Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TUONEN

“Do you remember the rules?” the giant’s voice comes booming toward me from down the tunnel.

“Frankly, I don’t remember much of anything right now,” I admit. It feels like I’ve been walking through this cave system all day; my bones are weary. I don’t dare complain to Vipunen, though. He’d merely laugh, so utterly unaffected by it all.

Must be nice , I think.

Even Rauta has lost his earlier spark and vigor, padding silently beside me, sniffing the air occasionally.

“The most important rule of all, Tuonen,” Vipunen chides me. “Come now, you didn’t spend your youth training with me to not remember.”

Right. The training. All those years with the blind mask and the sword, and for what? For me to be captured so easily, and by my own damned mother? Though I suppose some of it must have come in handy when I defeated that tentacle thing.

“I can’t look at you,” I affirm. “But I left my blind mask at home. You wouldn’t have a spare, would you?”

Vipunen chuckles, making the crystals on the tunnel walls chime. “I will stay hidden. Your sight will be safe from my true form, and you and Rauta will be safe under the mountain until you are ready to fight again.”

“Well, am I getting there anytime soon?” I say, wincing at how whiny I sound.

“Patience is a virtue,” he says, “even in such urgent times as these. Perhaps especially so.”

I ignore that. Virtues are overrated. I’m not that kind of God.

We walk on, my footsteps echoing in the silence, accompanied by the soft scrape of Rauta’s claws on stone. The tunnel widens and the light changes—faint glimmers catch on mineral veins in the walls, sending subtle rainbows dancing over the rock. Though Vipunen promised I wouldn’t need a blindfold, I’m still wary about how much I might see. He said he would stay hidden, and I trust him not to break that rule. Still, I can’t help but feel uneasy, remembering the old lessons, the emphasis on not beholding his true form.

Eventually, we emerge into a broad cavern, and my shoulders relax as the space opens around us. Rauta lifts his head, ears perking up at some distant drip of water. The air is warmer here, the darkness not so absolute. I can see faint patterns in the stone, subtle shifts of color and texture. It’s quiet. Peaceful, even. A far cry from the chaos outside.

“Tuonen,” Vipunen’s voice resonates, not loud now, but steady and calm. I cannot pinpoint its source—he might be above, below, behind any of these shimmering walls. Just as he promised, I see no giant figure looming in the darkness, only diffused light that seems to seep out of cracks and crevices, as if the very stone were alive with his presence. It reminds me of being young and blindfolded, relying on other senses. But now, my eyes are open, even if I cannot fully understand what they see.

Rauta pads closer to my leg, nudging me with a gentle prod. I rest my hand on the dog’s metal skull and feel warmth radiating from him—a comfort in this strange domain. We are far under the mountain now—safe, as Vipunen said, but safe for how long, I don’t know.

I wet my lips and try to speak, my voice echoing faintly. “Vipunen, I hope you know how glad I am to see you—or not see you, as it were—but I need answers. I need to know what’s happening outside. The land is in turmoil. Old Gods awakening, Louhi’s forces twisting the realm’s fabric. Kaaos is finally here. My father fights a war that only grows more dire. I need…I need to understand what I can do, what role I play in this.”

If any.

A soft rumble like distant thunder passes through the cave. “Always searching for understanding,” Vipunen says, matter-of-factly. “You know the realm is wounded. Louhi and Rangaista have stirred horrors once laid to rest. The living, the dead, and the Old Gods are entangled in conflict. Your father stands at the center, forging alliances, trying to restore balance. But the scale of this war outstrips mortal or even godly strength. Forces older than memory now stride upon the Earth.”

I swallow, heart pounding. So he knows exactly what’s going on out there and yet doesn’t seem concerned at all. “Then you must know about Sarvi,” I say quietly. The unicorn’s name is bitter in my mouth. “Louhi captured them, drained their power, and I can’t help but feel responsible. If I hadn’t been trapped myself, my own horns sawed off for her magic, maybe I could have saved them.”

Rauta’s ears flick at the sound of my voice. He feels my guilt, I’m sure.

“Sarvi lives,” Vipunen replies, voice calm but unyielding, causing a bolt of relief to spike through me. “Though its energy wanes, it remains alive. Louhi uses it much as she once used Ilmarinen—an unwilling conduit of power. Your question is whether to go back and save Sarvi or continue forward, seeking your father, forging ahead in the war. You hesitate between duty and compassion, between the urgency of battles yet to come and the pain of a friend’s suffering.”

I nod, though he cannot see it—or maybe he can. “Yes,” I say. “If I go back, I risk losing ground and being recaptured, and my mother sure as fuck won’t let me escape a second time. If I move forward, well, maybe I can help my father win the war…but then I abandon Sarvi to torment.”

The thought claws at my chest.

Vipunen’s voice resonates through the stone, a steady pulse of truth. “You ask what you should do, but you know I will not command your choices,” he says. “I am the Oldest God, older than the troubles that plague your land. My role has always been to observe, to oversee. When you were young and blindfolded, I taught you patience, perception, acceptance of uncertainty. I never interfered in Death’s struggles, even though I cared for him when he was small, guiding him as one might guide a seedling into a mighty tree. I do not fight your battles. I do not alter fate’s course on a whim.”

His words strike a chord of memory. When I trained here, always in darkness, I learned to listen without sight, to move by instinct, to trust I could act without needing to see the path laid out. I always wondered why Vipunen never took sides, never lent a hand when needed. Now, I see—it’s not his nature. He’s a historian, a witness, a keeper of ancient secrets—one who nurtured my father, yes, but who never took up arms for him.

Too bad for us.

I look down at Rauta, searching for reassurance in the dog’s red eyes. He stares back patiently, as if waiting for me to find my own answers. The silence stretches, broken only by a gentle dripping of water somewhere deep in the rock.

“But Sarvi—” I start, voice wavering.

“Sarvi’s fate is woven into the larger tapestry,” Vipunen interrupts, tone even. “Saving the unicorn now might cost you dearly, diverting you from tasks that shape the realm’s future. Pursuing your father instead might mean leaving Sarvi to endure more pain. Such dilemmas define heroism, Tuonen. There is no neat solution.”

My hands curl into fists. “So I must choose, then.” I know he won’t give me a final directive. He never has, never will.

Vipunen’s voice softens slightly. “Do you truly wish council from me?”

“Yes!” I exclaim.

“Stay here,” he says. “Under the mountain, you are safe from the immediate horrors above. You are weary, uncertain. Patience was always our lesson, was it not? Your father—Death—knows me, and if he seeks knowledge or aid, he will come here. It might even be the only way to reclaim Shadow’s End. Eventually, your paths will cross again in this place. Fate has a way of folding back on itself.”

I reel at that suggestion. Stay here? While war rages, while Sarvi suffers, while my father struggles? The thought fills me with anger and dread. Yet, Vipunen’s logic is sound. Cowardly, perhaps, but sound. Rushing out blindly might achieve nothing but my own downfall. If I can’t trust my senses, or if I’m too weak to change the outcome, I might waste the advantage of being here, in this timeless sanctuary, under the watchful eye of the Oldest God.

Rauta nudges my hand again, as if to say listen . You came here for truth, for safe haven. Vipunen offers both, in his mysterious, detached way.

Choices are so terribly heavy when they’re yours alone to make.

“So you advise me to wait? To trust that, in time, the world will turn, and my father will find me here?”

Vipunen’s laughter is gentle, like distant echoes in a deep canyon. “I do not advise, Tuonen. I only state what is. If you remain, you hold a vantage point outside the fray, allowing fate to run its course until the moment you are truly needed. Your father, or those tied to him, will seek knowledge only I hold. When they do, you’ll be here, ready to join them. If you leave now, chasing Sarvi or chasing battles, you risk losing this critical junction.”

My pulse pounds in my ears. The pain of indecision claws at me. Yet, a strange calm seeps in as well. Vipunen’s domain is quiet, eternal. The war outside will continue whether I flail at it or not. I’m no hero who can singlehandedly turn the tide. Perhaps waiting is wise. Perhaps that’s the hardest lesson—knowing when not to fight.

I swallow hard, voice cracking. “I’ll stay.”

Rauta gives a low, affirmative huff. The dog seems content with this decision, as if recognizing that resting and gathering strength might be best. He has already done so much for me; he deserves the rest.

Vipunen’s light glows brighter for a moment, only to dim to a comfortable glow. “There are streams deeper in, edible fungi, places to rest. Time flows oddly here; you will not starve or wither. Think of this cave as a womb of stone, cradling you until the moment comes to be reborn into action. That moment will arrive, I assure you. Your father will not forget you, nor will fate’s tapestry neglect your thread.”

I bow my head, tears slipping free now—not sobbing, just quiet resignation and sorrow for Sarvi, for the realm, for my own helplessness. All the emotions I’ve tried to keep buried inside come to a head at a most inopportune time.

But there’s also a flicker of hope. If Vipunen says my father will come, I must trust it. My father is strong, resourceful, and surrounded by allies. Plus, he’s spiteful as fuck. If there’s a way to save Sarvi or to strike at Louhi’s heart, he’ll find it, and I can rejoin him when the time is right.

“Thank you,” I manage, voice low, raw. “I’ll wait. I’ll learn patience again.”

Perhaps I’ll have a virtue after all.

Vipunen’s presence hums through the stone, a gentle reassurance. “No thanks needed. You walk your own path, Tuonen. I am only the light in the cracks, the old watcher who shaped you long ago. Rest. Regain your strength.”

I guide Rauta toward a quieter corner of the cavern, where a small pool of water reflects the faint glow. The dog settles down, laying his iron head on his paws. I kneel beside him, trailing a hand through the still water. The silence is profound but not lonely. I have Rauta, at least, and somewhere above, my father and others fight for the realm.

So, I wait, breathing steadily in the hush of ancient stone and gentle light as time drifts and destiny’s pattern weaves unseen.

Unseen by all but the Oldest God.