Ragnarök
Released 10 August 2026
These ten songs are drawn from texts that were written down in Iceland in the thirteenth century, from older material that had been carried by voice for a long time before that. The Poetic Edda, the Prose Edda of Snorri Sturluson. They are not the invention of this record.
What is invented is the angle. A god kneeling at a well and paying with his eye. A warrior lying in red snow who is not afraid of dying but of what he left unfinished. A goddess who says plainly that love and war were never separable. The sources give the events; the songs give someone standing inside them.
Where a passage stands behind a song, it is printed here in Old Norse with a translation beside it. Real thirteenth-century text, not a reconstruction. Where no passage stands behind a song, nothing is printed, and that is said openly rather than dressed up with a reference that does not hold.
The record ends the world and then lets it come back green. That is the shape the sources give it, and it seemed worth keeping.
The record
The record opens before the world and closes after it. Muspelheim burns while there is still nothing to burn; the last track is a goddess who has been weeping for a thousand years and says so without apology. Between the two, the order is not the order of the myth. It is the order that made sense to listen to.
Nothing here is a battle song, which was the one rule set at the start. Thor guards a wall and thinks about the houses behind it. The warrior in the snow is not afraid of dying, he is afraid of the fires he left unlit. Odin pays for knowledge and the song is about the price, not the power it bought.
The cover
A warrior stands with his back to us at the centre of a runic circle, sword raised, between the wolf on the left and the serpent on the right. He is not winning. The sky behind him has already opened and the ships are already burning.
The back is deliberate. This is not a hero to be recognised, it is a position to be taken, and the viewer is standing where he stands.
Muspelheim
The realm of fire, older than the worlds. Surtr keeps its border with a flaming sword and will one day cross it. In the Prose Edda, creation begins when the heat of Muspelheim meets the ice of Niflheim in the void of Ginnungagap: the same fire that starts everything is the fire that ends it.
Before the worlds, before the tree Before the water, before the sea A realm of fire, a realm of flame Older than gods, older than name Surtr stands guard at the border of ash His sword of flame waits to unleash the crash No frost can touch him, no cold can bind The fire that ends what the fire designed Muspelheim burns before the first day Muspelheim waits to take it away Fire before life, fire after all Muspelheim answers the final call From the sparks came the first spinning flame Ginnungagap swallowed the void and the name Fire met frost at the edge of the world And from ash and ice, creation unfurled Muspelheim burns before the first day Muspelheim waits to take it away Fire before life, fire after all Muspelheim answers the final call First flame, last flame All things bear its name Muspelheim burns before the first day Muspelheim waits to take it away Fire before life, fire after all Muspelheim answers the final call Before the world After the world The fire remains The fire remains
Nine Worlds (Yggdrasil)
The ash that holds the nine worlds together, roots in the dark and branches above Asgard. An eagle sits at the top, the serpent Níðhöggr gnaws below, and the squirrel Ratatoskr runs between them carrying insults. Under one root lies the well of fate.
One tree stands where all worlds meet Roots in the dark, branches in the light Asgard above where the gods keep their seat Below, the dead walk through endless night Nine roads run from the one great trunk Midgard, Jotunheim, the fire, the frost Vanaheim's fields where the old gods sunk Alfheim shining for what is not lost Yggdrasil, hold the worlds in your hands Yggdrasil, root and branch understand Nine worlds turning on one living tree We are the leaves of eternity The eagle watches from the highest bough The serpent gnaws at the roots below Ratatoskr runs between them now Carrying words that both must know Yggdrasil, hold the worlds in your hands Yggdrasil, root and branch understand Nine worlds turning on one living tree We are the leaves of eternity Well of fate beneath the widest root Norns are weaving what tomorrow holds Every branch bends to what they compute Every story that has yet been told Yggdrasil, hold the worlds in your hands Yggdrasil, root and branch understand Nine worlds turning on one living tree We are the leaves of eternity One tree, nine worlds One root, one fate We are the branches That the old tree makes
Odin's Eye
Odin left an eye in Mímir's well as the price of a single drink from it. The point of the story is the exchange, not the wound. Knowledge in these texts is never given; it is bought, and the buyer pays in something he cannot get back.
Beneath the roots where the water runs black Mímir waits, and the price he demands No gold, no gift, no crown of a king Only the eye that has seen everything Wisdom is not given, it is torn from the flesh Nine worlds whisper what the blind eye sees best I kneel at the well, I offer the price One eye for the future, one eye for the light One eye to see beyond the veil One eye burns where the old gods fail Odin's blood upon the well All-Father walks the roads of hell The blade finds the socket, the well drinks it in No cry, no mercy, no place to begin The runes rise screaming from the dark below Now the All-Father knows what no man will know One eye to see beyond the veil One eye burns where the old gods fail Odin's blood upon the well All-Father walks the roads of hell What is sight, when the future bleeds What is a god, who kneels and pleads The price of knowing is never free I gave my eye, now the world sees me One eye, one price, one throne All-Father stands alone One eye to see beyond the veil One eye burns where the old gods fail Odin's blood upon the well All-Father walks the roads of hell The well runs still The eye remains below All-Father sees What no man will ever know
Thor's Wrath
Thor stands between Midgard and what lives outside it. His duel with the stone-hearted giant Hrungnir is one of the oldest episodes told about him. He is not a god of glory but of the boundary, and the songs about him are always about who is left behind the wall.
The sky turns black, the mountains shake Mjölnir rises, the giants quake No wall of stone, no gate of iron Can hold the storm that Thor is firing Jotunheim trembles beneath his stride Every step a thunder, every breath a tide He guards the wall between man and beast The red-haired storm, the giants' feast Thor's wrath, the sky is torn Thor's wrath, the storm is born Hammer falls, the thunder roars Midgard stands behind his doors Hrungnir laughed with his heart of stone Thor answered with a hammer thrown Lightning cracked, the giant fell The thunder god rang like a bell Thor's wrath, the sky is torn Thor's wrath, the storm is born Hammer falls, the thunder roars Midgard stands behind his doors Not for glory, not for gold For every hearth, for every home Not for Odin, not for fame Thor stands guard against the flame Thor's wrath, the sky is torn Thor's wrath, the storm is born Hammer falls, the thunder roars Midgard stands behind his doors The storm moves on The sky grows still Mjölnir rests Until it will
Norns' Thread
Urðr, Verðandi and Skuld sit under the tree and lay down the lives of the children of men. They are not fortune-tellers; they are the thing that happens. Odin himself walks a thread he did not weave, and knows it.
Beneath the well where the water is still Three sisters sit, and they always will Urd looks back at what has been made Verdandi weaves what is here today Skuld sits silent, her thread not yet spun What she will weave, no god can outrun Kings and beggars, the wolf and the tree All are threads in the tapestry Spin the thread, cut the thread, weave it through Nothing is written that the Norns don't do No prayer can bend it, no sword can break The fate they weave, no god can remake I asked the well what my thread would show She showed me nothing, she let me not know For the ones who see it lose the will to run And every thread must meet the sun Spin the thread, cut the thread, weave it through Nothing is written that the Norns don't do No prayer can bend it, no sword can break The fate they weave, no god can remake Odin himself bowed low at the well He too must walk the thread that they tell No All-Father's eye can see past the loom Every god walks toward his own room Spin the thread, cut the thread, weave it through Nothing is written that the Norns don't do No prayer can bend it, no sword can break The fate they weave, no god can remake Urd Verdandi Skuld Was Is Shall be The thread runs on Beneath the tree
Blood Oath (Sacrifice)
This one answers no single passage. The blót, the sacrifice offered so the community survives the winter, is attested across the sources, but the man in this song is nobody's. He is the logic of the thing rather than an episode of it: what you give up so that others do not have to.
I bring no gold, I bring no name I bring the only thing unclaimed My own hand steady on the blade This is the offering I have made Not for glory Not for gain I give this freely I give it plain The clan will eat when the winter bites The children sleep through the longest nights What I hold back, another must pay So I give it forward, I give it away Blood for the clan, blood for the land This oath is written in my own hand No god demands what I don't provide I choose this altar, I choose this side They will not know my name in the hall They will not sing when the embers fall But somewhere a hearth will still burn warm Because I stood between them and the storm Blood for the clan, blood for the land This oath is written in my own hand No god demands what I don't provide I choose this altar, I choose this side This is not loss This is not less This is the weight Of what I possess Blood for the clan Given, not owed This is my oath This is my road
The Fallen Warrior
The valkyries choose among the dead on the field and carry the chosen away. The Hávamál strophe on the facing page is the clearest thing the Norse sources say about death, and it is not consoling: what survives you is the verdict, and you do not get to write it.
The snow is red where I used to stand My sword lies close, still in my hand The battle's gone quiet, the ravens now wait I feel the cold come, I know this is fate I fought for my brothers, I fought for my name I fought for a fire that none can reclaim No song was promised, no glory required Only to stand until my strength expired Take me now, before the dark Carry me past where the cold hawks mark I am not afraid of the road I have earned Only afraid of the fires unturned I see them coming, the wings in the grey Valkyrie eyes on the field where I lay Not sorrow I see in the way that she flies But something like pride in a stranger's eyes Take me now, before the dark Carry me past where the cold hawks mark I am not afraid of the road I have earned Only afraid of the fires unturned Tell them I stood Tell them I stayed Tell them the debt Has finally been paid The hand on my shoulder is warmer than blood I rise from the snow, I rise from the mud The gate stands open, the hall shines with light I am not falling, I'm ending the fight The snow is quiet now The field is still My name is carried Over the hill
Ragnarök
Fenrir breaks his chain, Jörmungandr rises out of the sea, Surtr comes with fire and Bifröst gives way beneath the riders. Odin falls to the wolf. Thor kills the serpent and walks nine steps before its venom takes him. Then the earth rises again out of the water, green, and two people who hid in the tree walk out into it.
The sky splits open, the sun turns to blood Fenrir breaks free from the chains that he stood Jörmungandr rises, the sea turns to fire The wolf and the serpent, the world's funeral pyre Surtr walks forward, his blade made of flame Bifröst is burning, nothing remains the same The Einherjar gather at Odin's own hall Nine hundred through each door, they answer the call This is the end, this is the start Gods and giants tear the world apart Ragnarök calls, the horn sounds the doom Every ending makes room for a new bloom Odin faces Fenrir, the All-Father falls Thor meets the serpent, both answer the call Poison for hammer, nine steps then he dies Freyr against Surtr beneath burning skies This is the end, this is the start Gods and giants tear the world apart Ragnarök calls, the horn sounds the doom Every ending makes room for a new bloom And when the fire has taken it all When every god has answered the call When the nine worlds sink beneath the sea Silence falls where the old world used to be This is the end, this is the start A green earth rises where the old world fell apart Ragnarök calls, but the horn sounds anew Two survivors walk through morning dew The world was born from fire and from loss Life finds the roots beneath the frost What burned is ash, what fell is seed Ragnarök ends, the world is freed
Valhalla's Gate
Odin's hall, roofed with shields, with five hundred and forty doors so the einherjar can pour out fast enough when the horn sounds. They fight each day and feast each night. The hall is not a reward for dying; it is a muster for the last battle.
The gates are gold beyond the mist A hall of light where the fallen exist No wound remains, no scar, no pain Only the warmth of a welcome again The Valkyries carry the worthy home Through the clouds where the brave ones roam The mead runs endless, the tables long Every warrior finds his song Valhalla's gate is open wide Come home, come home, lay down your pride The battle's over, the road is done Rise now, warrior, into the sun Odin waits at the head of the hall His ravens circling, watching them all Each one welcomed, each name is known No warrior enters the hall alone Valhalla's gate is open wide Come home, come home, lay down your pride The battle's over, the road is done Rise now, warrior, into the sun Valhalla's gate is open wide Come home, come home, you've earned your pride The battle's over, the feast begun Rise now, warrior, you are the sun Gates of gold Hall of light Every warrior Home tonight
Freya's Lament
Freyja takes half of those who fall and Odin takes the other half, which is stated flatly in the sources and rarely remembered. Her husband Óðr went away on long roads and she weeps gold for him. She owns a cloak of falcon feathers and the necklace Brísingamen, and she is the one who taught seiðr to the Æsir.
I am the one who chooses half Half of the fallen come to my hall Not Odin alone claims the brave and the true I weep for the ones that the battle turns to They called me the goddess of love and of war As if I could carry one without the other Every man I have loved on the field Is a name I will carry, a wound I won't heal This is my lament, soft as the rain For love is never far from pain I gather the falcon-cloak, I gather the tears I've carried this sorrow for a thousand years Óðr wanders far, and I wait by the shore My tears turn to gold on the sand at my door Even a goddess can lose what she keeps Even the powerful weep when she sleeps This is my lament, soft as the rain For love is never far from pain I gather the falcon-cloak, I gather the tears I've carried this sorrow for a thousand years I do not hide it I do not pretend Love without sorrow Was never the end This is my lament, soft as the rain For love is never far from pain I gather the falcon-cloak, I gather the tears I've carried this beauty for a thousand years Half in sorrow Half in gold This is the goddess This is the whole
Threads to the other records
- Freya's Lament is the song Freyja says she has been carrying for a thousand years at the end of The First to Choose, on Brisingamen. The character's last word was recorded three years before her own origin.
- The gold Fafnir sleeps on, all through the record Sigurd, is the gold Freyja weeps for here. Snorri says it plainly: her tears are red gold. Two albums, one substance.
- Odin appears in Odin's Eye and again in Folkvangr on Brisingamen, carried by the same voice both times. Same voice, same character.
- The bridge of Seidr, on Brisingamen, describes what the seeress saw: the wolf loose, the water over the fields, the hall roofed with the nails of dead men. That is this record, seen a thousand years too early.