, feeding off of the bones of the old world, or what was left of it, anyway. The stucco on the ceiling was a sickly shade of yellow.

Asbjørn felt the couch he was sitting on bounce lightly as a figure sat down next to him. The newcomer was wearing a wooden mask – not a rare sight at university parties – and in a slender hand, they were carrying two glasses of something translucent. The pale skin and tattooed black fingertips made Asbjørn feel like he was in a dream as he graciously accepted the offering of liquor in exchange for his company, an old Danish tradition.

“Yrsa,” the masked figure introduced themselves, stretching out a gradient hand to Asbjørn. When he didn’t answer, the person repeated: “Yrsa Njalbur… I’m the cousin of the guy you came with,” they said in a tone that indicated, that Asbjørn should somehow be aware of this familial relation. He quickly grabbed their hand and shook it vigorously, making the whole sofa sway again.

“I’m so sorry, I am Asbjørn Birkelund, I – “ he took at swig of the clear liquid that he had been given and immediately choked on the akvavit, burning not only his throat but his nostrils as well. Yrsa laughed and held a hand up in front of their mask to hide a grin that wasn’t there. “Jarl told me you were getting lonely over here,” they said with a purr, that Asbjørn couldn’t determine the nature of, and it made him sweaty.

“I’m not really lonely,” he ran a hand through his hair. He had trimmed it completely short before the semester started, now it was more of a fluffy mess that made his black hair look like a patch on a Zealand cow. As if they could sense his nervousness, Yrsa changed their demeaner, sitting back up and laughing innocently again. “I’m just fucking with you,” they said, slapping Asbjørn on the shoulder. “Jarl actually just mentioned you are in need of some inspiration for you thesis, and I think I may have something that could interest you!”

The sudden change in the mood and topic didn’t make Asbjørn feel less stupid and socially incompetent, but it did make being at the party seem a bit more purposeful. He took another sip of the akvavit, this time without embarrassing himself.  

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, rearranging himself on the couch to better face Yrsa, who had started playing with one of the long braids of coppery hair that grew from under the mask. They cocked their head, “have your heard about the Blessings of the Baltics?”

“The conspiracy theory that only delusional eco-theology nutcases believe in?”

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

Asbjørn could feel himself rapidly losing interest in the conversation. Yrsa was just another conspiratorial rich-kid off their tits on drugs and alcohol like their cousin, classic. He had read a bit about the phenomenon of “Blessings.” People in the East believed that after Ragnarok, dead gods would reincarnate as some sort of spirits, the so called “Blessings”, and seek to reestablish a pantheon or some such.  A bunch of nonsense, thought Asbjørn. He had seen a million old things, dead things, as an anthropology student and none of what was dead had ever come back to life. He decided that he would end the conversation gently and head back home.

“Yep, I’ve heard about it. But, with all due respect, I cannot write my thesis about a conspiracy th-“ Yrsa cut him off. They had leaned so far into Asbjørns personal space that he could smell the pine of the mask adorning the person so close to him now that he could feel their body heat. He squirmed in his seat, a bit embarrassed to be so close to another person, before Yrsa lifted their mask ever so slightly and whispered something to him, that made the hair on his neck stand up:

“I saw a Blessing with my own two eyes.”