Greenland, present day

Waking up, my chest is filled with suffocating dread. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't make sense of anything. Bubbling blood flow into my lungs. Air is running out. Light is fading. Shadows are moving in on me, promising eternal darkness.

Am I now or then? Am I Saga or Björn? Does it matter? Present time and history blur into one as the last memories of a desperate Viking become mine through forces unknown. The memories that are all that remain of him seem to fill the room. They want someone to hear them. They want me to listen.

Björn is dead. Hope is dead. Love is dead.

The darkness dissipated as I open my eyes. Light peers in between the blinds, reminding me who I am.

My chest isn't penetrated by a dagger, at least not a physical one. As I relish in the sun's rays, air once again fills my lungs. The fog lifts in my sleep-scrambled head.

I know who I am. I am Saga. I am alive. I am here and now. But other knowledge also entrenches in me. I remember that I have once again been following a foolish path, chasing the mythical concept of love.

Love couldn't thrive on these shores six hundred years ago, my dreams have told me that, and it seems it can't thrive in the present time either. Love is doomed, no matter the era.

After the boat tour yesterday, Mikk left me to explore the city on my own while he continued working. Afterward, the plan was for us to meet up in the afternoon, but I bailed out, blaming a headache. Because the last thing I wanted was another confrontation with a man I thought I meant something to. But I knew I wouldn't have been able to avoid it, as I'm also done pretending everything is fine when in fact, the whole world is breaking at the seams.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. It has done so frequently all morning. I've ignored it. If it's Mikk, he can go feed himself to the closest bear (who on these shores probably isn't far away). And if it's Stefan, well, becoming bear dinner isn't a cruel enough fate for him. Perhaps a T-rex would be better suited to snack on him.

In theory, I know Mikk hasn't betrayed me. Any previous vacation flings were way before we met. And really, whatever we had wasn't supposed to be more than a fling either. But it still feels like he was trying to pull a wool over my eyes when he made me feel like I was special when I was in fact just another Tuesday. I thought he saw me, the real me, when all he saw was another conquest.

With a huff, I kick the blankets--as I've made myself a cocoon of warmth, aided by every blanket I could find--off myself, the cold air doing nothing to temper my anger. I figure I can just as well get up, instead of cursing every man in existence over and over while tossing between the sheets.

Fucking men! Perhaps I should indulge my bicurious side and try something new. Although I would miss certain parts of the opposite sex. Fucking men... is something I, unfortunately, enjoy way too much to switch teams.

I have to admit I'm a bit regretful about not exploring what Mikk had to offer in that department before I cut ties with him. Those big hands of his did make me curious about other parts.

Perhaps he would still be up for some exploration...

"No, Saga!" a loud voice yells in my head. It's not a departed Viking talking this time but rather common sense. Old boring common sense. I probably should listen to what it has to say though.

To distract myself from improper thoughts, I grab my still buzzing phone from the nightstand. A slew of notifications are waiting for me, most of them from Slack, the communication app used by my development team at work. I pull the app up and I'm greeted by an army of red dots where people have tagged me, confused and concerned about my whereabouts.

Soon I discover angry comments as well. My lack of response to the initial queries--on account of the differing time zones, although my coworkers obviously don't know that--seems to be taken as a sign that I've shirked my responsibilities as team leader.

I scroll upward, looking for the source of the buzzing. Why is everyone suddenly so worried about me? Having a family emergency usually suffices as an explanation for sudden time off, no questions asked. And I do have a lot of vacation days saved, on account of always putting work responsibilities before pleasure. I fucking deserve this break, regardless of the reason.

Reaching the top of the string of messages, I find the catalyst of it all.

Stefan. Of course. The fucking bastard himself. In a teary message, he explains to everyone at the whole damn office that he's talked to my mother, who knew nothing about a family emergency and was as concerned about my whereabouts as him (well that explains the dozen or so message from my mom, that I haven't even dared to look at), and that he's deeply concerned about my mental state.

Well, he better be, because he caused it.

I knew dating a co-worker, and a superior at that, was a bad idea. Everyone told me so, but I didn't listen. And now my personal business is all entangled with my professional life.

Before I met him, I was doing so well. A young woman heading a team of men at a software company, making myself known as a meticulous and dedicated leader. Then came Stefan, the new head of design at the company. He blew me away with his charming smile and way with words. He blew everyone at the company away. And I become nothing but an accessory to him. I wasn't Saga anymore but merely Stefan's girlfriend. While in his mesmerizing aura, I felt alright with that, but now, with literally thousands of miles between me and him, I can't believe I played that part.

I'm the main character of my own saga, not the supporting act.

After sending off an apologetic message to my mother, telling her I'm alright and will explain everything soon, as well as a salty private message to Stefan, telling him to shove it and mind his own business--which don't include me anymore--I put my phone down and resolutely rise from the bed.

I need to leave this island. I need to head home and fix the mess I left behind. There is nothing for me here anymore anyway.

***

Leaving plenty of tips to Mikk's mother--who can't be faulted for her son's jackassish ways--I sneak out the backdoor with my few belongings packed into my backpack. I don't even know what time it is, and the never-descending sun gives me few clues. But judging by the lack of activity on the streets, it's still early.

Which gives me time to enjoy Greenland's nature one more time while leisurely walking toward the airport. I was able to rebook my return ticket on my phone for a small fee and will leave this island right after noon.

A sense of melancholy fall over me as I watch the glittering sun hitting the dark blue waves. I will miss the colors of Greenland. I will miss the silence and calm of an island with fewer people living on its surface than a mid-sized Swedish town.

I will miss Mikk, I can't deny it. I will miss the hope that stirred in my chest when looking into his eyes.

But hope was just an illusion. A beautiful saga not meant to be told.

My hands freeze in the cold morning wind. Not even summer is temperate on these shores. After blowing hot breath on my frozen digits, I shove them into my pockets to thaw.

In the folds of the fabric, my fingers hit something hard in my right pocket. Something I had forgotten still dwelled there.

I hold the beartooth up to the light, inspecting the runes again.

Björn

My mind can suddenly read the inscription even though my eyes can't. The message seems so obvious now. The artifact is the last thing that remains of a man who so tragically perished on these shores long ago. Perhaps he couldn't let go of his mortal dreams, so his story lingered in the forgotten object thrown into deep waters.

I can't bring the tooth home with me. It belongs here. And it would also likely be difficult to explain to customs why I'm carrying an ancient object across international borders.

So I decide to go back to where it all began, on a cliff overlooking Greenland's cold waters. Trying to retrace my steps, I doubt myself a few times before I find the right spot. But once I'm there, I can sense it. This is where I found myself pulled into Björn's story. This is where I saw Gudrun in the water, calling for her lost love. At least that's what I assume her message to be. She called for someone who's lost forever.

There's a vibration in the air that hums in tune with the wind, and my heart seems to take on the same cadence as I stand there, taking in the atmosphere. I can't explain it, but I know in my heart that I've found my way back to the source of my Greenlandic journey.

I've only been here a few days, but yet it feels like a lifetime. Perhaps because I experienced Björn's whole lifetime with him during my stay. But now, my journey has come full circle.

It's time to put the beartooth back where it belongs.

I raise my hand, cradling the artifact in my palm as I prepare to throw it into the watery depths of the polar sea.

That's when my surroundings change. Cliff turns to moss and bright morning light to muddy twilight.

As I hear a roar behind me, I turn.

Not another fucking bear!

But of course, it is a bear. A huge beast with jagged hair raised on its back and rows of sharp teeth visible. The animal stands opposite me in what is now a clearing filled with wilted bluebells. A bloody dagger spills red drops across velvety underbrush.

It's a bear one moment, and then, the next moment, it's not a bear. In place of the beast, stands a man with scarlet runes painted on his chest. His eyes are pale blue like the Arctic sky and encircled by a thin darker ring, like a halo around a celestial object.

I know this man. I've seen him in my dreams.

"Björn." I reach my hand toward him, wondering if he's even real. Can he be? He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be at all anymore.

"Saga?" he says in a tongue I don't speak but yet rings familiar to my ears. "Come."

The next moment, the bear is back. But the eyes are the same. Sky blue iris with a circle around, dark as the roaring sea. The gaze is wild but also pleading. It's the look of a human, not a beast. A man who's suffered everything these icy shores can throw at you.

The animal looks at me and then it turns, looking back at me as it walks away, as if asking me to follow.

I obey. I start walking behind the huge beast, willing to go wherever it will take me.

Bear. Björn. In my native language, it's the same word. Perhaps the man and the beast are also the same.