CH183

CH183
I got to the history building and headed right up to Professor Halvorsen’s office for his office hours. It smelled faintly of old books and coffee grounds. The walls were lined with shelves crammed with sagas and translations, and photographs of dig sites were framed between shelves filled with thick leather-bound tomes.
I settled in as he pulled up my paper.
"So glad that someone believes in being punctual," he said, adjusting his glasses as I pulled out the printed copy of my research proposal. “Your paper was thoughtful. I've already sent you my comments for your revision and what resources might help you. Your research proposal was interesting. The Longest Night Festival, yes? And the mirrors.”
I nodded, flipping my proposal open. “I’ve read through the books. I saw the mirror at the mirror, and all the references are all… fragmented, but I do think it's part of a ritual of some sort."
"Some people call it folklore, some say it’s ritual practice, others say it’s just allegory."
"What’s real is what I want to know, or at least start thinking about.”
“That’s the fun part.” His grin was boyish despite his salt-and-pepper hair. “There are fragments in the Hervarar saga that reference ‘the twin gates of reflection’—though some scholars think it’s poetic language rather than physical objects. But there are also accounts from 18th-century antiquarians noting artifacts resembling mirrors, one of which disappeared after a fire in Stockholm.”
“The one in the museum—”
“Yes, yes,” he said, nearly bouncing in his seat. “That’s the one everyone believes is genuine. As for the other? Most dismiss it as a myth. But in old Norse cosmology, pairs are rarely accidental. Twins, mirrors, dualities all signify power, balance. It’s possible the two together were believed to… well…” He leaned forward. “To bridge things. Realms. Worlds. Even time in their reflections.”
A chill ran through me, prickling my skin beneath my sweater.
“So, they're ritualistically powerful?” I asked, my voice thinner than I’d intended. "Am I not going down some weird rabbit hole?"
“Immense power,” he said, eyes gleaming. “And no, not at all. That's the nature of researching the past! It's also the problem. With enough time, folklore and fact blur. All we know is one survived. We have no real knowledge about what it was used for, so the options for your research, the theories you may come up with, are nearly endless.” He shrugged. "I don't tend to stop my students who are genuinely curious, so here's a list of books I think might set you on the right path…" He slid a page across the table. "Given your connections, I suspect getting some translations from Norway will be quite easy."
He had to be talking about Lukas. Did everyone know we were together?
My face heated. "I… suppose so."
When I finally left, my brain was buzzing, but there was this underlying sense of dread I couldn’t quite shake. I was scribbling notes as I walked down the hall when a voice cut through.
“Still around, Winters?”
I stopped short. It was the TA from my class—what was his name? Adrian? No, Aiden. He was leaning against the wall with a smirk like he’d been waiting for me. It was eerie more than anything and made my skin crawl.
“I am,” I said, clutching my notebook tighter. "You have something to say to me?"
“Just the same, I've already said, though it's amusing, watching you waste time on bedtime stories. At least you're not pretending to be a serious scholar. Leaving the real history to the professionals, eh?”
Heat flared in my cheeks. I was halfway to snapping back when something stopped me. The way his eyes lingered and the faint curl of his lip.
He looked like he was enjoying it, and it was uncomfortably familiar. The hair on the back of my neck rose. My gut screamed danger. I stepped back. He didn’t move closer, but his smirk deepened, like he knew I was unsettled.
“See you in class, Winters.” He pushed off the wall, hands in his pockets, strolling away.
My pulse thundered in my ears. Something about him wasn’t right, but was I just being sensitive? Was he connected to Reese and the others or was he just some jerk from this time?
I wasn't sure which might bring me peace, but I headed to the library, hoping to get some of the books today.

The library was hushed, cool and faintly tinged with the scent of paper and dust. My professor’s recommendations were easy enough to find. They were all thick tomes in the Scandinavian history section with old cracked spines and titles in faded gilt lettering.
I stacked three on the table by the window; the lamplight made the pages practically glow. At first, it was the usual accounts of seasonal festivals, translated excerpts from sagas, rituals involving fire, feasting, and midwinter vigils. But then I found a section titled The Longest Night Festival: Disappearances and Rumors.
My breath caught.
The text recounted stories that stretched back centuries of people vanishing during the longest night of the year. Sometimes it was a villager. Sometimes a traveler, but they always disappeared without any explanation.
My hand stilled on the page when I reached an entry dated 1893.
Among the missing that year was one Lukas Nordheim, a figure skater from Oslo whose disappearance on that night has never been explained. Descriptions of the young man, tall with dark hair and striking features, have been recorded, but only a few images of him still exist. We were lucky to get a copy from family members.
The grainy black-and-white photo reprinted on the page made my heart lurch. It was definitely Lukas. My fingers traced the image before I forced myself to turn the page.
The next section spoke of artifacts tied to the festival. The mirror was mentioned again as a reflective gate. My mind thought portal, but there was another object.
A token of gold, inscribed with runes of uncertain origin. The meaning of the markings has eluded scholars, though some believe they are an invocation of protection or power. Others claim it served as a key, though no one has determined to what.