The grand ancestral house of the Landin family was unusually quiet and peaceful—a sure sign of the chaos to come. And that chaos was, as always, the handiwork of ten-year-old Liam and seven-year-old Selma.

  And here they were again—while the housekeeper was scolding the maids in her office over a missing set of keys, the culprits were already exploring the locked rooms. The children fancied themselves treasure hunters, darting through the house, unlocking cabinets at random, and emptying the contents of vanity drawers.

  But none of their discoveries managed to satisfy their curiosity or hold their attention for long. Pearls and bronze figurines were everyday trinkets to the young masters.

  Heavy footsteps echoed on the staircase, and the children exchanged guilty glances, momentarily abandoning the cabinet in the hallway. Liam recovered first, grabbed his little sister's hand, and pulled her toward the narrow staircase leading to the attic.

  Below, a maid's exasperated voice rang out as she discovered the mess in the hallway. But the boy only chuckled mischievously, fingering the stolen keys and trying each one in the lock.

  - What's in there? What's in there? – Selma giggled, having also heard the maid's lamenting.

  - The attic, – Liam whispered.

  - There must be real treasure here! – he promised solemnly, and at last, the lock clicked open.

  The old door creaked slightly on its hinges as it opened, but the children barely pushed it ajar, slipping inside unnoticed.

  Inside, they found a true storeroom of dust-covered trunks and antique furniture. Carved wardrobes and ornate cabinets stood so closely together that they completely hid the walls from view. Twisting, narrow paths wound between them, seeming endless to the children.

  The little troublemakers immediately knew they had found the perfect spot—voices calling their names echoed from below as the maids searched for them, but no one would think to look for them here anytime soon. Liam turned to his sister with a triumphant grin.

  - Well then? Let's find some treasure... – he whispered conspiratorially.

  - We'll hide it in the garden and make the maids search for it... – Selma nodded, her plump lips curling into a smile.

  - Whoever finds the best jewel has to give up their cookie tin to the winner, – Liam teased, spurring his sister on.

  Giggling, the girl darted down one of the narrow pathways, her little heels tapping against the wooden floor. She was still too small to open the top doors of the cabinets, but that didn't stop her from standing on tiptoe to peek through their glass panes.

  - There! Look! – she called to her brother after a long search.

  Liam, still small himself, took a moment to spot Selma behind the thicket of chair legs from stored furniture. The dim light filtering through the grimy windows barely pushed back the gloom.

  - Liam, is that a jewelry box? – Selma asked when her brother finally appeared from behind the dresser.

  She was pointing at an old, carved box resting at the bottom of a painted chest. She hadn't been able to lift the lid fully and was instead holding it up with both hands, peering inside.

  - Yeah, for jewels, – Liam nodded and pushed the lid back against the wall.

  - It's mine! I found it! – the girl insisted, clearly remembering their little contest.

  - Sure, sure, – Liam smirked as he reached in to pull out the box.

  - The cookies are mine! – Selma whined, tugging at her brother's sleeve.

  - Hey! Don't pull! – Liam protested, struggling with the heavy find.

  For a moment, he lost his balance, and the box slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a loud thud. The rusty hinges on its worn lid broke off with a sharp snap, and the box fell open, revealing its contents—something round rolled across the dusty floor, leaving a trail in the grime.

  Liam froze, first in fear of being scolded for breaking an old keepsake. But then his attention fixed on what had fallen from the box, and all thoughts of a lecture vanished.

  - A head... – he whispered, his voice turning cold with horror.

  Selma, having followed the object with her wide-eyed gaze, shrieked and ran for the door, sobbing hysterically.

  ***

  Auguste shut the lid of his worn, old suitcase, hiding from sight the hastily packed belongings, and hurried to leave the house. Though there was still plenty of time before his train departed, he was far too restless to sit still. Once again, he checked for the telegram that had so stirred him, and only after making sure the slip of paper was still in his jacket pocket did he step outside the gate.

  There was no real need to rush, yet his feet set a rhythmic pace against the cobblestones on their own. At the same time, despite his hurry, he scanned the faces of passersby, secretly hoping to share his exhilarating news with someone. But no one crossed his path, not until he reached the outskirts of the village.

  Hope flickered at last near the old stone fence, where a beautiful, fair-haired girl appeared beneath the towering maple. Auguste recognized her instantly and called out from afar:

  - Huld! – he waved in greeting.

  - Auguste, – the girl smiled back.

  - You're here again? – he remarked, slightly reproachful.

  But the pleasure of finally finding someone to talk to outweighed his sharp tone in the end.

  - It's kind of my job... – the girl replied, still good-natured.

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  - I get it, I get it—your work was passed down to you, – Auguste couldn't resist a touch of mockery.

  - But an herbalist... a druid... a witch?

  - Who even believes in that nowadays? – he squinted skeptically.

  - I'm a priestess, – Huld corrected him without a hint of offense.

  - Right! – the man snorted, glancing up at the massive tree crowned with thousands of cracked plaques.

  - And that means you're bound to stay here, waiting for someone to make a wish?

  - Exactly... – the goddess nodded.

  Huld had long lived on the outskirts of the village, occasionally entangling the threads of fate among the locals so they wouldn't grow suspicious of her unchanging youth and longevity.

  Her tree, once a site of pilgrimage, had over time faded into little more than a quaint rural superstition, and so she had grown accustomed to such questions. But what she could never quite get used to was the blatant disbelief and skepticism she saw more and more often in people's faces.

  - Not the hardest job... – the man remarked, not too politely.

  - Perhaps... – the girl smiled, and the fruits of her centuries-old labor clattered in the wind.

  - Well, I'm off to the city myself, – Auguste said, steering the conversation toward what truly concerned him.

  - Something happened? – Huld asked in a tone of polite indifference, instantly recognizing that the whole discussion had been leading up to this.

  - Oh, you wouldn't believe it—I'm on the verge of an incredible discovery! – the man beamed with satisfaction.

  All traces of his earlier sarcasm toward Huld vanished in an instant. It was almost amusing how effortlessly he transitioned from mocking her to boasting before her.

  Perhaps it was a side effect of fate's tangled threads near Huld. Or perhaps Auguste simply thought the girl was far too simple-minded to understand his excitement.

  - A discovery? – the priestess feigned a rather convincing interest.

  - A few months ago, I found an ancient box in a private collection in Oslo, containing a preserved head, – the man blurted out excitedly.

  - And today, I received a telegram saying it has already been transported to our museum, – Auguste eagerly pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and unfolded it before the girl.

  She barely glanced at it, but the man had already convinced himself that her eyes were burning with curiosity.

  - We've had a headless mummy in our collection for some time, dated somewhere around the seventh century, – the professor continued as if he had been asked, – we call it 'the headless king' among ourselves...

  - So you think you've found his head? – Huld asked, signaling that she was, indeed, following his story.

  - God, no! – Auguste laughed.

  - Of course not! – he cast a condescending look at the girl, as if he had expected such nonsense from her.

  - Both specimens bear traces of stitching—threads used to sew the bodies back together after death, – he explained.

  - But it's believed that such burials were not typical for this period...

  - I want to study the fibers and determine the approximate geographical spread of this ritual, - Auguste carried on enthusiastically, taking full advantage of the fact that Huld could not leave her tree to escape the conversation.

  - And why do you need this? – the girl interrupted with a reasonable question.

  It must be noted that this put quite a damper on the researcher's excitement.

  - Why, of course! – he exclaimed, baffled by Huld's failure to grasp the obvious.

  - My work will be of immense significance in academic circles!

  - My name will be remembered forever!

  - That is... if you are right, – the priestess remarked calmly.

  Auguste faltered—his face, flushed from his impassioned monologue, slowly began to regain its usual color.

  - Don't you want to make a wish? – Huld asked, smiling warmly.

  - If you wish to succeed in your research, just write it down, – she suggested, nodding toward the blank plaques at the roots of the tree.

  The man glanced at them absentmindedly, then burst into laughter, right in the goddess's face.

  - Clever! Very clever, Huld! – he praised the priestess between chuckles.

  - And when they write about me in the newspapers, you'll be able to tell everyone that it was your tree that made me famous...

  - No, these superstitions ought to disappear for good, – Auguste waved dismissively.

  - Science—that's where the future lies! – he tapped his temple with a finger.

  - Soon enough, even children will stop believing in these fairy tales! – he shook his head in mock pity.

  - You'd be surprised, but many still believe, – Huld answered quite seriously, gesturing toward the tree's crown.

  - Look how many wishes have come true...

  - But not a single one in your lifetime, isn't that right? – Auguste interrupted her.

  For a brief moment, Huld was taken aback by his words, until she realized that he was speaking of his own lifetime, not hers. But that fleeting hesitation only emboldened her loquacious companion.

  - Do you know how I can be so sure? – he asked smugly.

  The priestess remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

  - I counted, back when I was young, how many of those plaques were still blank, – Auguste grinned triumphantly.

  - I remember—your mother even tried to convince me to write a wish back then, but I refused...

  Huld's smile widened, though she said nothing, recalling how, a couple of decades ago, she had tried to persuade an awkward village boy to whisper his heart's desire to the ancient tree.

  - They're all still there, – Auguste narrowed his eyes slyly, – every single one...

  Huld could have told him that she could always craft new plaques from the leaves of Yggdras, but she chose not to. Partly because she wasn't in the habit of revealing too much to people, and partly because—for once—Auguste was right...

  ***

  Reaching his cramped office on the second floor at last, Auguste could barely contain his excitement. On the train, he had struck up a conversation about his thrilling discovery with a few passengers, and now he felt quite satisfied. Not even the storm that had unexpectedly caught him on the way could dampen his spirits.

  He had been in such a hurry to reach the museum that he hadn't even stopped by his apartment—his suitcase was still with him, after all. Auguste immediately opened it, rummaging for dry clothes. Once he had changed into a fresh shirt and trousers, there was a knock at the door.

  Sir, I've brought everything you requested, – said a young man as he entered, carrying a large box and a smaller parcel.

  - Oh, already? Excellent! – the professor beamed, tying the apron strings behind his back.

  – Do you need anything else? – the boy asked, carefully placing the items on the central table.

  - No, thank you, – Auguste waved him off absentmindedly, already eager to begin his work.

  - I'll take it from here...

  The assistant gave a polite nod and withdrew. Auguste turned immediately to the boxes, his fingers itching to uncover their contents.

  Inside the large museum crate lay a contorted mummy and an old, rusted knitting needle. But it was the smaller package that held the true prize—the long-awaited casket containing an astonishingly well-preserved head.

  As he carefully set it upon the table, a strange thought flickered through his mind: it looked almost alive.

  But Auguste quickly pushed the notion aside, fully immersing himself in the study of the threads left in the mummy's body and around the embalmed head's neck.

  - Professor. – The same young man appeared in the doorway.

  - The curator is looking for you—he says it's urgent...

  Auguste reluctantly tore himself away from his work but obediently trudged after the assistant, casting one last regretful glance at the newly uncovered remains.

  The door closed behind them, and the office fell into silence—but not tranquility. The fine platinum threads, finally freed, stirred upon the table. They quivered, reaching for one another, reuniting the flesh of Alf as if centuries of separation had never passed.

  For a moment, it seemed the attempt would be in vain. But the instant the head settled back into place, the withered, darkened body transformed—as though life itself coursed beneath the skin from the neck down to the very tips of the fingers.

  It was, without a doubt, the power of the Yggdrasil leaf, which had remained with Alf's head inside the casket, preserving it in its pristine state all this time.

  And so, upon the researcher's table no longer lay a decapitated mummy, but a whole, living human body.

  It was deathly pale, crisscrossed with countless faded scars from wounds long healed. But it was alive again, whole, just as it had been the first time Huld had stitched the pieces together.

  Alf's eyelids fluttered open, revealing a blank, spectral gaze of ashen gray.

  In that first moment of awakening, there was no resentment, no anger, no fear. Only apathy. And an exhaustion as vast as the universe itself.