Greenland, present day

The museum of Nuuk is all straight angles, glass, and metal beams. A modern marvel at the outskirts of human civilization. Upon seeing the impressive building, I ask Mikk if we can take a peek inside. I figure I should learn about the island while I'm visiting.

The spacious entrance hall is filled with people and noise as we enter. It reminds me of the tedious conferences my employer likes to send me to. Buzzing people and empty talk.

"I forgot about the damn eclipse," Mikk groans while trying to get the attention of one of the attendants. "So many damn people here. But I know this guy, I'll see if he can let us in without having to stand in line for tickets."

"What eclipse?" I ask, dumbfounded.

Mikk does a double take, apparently flabbergasted that I haven't heard about this event. "There's a lunar eclipse coming up next week," he explains. "Apparently it's some kind of rare event that only happens every few hundred years. They call it a midnight eclipse as it occurs during the midnight sun. So people from all over the world flock here." Looking at the masses of tourists, he gives out an exasperated sigh.

"That's not why I came," I mumble as Mikk starts talking to the guy who checks tickets by the entrance. The ensuing conversion in their own tongue is rapid and friendly and it ends with us being let through without tickets. With a smile and a nod from Mikk's acquaintance, we're let loose into the interior of the impressive building, where glass cases display samples of the flora and fauna of the land.

As we enter the second exhibit, spiky runes carved in red into a granite surface call for me across the dimly lit museum hall. I leave Mikk's side to peer through the glass at the familiar script.

It looks just like the carvings on the artifact that's hiding in my pocket. Perhaps it belongs here, among relics of times past.

The mere thought of giving up the item makes my breath go shallow. I can't even pinpoint why, but it feels like parting with the carved object would be like parting with a vital part of myself. Why am I so attached to this remainder from ancient times?

"Bring him here," the woman in the water said. I wonder who she's referring to. Perhaps the man who has been telling his story through my dreams? Is he even real?

If I let go of the tooth now, I'll never know. And I need to know. To have that goal is tethering me to the present instead of pulling me back to the past. Although, I suppose the blurry visions are from times long past as well. Just not my own painful past. Another past where everything was at once simpler and more difficult. The intricacy of social media was an unknown concept but starvation and hardship lurked around every corner.

I scan the exhibits next to the stone. A sign translates the message letter by letter to introduce the observer to the runic alphabet, which is quite different from the Latin one we use to this day. Without removing the treasure dwelling in my pocket, I try to remember the shapes of the carvings on it. Comparing it to the chart, I think the inscription might start with a B.

The story of the Viking settlement on Greenland, which is told on the screen in front of me, soon distracts me from the translation task. Fascinated, I scroll page after page of fact sheets and lore.

"Vikings settled on Greenland in the 10th Century, after an expedition that the sagas tell was lead by Erik the Red."

"Initially the civilization thrived on account of a lucrative trade of walrus tusks to Europe."

"Populations declined after as the weather grew harsher during the 14th Century, in what has become known as a small Ice Age."

"Constant strife with the Inuit population, who arrived from the Canadian Polar regions in the 12th Century, which sometimes lead to outright battle."

"The last written record of the Norse Greenlanders is dated in 1408."

"When a ship arrived on the island almost 20 years later, as the ice sheets cut off the transportation routes during that time, no one remained. Strewn-about belongings and unlocked doors indicate that people left in a hurry."

"No records or traces have been found indicating what happened to the Norse Greenlanders or where they went."

I gasp as I read the last words. Everything up to then rang so familiarly like I've already been told this enigmatic saga before. Scenes of constant winter and endless battles against both nature and man start to play in my mind.

I've already seen this story in my dreams.

But the ending hasn't happened yet. Not in my dreams at least. Maybe the answer can be found there, in the borderland between reality and imagination.

"Vikings, eh?" Mikk's melodic voice pulls me back from the precipice of the past.

I nod, flipping back through the slideshow on the screen to make sure I haven't missed any vital facts. "What do you think happened to them?" I ask, still intrigued by the final mystery.

He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe nothing happened at all. People are so caught up in mysteries that perhaps they miss the most obvious conclusion."

"Which is?" I abrupt my browsing to peer at the man next to me. The bright light of the displays doesn't exactly dull his handsome features. But his demeanor appears more subdued than before like something is bothering him.

"That they never left at all. Some may have perished in the cold weather but others may have realized the errors of their ways as they saw others--my people--still thrive despite the cold. Perhaps they joined them when it became clear that was the only way to survive."

"The presentation said that the Inuit and the Vikings fought..."

Mikk shrugs again, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking everywhere but me. "Perhaps that presentation doesn't tell the whole story, Saga." While quickly browsing through the few slides he shakes his head. "My people have been telling stories of those times for generations, it's just that they didn't write them down. My favorite saga as a child was my grandma's tale of my far-away ancestor who came walking across the ice from nowhere. He had eyes as blue as a glacier and he spoke a tongue that sounded like ice sheets cracking. But that story wouldn't make it into a museum, would it?"

He turns, leaning on the railing by the exhibit as his eyes peer far away in the distance. I feel like I've insulted him but I'm not sure how.

Unsure how to broach the subject, I perched myself next to him on the railing. As I'm shorter, I can sit on the top bar while my legs balance on the bar below. A giant whale skeleton is suspended from the ceiling of the dark hall, creating a feeling of being transported to Jurassic Park.

"Did I..." I start, worried I've somehow put my foot in my mouth. "Did I say something wrong?"

Mikk sighs for what seems like forever. Perhaps he's trying to find the right words as well. "It's just..." he mumbles. "It's not your fault really, I guess. But you ran through all the exhibits about my people only to peer at the one Viking display. And I get it, I guess, like they're your people and there's this whole mystery people get wrapped up in. But I guess I was hoping to..." his voice trails off, as he insistently gazes at the giant white skeleton above us.

"Hoping to do what?" I ask softly, moving a bit closer to him on the narrow railing. Hopefully, my clumsy side won't strike mid-moment and have me tumble to the ground.

He's quiet for a moment, while distant chatter from other visitors fills the air. "I was hoping I could show you my Greenland," he finally says. "Because I love this island, I really do. It's part of me, really. But I feel like so few visitors truly see this place for what it is. Like I run tours with tourists all day and all they do is snap pictures of pretty views, and perhaps the back of a whale if we're lucky. They tick Greenland off their bucket list and then they leave. But they don't see beyond the beautiful exterior. They don't see what these lands truly mean. I was hoping that by showing you that, I could make you stay another day."

As discreetly as possible, I move my hand along the railing. I inch it closer and closer to his resting fingers. Slowly, I lift one of my fingers to tap on his knuckles. The skin is calloused from work outside in the cold weather. When Mikk doesn't protest, the rest of my fingers join in the exploration. I let my whole hand cup his. Well, as much of his hand as it can cover at least, as Mikk's mitts are quite giant.

I try to not get distracted by the thought of what women always say of men with big hands.

That's not important. What's important is to assure the man next to me that I didn't mean to dismiss his entire culture with my thoughtless actions.

Maybe I need to tell him about what I found. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he could even help.

But right here and right now doesn't seem like the time nor the place for such revelations. Perhaps the museum guards will think I've been stealing from the exhibits if I bring out the artifact hidden in my pocket.

"I would like to see your Greenland," I say, daring to look over at him. I catch a brief glance of dark eyes that are as nervous as mine before my braveness falters. "And I have nowhere else to be. You don't have to make me stay. I will stay anyway."

"That's not what you said this morning..."

"I changed my mind." I shrug, trying to make it seem like no big deal. But I know I have to stay because I have to figure out the end of the story. Both the story in my mind and the one that's perhaps starting between me and Mikk.

Hopefully, these stories both have happy endings.

"Please, tell me the story of your Greenland," I continue.

Standing up, he grabs my hand in a steady embrace. My fingers are completely encased by his warm grip. Perhaps living in a frozen paradise makes your body accustomed to heating itself.

"Come on then," he says, finally meeting my gaze once again. His smile is as warm as his hand.

"Where are we going?" I ask, following the man whose hand is attached to mine.

"Home," he replies. "Because the real story isn't here."