Greenland, present day

I should find a comfortable bed to sleep in and a hot meal to eat. I should do all the things reasonable people do when they travel to a place they've never been before. But instead, I walk along the shoreline--weighed down by my heavy backpack and with airplane smell still wafting off my hair--to admire the breathtaking beauty of the northern fjords. Rugged gray cliffs poke out of the deep blue sea, which seems to stretch on forever. Above it stands high peaks where snow still lingers, even in the height of summer.

I suppose I've passed the threshold of what reasonable people do anyway. Reasonable people don't book a spontaneous trip to Greenland, telling not a soul where she went. But I, Saga Lindgren, have not only booked such a trip, but I have also actually gone through with it. I am on fucking Greenland. My boss was told I had a family emergency and my family was told I'm traveling for work. Luckily, my parents are unlikely to call my workplace to enquire about my whereabouts or vice versa.

For two weeks, the fjords and glaciers of this northern shore will cool my aching heart. After everything that went down during the last few weeks, it's sorely needed.

The ring Stefan gave me still wraps around my finger. I haven't had the heart to take it off. Not yet.

I don't know exactly how I ended up going to Greenland, of all places. When looking at the list of possible destinations, it just felt right. My broken heart won't heal in heat on a sandy beach, but rather on a frozen shore where the air is easy and clear to breathe. It was as if the island called for me, and I called for it. My fingers booked the ticker without my brain even being involved in the decision. I boarded a plane for Nuuk the next day (well, there was a layover in Copenhagen on the way).

After climbing atop a particularly steep cliff, I pull off my backpack and use it as a stool while I wipe sweat off my brow and rest my weary legs. Looking out over the bay, I feel at home. It all looks so familiar somehow like I was always meant to be here one day.

Colorful houses dot the shoreline. They look like Lego blocks from where I sit.

I look at my watch, realizing it's probably late. It was a long flight after all. The figures on my wristband show 22.02. It's hard to keep track of time when the sun never sets. Because above the arctic landscape hangs a bloodred sun, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings throughout the night. The sun won't set on this summer night, nor will it for the duration of my stay. Greenland will be forever illuminated in my mind.

The depth and vibrance of this place is like nothing I've ever seen before. It's like what the salesmen claim the newest screen technology to look like. There are hues of colors I swear my eyes have never laid eyes on before. It's like ASMR in real life. The whole place wraps around me like a weighted blanket and calms my restless body and mind.

It's not what I imagined. It's more. Whoever said Greenland isn't green lied. The Vikings knew what they were talking about when first stepping foot on these shores. Because right now, this island is sparkling in every color of the rainbow. It's like stepping into a kaleidoscope. After trudging on the gray city streets of Stockholm for most of my life, this is what my senses need.

Sitting on that cliff, I feel ready. I touch the golden ring on my finger and start to slide it off. The flight has made my fingers swollen so it takes some finagling but soon, the jewelry is removed. A sense of relief spreads throughout my body as if the blood couldn't flow freely with the metal ring blocking its trajectory.

I look at the ring for a moment, wondering what to do with it. Should I keep it? My brain says yes, reasoning that I could at least get some money for it. But my heart says no, screaming that leaving the object at a pawn shop would do nothing to mend its bruise state.

I let my heart decide. I throw the ring into the deep sea. The plop when it disappears down below the surface is immensely satisfying.

Then, my brain catches up again. Maybe he'll want it back. And I really don't want to spend my time and energy explaining to him how the symbol of our love ended up in a fjord in Greenland. It will be easier to just hand it to him so he'll leave me alone.

So I shed my fancy sneakers and roll up my jeans before carefully sliding down the side of the cliff toward the ice-cold water. I think I know where the ring landed. Perhaps I can find it again. The water doesn't look too deep close to the shore.

Every nerve in my body tenses as I dip my toe in. The Atlantic isn't warm to begin with and the water here is further cooled by streams from glaciers. But I trudge on, managing to submerge my whole left foot. The right one follows soon after.

The rock under my feet is uneven and treacherous so every step I take is slow and measured. Still, I almost lose my balance, having to brace myself against a rock that sticks up from below the water.

"Fuck!" I yell as the spiky rock dig into my fingers. This was a bad idea. Stefan can fuck himself with this damn ring. Or rather not fuck himself with it as he's not getting it back. And he's not getting an explanation either.

I look around, hoping no one heard my outburst. It almost seems sacrilege to utter suck words in these surroundings. Like nature itself is a temple where we worship in silence.

Not a soul is seen. Luckily, Greenland is very sparsely populated.

Realizing I'm close to where I last saw the ring, I decide to at least attempt to retrieve it. Not for Stefan's sake, as he can still go fuck himself with whatever implement hurts the most, but for my own. Because I made it this far.

I stick my hand down into the dark blue waves, temporarily losing sensation in every digit. There's a round indentation in the rock below and I feel around it for the piece of jewelry. Something hard meets my numb fingers, hidden beneath layers of dirt, and I pull it to the surface.

It's not a ring. Dumbstruck, I look at the object in my hand.

It's white, cone-shaped, and sharp at one end. An animal tooth is my not very educated guess. Lying in my palm, it reaches from the tip of my middle finger to the base of my palm. I don't want to meet the animal this chomper once was attached to.

Dark marks crisscross the surface. I gently blow away some of the accumulated dirt to get a closer look. It almost looks like runes, carved into the surface by a Viking long ago.

But surely, that can't be. Such ancient items don't just lay around in the water for anyone to find. Although, to be fair, who would be dumb enough to venture out in the water and stick their hand in this specific hole before me? But still, this object doesn't look old, as it's still ivory white and unblemished by age. Perhaps it's some kind of souvenir sold to tourists like me.

I let my thumb traverse the surface, rubbing the smooth surface around the marks. At the top, where the tooth used to attach to an animal jaw, is a small hole, as if the item used to be worn in a string around your neck.

I close my fingers around it, pretending there is some kind of power flowing from it to my veins. I could need it for my journey back onto stable ground.

Suddenly, the world changes before me. The lego houses disappear and darkness falls over the lands. An otherworldly fog of red sheen permeates the air. Stark winds tug at my clothes, almost knocking me over.

I look up and see a woman standing before me. Her frizzy hair glows in her otherworldly light and blue runes sparkle on her face. The skirts of her dress float like a giant jellyfish in the water, as she's submerged up to her waist. Her chest and arms are covered with streaks of crusted red blood.

She speaks in a language I don't know. The cadence is stilted and every vowel is emphasized. Some words seem familiar but I can't interpret the meaning.

I can interpret but one word.

"Björn!" she yells, her hand reaching toward the shore. "Björn!" Her voice becomes increasingly desperate as her panicked gaze scans the shoreline. "BJÖRN!"

She's calling for someone. A man named for a giant beast. The word for bear--which is also a common name in Scandinavian countries--is familiar to my ears as it's the same in Swedish and whatever tongue the woman is speaking. Icelandic perhaps?

Confused about what is happening, I reach out my hand toward her. "Can I help?" I ask, in Swedish.

Our eyes lock. She seems startled at my presence but her demeanor suddenly seems calmer.

"Bring him her," she says, my brain somehow interpreting the foreign-sounding words.

Then she's gone. The world is once again bright and still.

But still, the calling remains in the air.

"Björn!" someone calls from behind me on the shore. The voice is different, deeper, and the tone is frightened.

I turn to see a man standing atop the cliff where I left my backpack and shoes. He's the one desperately trying to get my attention. Because between us, right at the shoreline, a snow-white bear, about the size of my Toyota Yaris at home, is positioned. Small for a car but huge for a bear.

The beast growls at me, baring teeth as long and spiky as the one I'm clasping in my hand.

Author's Note: So here we go! We start with a bear attack and it will only get worse from here :)

I will try to publish about a chapter a week, but there might be more if I feel inspired.