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The Jötunheimr, the Land Of The Giants
The Jötunheimr, the Land Of The Giants

The Jötunheimr, the Land Of The Giants

Franc68Lorient Montaner
1 Review

In the spring of 1910, we embarked upon an improbable journey to find the legendary giants of Jötunheimr—the mystical home and realm of the Jötnar. What we would ultimately discover was a place no mortal man had ever seen, nor even imagined.

That is, until a local peasant swore, he had found this unique and secret place. My name is Harold Dankworth, an English archaeologist by profession. I had received a correspondence at my home in London from a Swedish colleague, Ludvig Johansson.

In that private letter, I was invited to join his expedition in search of this mysterious land of towering giants. I was reluctant at first, given my lack of belief in tales of supernatural beings, but in the end, I acquiesced. It was the tantalising possibility of uncovering something lost to time that ultimately intrigued me, despite my scepticism.

Our destination was the boreal forest in northern Sweden, commonly known to the locals as the Taiga. It was also known for its cold climate and tundra, but fortunately, it was spring and not winter upon our arrival. The landscape was dense and covered in both coniferous and deciduous trees, near the region inhabited by the native Saami people. Their land was called Sapmi, and they were the oldest surviving ethnic group in the Nordic countries.

The area was rich with rivers and lakes, as well as minks, otters, warblers, falcons, and a host of other creatures dwelling in the forest. It was in this vicinity that the peasant had claimed to see a giant. Yet even that did not necessarily mean we were in Jötunheimr itself.

Amongst the members of the expedition were three Swedes—Andersson, Karlsson, and Nilsson—and a Saami named Ailu. There were six of us in total. We had originally planned to spend a month on our exploration, if necessary, though we hoped it would not take that long to locate the giants’ fabled homeland.

These men were all reliable in their abilities and experienced in navigating such harsh terrains. We entrusted them with our time, our safety, and our resolve. Perhaps it would have been wiser to employ more men, but whatever danger we might encounter, we were prepared. None of us truly believed we would find the literal giants of Norse legend.

It was more reasonable to hope, perhaps, that we might discover a primitive race of large humans, or even surviving Neanderthals, hidden in some uncharted crevice of northern Sweden. I had travelled by ship from England to Sweden, then taken the train across the country until I reached the nearest northern town. From there, I was escorted by one of Professor Johansson’s men to the cabin from which we would set off the next morning.

During the train ride, I found myself musing over the letter sent by Johansson. We had met the previous year at a conference in Stockholm. He was a clever and imaginative man, but the contents of his message had seemed questionable at best.

As an archaeologist, I had been engaged in the study of newly discovered fossils unearthed in Africa. Sweden, by contrast, was an exotic place to me—a land of stunning natural beauty and myth. Upon arriving at the town where Professor Johansson awaited me, I was taken to a log cabin where the other expedition members were lodged. I was eager to discuss the journey and the possibility of making a true archaeological breakthrough.

I noted at once that Johansson shared that same eagerness. It was reassuring to see his ambition mirrored in my own. I am not a man easily discouraged, and neither was he. We had the right people, the right season, and the right tools. The only thing we could not control, besides the weather, was whether or not we would ever find Jötunheimr.

Our evening discussions naturally turned to Nordic mythology. He was an avid reader of the Eddas, and I was fascinated by what he revealed. He spoke of the jötunn, supernatural giants in Old Norse tradition, who lived beyond the boundaries of the gods and men, in remote lands like Jötunheimr.

He also explained that, according to the Eddic sources, there were lands in the far north that could not be reached easily—realms cloaked in mystery. Most striking to me was his detailed description of Ragnarök, the cataclysmic series of events said to end the world: a great battle, natural disasters, the death of gods and giants alike, and the eventual flooding of the world.

After this apocalyptic deluge, the world would rise anew and be repopulated by two human survivors—Líf and Lífthrasir. He even mentioned biblical references to great giants, allegedly some 450 feet tall, as well as Scandinavian folktales in which Thor himself journeyed to the land of the giants.

There was something undeniably captivating about these ancient legends. I was already familiar with the names Odin, Loki, and Thor, amongst others. It was easy enough to be charmed by these stories, but I had not come to Sweden to chase gods and monsters.

By the time our conversation ended, we had finalised our preparations. Though we could not control the fickle weather, we were well aware of its potential shifts and packed accordingly. Spring in the Taiga, like autumn, is brief and unpredictable. We had to make the most of it.

In the morning, we left the cabin and began our expedition—unaware of what might lie ahead. The weather was favourable, and the terrain, though challenging, was navigable thanks to our skilled guide and proper equipment. As we pressed forward, I could feel the weight of the forest closing in around us—the towering trees, the looming peaks, the vast stillness. It was a place where one could vanish and never be seen again. I had never seen anything quite like it in England.

Fortunately, there were narrow but discernible paths to follow, and we decided not to stray too far from those marked on our maps. The place where the peasant claimed to have seen the giant lay several kilometres ahead.

Professor Johansson was keen to reach the site before sunset. I carried a compass to track our direction, and a pocket watch to monitor the time. As we moved deeper into the forest, I was struck by the sense that something—some presence—was hidden beyond the veil of trees. To presume it was Jötunheimr was certainly imaginative, but perhaps imagination was necessary in such a place.

We stopped briefly to rest and discuss what we had observed so far. Nothing yet had convinced me of giants lurking in these woods, but I did still hope to find some fossil or remnant of a forgotten species—a bone fragment, perhaps, or the ruins of some ancient settlement.

That, admittedly, was still a lofty expectation. During our pause, the idea of a lost race of Neanderthals resurfaced, and Johansson was intrigued. Could a population of such beings have survived here, hidden for centuries?

If that were the case, their genes might have continued, despite the dominance of Homo sapiens. It would suggest they were not extinct at all, but secluded and isolated. As for a literal race of giants, that was still more difficult to accept.

When we resumed our journey, we followed the designated path until we reached the place where the peasant had allegedly encountered the giant. The site was surrounded by massive trees, their trunks like stone pillars, reaching up into the sky.

I was impressed, yet I quickly realised that I was only in a forest, not in some mystical Eden. We had searched around for immediate clues, such as distinct tracks or broken branches. The Saami then retraced the entire route the peasant had taken before he encountered the giant.

At first, there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary—until we stumbled upon a nearby area where rows of trees had been knocked down. There were enormous footprints. We approached the site, astonished by the sight of the fallen trees and colossal prints; even the Saami was in total awe. It was uncommon to see such senseless destruction—let alone footprints of that magnitude.

Who could have caused this, and for what purpose? Whose gigantic footprints were these? Professor Johansson was as bemused as I was. What logical explanation could we surmise? Was it possible that the fallen trees were the result of human neglect, and the footprints merely strange impressions?

The Saami disagreed with my analysis. He insisted that the forest was too sacred to be despoiled by his people. When I suggested that outsiders were responsible, he dismissed the idea. He was convinced that the footprints belonged to a Jöttun. In the end, we lacked any solid proof that could establish culpability—or confirm the presence of giants.

The sun was setting, and we decided to camp for the night. Although we had lanterns to assist us in the darkness, they were insufficient to guide us through the dense forest. We gathered around the campfire, where Professor Johansson and I spoke at length about what we might ultimately discover. He, too, was pragmatic and a realist. The idea of discovering lost tribes was far more appealing than indulging in the fanciful notion of Nordic giants.

Still, even if we doubted their existence, it allowed us to converse about them. There was a shared mythology between the Norse peoples and the Saxons of England. The word Jöttun had its English counterpart in Ettin. That linguistic similarity was more than coincidental—it hinted at a common cultural origin.

When we awoke in the morning, we resumed the expedition. Countless rows of trees had been felled. It was impossible to determine the full extent of the destruction. We examined the huge footprints meticulously, measuring and photographing them to document our findings.

Although the footprints were enormous, our measurements suggested they did not resemble those of any known animal or beast that roamed these woods. I kept a journal throughout, recording every detail of our expedition.

Eventually, we reached a river, where we rested and regained our vigour. There, our conversation turned to how best we could explain the events unfolding before us, and how we might categorise the footprints without knowing to whom—or what—they belonged.

As an archaeologist, I was acutely aware of how the scientific community—and the public—would perceive our findings. Stories of yetis and wild men were familiar to the public imagination. Without solid, indisputable evidence, any discovery we made could be dismissed as a hoax. Deceiving the scientific world, or the general public, was never my objective.

I began to persuade myself that the footprints might belong to some unknown or undocumented species. Amongst our team—excluding the Saami—there was widespread confusion. While the men were baffled by the footprints, they were incredulous at the suggestion of mythological giants inhabiting the boreal forests.

This forest extended beyond Sweden, reaching into Finland and Russia. The question that lingered in my mind was whether similar footprints had ever been found in those countries. Professor Johansson had thought the same and wisely suggested that, following this expedition, we might visit one or both.

After an hour's rest, we continued following the trail of footprints. It eventually led us to an open valley. For the first time since departing the cabin, we breathed in the fresh air of open space. The footprints extended into the valley—but where did they lead? The more we examined them, the more they seemed to originate from something unusual—perhaps even plausible, if one were willing to stretch belief.

The Saami was hesitant to continue. He gave us a brazen warning: it would be wiser to turn back with the evidence already gathered. But this was not acceptable. We had travelled too far to return with mere photographs. Andersson, Karlsson, and Nilsson agreed to press on—they were being paid handsomely, after all.

As for the Saami, Professor Johansson tried to convince him to continue. He understood that the Saami were superstitious people, and that without his guidance, we would be at a clear disadvantage—both in continuing and in returning to the cabin. We could not force him, only persuade. Money would not sway him, but we offered him a rifle as a gift. This was enough to convince him.

The lack of a logical explanation for the footprints compelled us to consider the once-unthinkable possibility: that some gigantic beings did, in fact, inhabit the remote north of Sweden—hidden from society. The valley lay close to the foot of the distant mountains we had observed. If we were to reach the trail’s end, it would mean going beyond them.

Professor Johansson instructed the Saami to lead us forward. What would we find on the other side? Something supernatural? The need to know stirred a quiet anxiety in me. If there were a true place to hide in the world, this forest and the mountains ahead were ideal: bitter winters, fleeting springs and summers, and near-complete isolation. Who from the outside world would choose to bear such hardship?

As the expedition team prepared to venture deeper into the forest, they encountered an elderly Saami shaman named Eira. Draped in traditional garb adorned with intricate patterns and symbols, Eira's presence exuded an aura of ancient wisdom. She approached the group with deliberate steps, her eyes reflecting the flickering campfire.

'You tread on sacred ground', she intoned, her voice a melodic blend of caution and reverence. 'The spirits of the old world stir in these woods. Giants, long forgotten by most, still roam beyond the veil'.

Eira recounted tales passed down through generations, speaking of Jötunheimr and the perils of disturbing its denizens. Her words painted vivid images of towering beings and the thin line separating their realm from the human world. The team listened, a mix of scepticism and intrigue evident on their faces.

Before departing, Eira handed the protagonist a talisman carved from bone, etched with runes. 'For protection', she whispered, disappearing into the night as swiftly as she had appeared.

This occurrence was odd but foreboding. It made me question the surrounding mystery of the area.

I had once been on an expedition to Siberia, and my memories of the weather were not pleasant. Yet the thought that something awaited discovery beyond those mountains was reason enough to go on. The journey was beginning to wear us down, and we were forced to conserve our energy. Only the Saami remained relatively unaffected—this was, after all, his homeland.

Once we had climbed the mountains and reached the other side, we saw nothing unusual. There was a large lake and the continuation of the valley. The footprints ended there—as if they had vanished. Professor Johansson and I were both disappointed and perplexed. We had come all this way only to find that what lay beyond the mountain range was simply more forested valley.

Either the giant had walked into the lake—or had somehow flown away. The only logical explanation seemed to be the former. We examined the lake thoroughly, searching for any relevant clues—broken twigs, displaced rocks—but it was too deep to reveal anything of value.

The team stumbled upon ancient ruins partially concealed by overgrowth. Moss-covered stones formed the remnants of structures, and weathered carvings adorned the surfaces. Intricate symbols and depictions of colossal beings suggested a civilisation that once revered or feared giants.

Amongst the ruins, we discovered artifacts: fragments of pottery, tools, and a stone tablet inscribed with runes. We meticulously documented the findings, theorising about the coexistence of humans and giants in antiquity. The discovery added a new dimension to their expedition, hinting at a history intertwined with myth.

The encounter left them shaken but alive. They gathered their findings and retreated, the weight of their discoveries pressing upon them.

We had reached a crossroads: should we remain or search in another direction? We decided to continue, for the time being.

From our vantage point, we saw endless rows of tall trees stretching back into the forest. We headed in that direction, hoping we might yet discover something that could lead us to the wandering giant. This, I knew, was wishful thinking—for we had no concrete evidence, no incontrovertible sign that anything more would be found.

My position was that we could establish the fact that the footprints had not ceased at the lake, and that they had somehow continued elsewhere. Of course, that was extremely difficult to prove in the end. We had entered the forest with an urgency to find more tracks or footprints. The sun was setting above us, and dark clouds hovered overhead. It was a clear indication of rain. We knew we had to find shelter.

We had materials to make tents and set them up for the night. There was little we could do at that point to continue further. We had to endure the rude awakening of the pouring rain that pounded our tents without pause. During that time, I was conversing with Professor Johansson about what our next step should be. He was as uncertain as I was. For a brief moment, I had contemplated returning to the cabin with the evidence we had collected. We could return with more men on another, better-prepared expedition. He dismissed that idea, sensing that we were on the verge of making a great discovery.

The following morning, we were awakened by the obstreperous thumping of an unrelenting noise. The ground was shaking, and we sprang to our feet and out of our tents with a swift curiosity. We looked around our surroundings, preparing ourselves for what we might encounter. Soon, the thumping revealed its source. It was a colossal giant walking over fallen, snapped trees. Immediately, we ran for cover.

We were fortunate to find a cave, the location of which had been previously indicated by the Saami. There, we observed the giant pass us by without detecting our presence. It was an awe-inspiring sight. He stood over 400 feet tall and appeared humanoid in form. He had two arms, two hands, two feet, two legs, and two eyes. He wore only a grey garment made of animal skin, which covered his chest and lower extremities. He was heading towards the lake we had recently visited.

We explored deeper into the cave. The air grew colder, and the passage narrowed before opening into a hidden chamber. The walls were adorned with ancient drawings, depicting scenes of battles between humans and giants, rituals, and what appeared to be a map.

The artwork, though faded, conveyed a narrative of conflict and coexistence. One depiction showed a human and a giant exchanging gifts, suggesting moments of peace. The chamber served as a historical archive, offering insights into the complex relationship between the two species.

The team spent hours studying the drawings, piecing together stories and speculating on their meanings. The chamber's discovery was a treasure trove of information, deepening their understanding of the giants' culture and history.

We exited the cave to see where he was heading. He had stopped at the lake to bathe in its crystalline waters. Had I not seen this with my own eyes, I would not have believed such a thing was possible. I pondered many things, but one question lingered in my mind: was he the only giant? We had seen the destruction he had wrought and were unsure what his reaction would be if he spotted us.

The Saami had warned us, and once again he reiterated his plea for us to leave the area. The other men were also uncertain about continuing. Professor Johansson and I, however, were archaeologists, and we understood the importance of this discovery. It was too late to turn back.

We waited for the giant to return to the forest. We had taken photographs of him bathing. He remained unaware of our existence. When he did return, we focused on determining his next destination. Unfortunately, it began to rain again. This time, the rain was heavier and accompanied by flashing lightning and loud thunder. We retreated into the cave. This meant we could no longer follow the giant. Inside the cave, we discussed whether it was prudent to remain in the area, as doing so might expose us to the giant.

For that reason, we decided to spend the night in the cave. We brought our supplies inside once the rain had ceased. By that time, the giant had already left. Whilst arranging our belongings, the Saami stumbled upon another entrance or exit to the cave. He informed us, and we were eager to investigate.

We remained mindful of the giant’s presence in the general vicinity. When we exited the cave through this new passage, we came across an unfathomable view: a dark eeriness surrounded us, and the trees were even larger than those in the boreal forest, resembling giant spikes. It was utterly incredible to describe the images we were witnessing at that moment in time.

Nothing could have prepared us for what we had discovered. Was this truly a part of our world, or had we uncovered a new one that coexisted with ours? The thought was simply daunting. The Saami was reluctant to proceed and scurried back into the cave. He returned to the cabin from which we had originally set off. The others—Andersson, Karlsson, and Nilsson—remained. They were aware of the fact that none of us knew how to return to the cabin alone.

Therefore, we had no other choice but to stick together and press on. Had we, at last, discovered the mythical realm of Jötunheimr? As we stood beside a tree observing, one of the trees suddenly snatched Karlsson and Andersson, squeezing them tightly until they could no longer breathe. The tree was alive.

Nilsson joined us at a nearby rock, which was massive, but as he lifted his head, he was seized by a large bird that carried him away. Only Professor Johansson and I were left. The once-opaque landscape had quickly turned into a scene of horror. It was a place covered in frigid ice, surrounded by animate crystal trees. The temperature was freezing. A narrow path led towards an enormous castle upon a solitary mountain.

We were a few kilometres from both the cave and the castle. Professor Johansson wished to enter, but I was not so easily persuaded. If this was Jötunheimr, the home of the Jötun, then where was its master? Were there more of them yet to be seen? The steps leading to the castle were colossal.

Had Odin, Loki, and Thor once dwelt in this celestial abode? Had the Norse gods truly existed—and had I discovered the place that lay beyond Midgard? Whatever this mysterious place was in origin, it was not conjured, but real.

We waited for the thurse to appear. When he finally did, he was holding a horn in his right hand. He then blew the horn, causing us to fall to the ground and cover our ears. It felt like the powerful breath of a turbulent wind passing through us. I did not know whether he was summoning someone—or something. From our vantage point, it was unclear.

Afterwards, the giant headed towards the far side of the mountains. It was then we faced a choice: either escape back into the cave or enter the giant’s house. We chose to enter, albeit cautiously. Inside, there were gigantic rows of treasures. All were far too large for us humans to carry. I told the professor it was best to leave the house and return to the cave, as we did not know when the giant might return. Inside the house, I felt like a small insect. In comparison to the giant, we were the size of ants—an unsettling realisation.

Outside, the scenery revealed a cold, vast land of towering forests, mighty mountains, frozen rivers, and innumerable dreary caverns. Whoever this giant was—regardless of name or status—it was evident that he had amassed a trove of valuables. He even had trophies of massive animals on display. I wondered: could such a primitive being truly adapt to the evolving world of Earth without the need to interact with humans? Or were humans prey to him? What need would a giant have of our world? What was certain was that he moved to and fro at his own volition.

After realising we were at a severe disadvantage, we acquiesced. We made our way back to the cave—but the giant had returned and saw us from several kilometres away as we were leaving the house. We ran as fast as we could through the cave and emerged once more into the forest we knew.

We had passed the lake until we reached the mountain. It was there that Professor Johansson slipped and fell to his death below. As that was occurring, the giant arrived. Instantly, I hid behind a boulder. My heart beat rapidly and sweat poured down my face.

Instinctively, I knew that I would meet the same fate as the others. From my angle, I managed to take one photograph of him. After several minutes had passed, the giant departed as the rain began to fall. It seemed to me that he was not fond of the rain. Trepidation consumed me as I stood there, soaked and trembling.

It was impossible to describe, with mere words or accurate detail, the experience that had befallen us. It was an inexplicable occurrence that defied any formal definition—except to call it surreal in nature. How could such a thing be regarded as plausible? I had once been incredulous of extranormal phenomena in the world, for there had never been incontrovertible evidence supporting their existence.

Yet after further deliberation and my direct encounter with the giant, I was forced to bear the burden of my obstinate reluctance. Such an admission of the facts could no longer be dismissed as mere imprudence. The giant was no hallucination—he was alive, as surely as I was composed of flesh and blood. I had to recompose myself afterwards, and I did. There was no time to be overtly overwhelmed, nor overwrought with jangled nerves.

After the rain had ceased and the giant’s looming presence faded into the shrouded mist of the mountain, I wandered—more out of daze than purpose—through a narrow gulley flanked by frost-laced trees and jagged stones. The world around me had returned to an eerie stillness, as though nature itself was catching its breath.

It was then that I stumbled upon what appeared to be a clearing encircled by ancient megaliths. They stood, half-buried in snow and time, forming a haphazard ring atop a rise that overlooked the valley below. There were runes chiseled deeply into their faces, worn but not illegible—if one had the patience to read history with their fingertips.

As I entered the circle, an strange sensation enveloped me. The air here was oddly warm, despite the chill that had numbed my bones moments before. I paused in the centre, gazing around. Each stone faced inwards as if awaiting some ritual, and the wind, once howling, was now muted to a whisper.

Then it began.

A resonance—like the deep hum of the earth—emanated from the stones. It was not sound, not entirely, but vibration. I pressed my palm against one of the monoliths, and my breath caught in my throat. Within its cold core, I felt something stir. Visions, fleeting and translucent, formed in my mind’s eye: ancient figures, cloaked in fur and reverence, dancing beneath a blood moon; a giant kneeling before a woman bearing fire in her hands; a child cradled by a creature of immense size and gentleness.

These were not mere hallucinations—they were memories etched into the stone, echoes of a world long buried beneath layers of disbelief and modern denial. The circle was a conduit, a relic of communion between species once divided not by animosity but by awe and necessity.

When the vision ceased, I collapsed to my knees, gasping. I now understood that our journey had not uncovered something lost, but rather something waiting to be remembered.

The past had not died in Jötunheimr. It merely slept—beneath stone, beneath myth, beneath the stubborn veil of scepticism. And I, its witness, was now its bearer.

Before I made the journey back to the cabin—and eventually to civilisation—I took shelter in a thicket of ancient pine trees not far from the ridge we had crossed days earlier. The sky above was black velvet, choked with clouds that threatened more rain, but for now, it held back. A fainting sunlight glinted weakly between the limbs, casting pale rays on the forest floor.

I had built a small fire with what dry timber I could scavenge, though it sputtered and spat like it, too, feared the place. The smell of resin and moss clung to the air. I sat there in silence, my back against the twisted trunk of a pine, listening. It was not the usual stillness of the day. It was anticipatory, sentient somehow—every sound felt deliberate. The wind did not howl, it murmured. And I could have sworn it spoke.

My eyes scanned the vast forest, and then upward, to the peaks veiled in clouds. I thought of Johansson—of his voice, so certain in his lectures and theories. I recalled the others, faces now lost to that shadowed abyss beneath the cliffs. Names I could no longer utter without my throat tightening. I had brought them here. That guilt remained, a constant spectre at my side.

But amidst my regret, something stirred. From beyond the trees, I heard a rhythmic creaking—slow, deliberate, like the bending of an old wooden mast. I froze. The pines parted slightly in the breeze, and for a moment, I saw a shape—enormous, hunched, humanoid yet utterly foreign. It did not move towards me, nor away. It merely stood, watching from afar. We regarded one another for what felt like minutes.

Then it turned, disappearing silently into the forest.

In its absence, I found no relief. Only a deeper sense of weight, as though I had glimpsed a fragment of a truth far greater than my mortal mind could hold. I knew then that we had not trespassed by accident. The land had allowed us, briefly, to see it—to bear witness.

Before I closed my eyes to rest, I wrote in my journal:
'The pines whisper because they remember. The giants still walk, and perhaps they always have. It is not myth that hides them—it is memory that forgets'.

I had been unable to save the professor and the others. This burden of guilt weighed heavily upon me. After all, I had been the one who had brought them on this expedition in the first place. But I had to persevere through my predicament. There was no other option but to survive—and somehow, I did. I managed to return to the cabin and eventually, to civilisation, alone. I do not know how I survived, nor how I returned without any guidance or map.

Perhaps it was my intuition that guided me onwards. Upon my return, I was met by the Saami. I did not blame him for the unnecessary deaths of the others, nor did I chide him for his retreat. I simply thanked him for his service. However, he did offer me another poignant warning.

What he warned me of this time was never to return to that place of giants. I looked into his eyes and sensed that he was serious. Yet I could not leave without asking him one final question—one that had haunted me. I asked him directly: had we found, at last, Jötunheimr? He replied that we had. But then, he added one more thing to his response.

What was that one thing, you may enquire? He told me that he had always known it existed. And then he said something else—there were more giants.

This piqued my fascination. Was he merely trying to deter me further, or was he speaking the truth? The answer would have to wait until the next expedition. The question remained: when would that take place? On my journey back to England by ship, I cogitated over the scope of the events that had occurred in Sweden.

I had my journal to verify every instance of my account. The vivid images imprinted upon my mind were enough to chronicle their stark detail. The one thing consistent with my version of events was the profusion of irrefutable detail, even the minutiae. To prove the existence of Jötunheimr would be a monumental task. So much of what we had witnessed remained shrouded in mystery.

Although we had located the remote dwelling of the giant, we still did not know precisely the boundaries of its full extent. Yet one thing gave me assurance: we had traversed the border of Jötunheimr successfully. It was undeniable—we had encountered something that was the very semblance of Jötunheimr. I remembered, in my recollections weeks after the expedition, the remarkable conversations I had shared with Professor Johansson at our campsite, before his tragic demise.

In particular, I recalled the many tales he spoke of regarding the Nordic gods and goddesses. It was not unthinkable, then, to grasp the irony of those preternatural beings, for we had created their mythos through generations past. But for how long have they existed within the realm of our legends? For innumerable centuries, it has been the case. Yet I now wonder, deep in my ruminations, whether or not we are an intrinsic part of that mythology ourselves.

Hitherto, we are left only to speculate. The photographs were never revealed to the public—the rain had damaged them beyond recognition—but I retained my journal. I knew the truth.

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Franc68
Lorient Montaner
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18 Apr, 2023
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