Meaning Breakers - Honour-Bound Rivalry (Hel's Saga episode 12)

❄️⚔️ TÝR AND THE WOLF OF HEL — A SAGA OF HONOR AND RUIN ⚔️❄️
This story follows Týr soon after he loses his hand

In Norse myth, Týr loses his hand when the gods try to bind the monstrous wolf Fenrir.
Fenrir refuses to test the Gleipnir binding unless a god places a hand in his mouth as a sign of trust.
Only Týr is brave enough to do it.
When Fenrir realizes he’s been tricked and cannot break free, he bites off Týr’s hand.

Gleipnir: is the magical ribbon forged by dwarves to bind Fenrir, it’s made from six impossible things:
the sound of a cat’s footstep, a woman’s beard, mountain roots, a fish’s breath, a bird’s spit, and a bear’s sinews.
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Story: My own original tale inspired by Norse myth
Lyrics: Rewritten with the help of ChatGPT
Music: Created using SUNO AI
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Lyrics:
Through the smoke of burning kingdoms, through the blood-soaked mortal ground,
Walked Týr, the one-handed oath-god, silent where no life was found.
His blade still dripped with justice won, his rune had guided many true,
But even gods feel fading strength when half their grip is torn in two.
The Valkyries rode with shining helms, collecting worthy hearts to rise,
While lesser fallen men lay cold, beneath the crows and weeping skies.

And from the mists of death’s domain, she came with laughter cold and deep—
Hel, the Daughter of the Depths, whose shadows swallow those unfit to keep.
Garmr walked beside her like a storm wrapped tight in flesh and frost,
The Wolf of Doom whose howl had shaken Yggdrasil when Odin lost.
She carved her runes—darkness, ice—into the flesh of those denied,
Raising Draugrs for her army while the living winds of fate sighed.

Týr glared upon the wolf and queen—“So this is he who made Allfather flee!”
“A beast whose howl bent worlds in fear, now guarding Hel as she claims the slain for her decree.”
“Must I watch her army grow, must justice bow to Hel’s design?
Is this the price of losing hand and strength, the fading of my righteous line?”

Týr strode forth with noble steps, though slower now, his balance torn,
And Hel just smirked, her hollow voice like ice on nights of endless morn:
"You try to guide my footsteps? You, whose might bleeds out like mortal clay?"
"Distract him, Garmr. Teach him fear. Keep him from my work today."
The wolf obeyed with silent nod, stepping forth in stance of war,
Fangs like frozen crescent moons, eyes like storms from Helheim’s core.

Týr glared upon the wolf and queen—“So this is he who made Allfather flee!”
“A beast whose howl bent worlds in fear, now guarding Hel as she claims the slain for her decree.”
“Must I watch her army grow, must justice bow to Hel’s design?
Is this the price of losing hand and strength, the fading of my righteous line?”

Steel met fang with ringing cry—Týr swung strong but slightly late,
And Garmr felt the broken rhythm, felt the imbalance of his fate.
The wolf remembered barren snows, remembered running on one paw,
Remembered how the world had scorned him—yet he rose stronger than they saw.
He halted mid-strike, stepped aside, letting Týr regain his breath,
And spoke in growls yet full of wisdom shaped by Helheim, shaped by death.

Týr glared upon the wolf and queen—“So this is he who made Allfather flee!”
“A beast whose howl bent worlds in fear, now guarding Hel as she claims the slain for her decree.”
“Must I watch her army grow, must justice bow to Hel’s design?
Is this the price of losing hand and strength, the fading of my righteous line?”

"You fight like one who lost a limb, but not like one who learned to live,"
Garmr said, lowering his head, "Strength isn’t what the fates must give."
"Forge a shield that binds to bone where fingers once obeyed your call—"
"Let your arm become an anchor, let your sword-hand never fall."
Týr listened, stunned, to Hel’s dark wolf as he taught stance and shifting feet,
As he corrected every failing, every sway that left Týr incomplete.

The last Draugrs rose behind them, Hel’s cold runes burning blue and black,
She called her wolf, her shadow-king, to join her on the underworld’s track.
But Garmr paused, and gave Týr one final nod of warrior pride:
"Practice well, O mighty Týr. Find balance in the loss you hide."
"When fire eats the world-tree roots, when Ragnarök calls both our names—"
"We’ll meet again at full strength, not in hatred, but in honored flames."

The wolf howled once—
a sound that chilled the sun—
and followed Hel into the deathly haze.

And Týr stood stunned among the corpses, watching Hel’s wolf fade from sight—
A beast so feared that Odin fled, yet one who spared him in the fight.
Honor shaped in frost and ruin—Garmr, teacher, rival, destined foe…
Týr whispered: “I await our clash, where both shall give our fullest blow.”
“Not born of hatred, nor of loss—but of respect the gods will know.”
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