The Creation of Humans (Ask and Embla)

The gods had shaped the world from chaos—earth from flesh, mountains from bone, and oceans from blood. They had hung the stars in the sky and breathed life into the Nine Realms. Yet something was missing. The world was vast, but it was empty, its silence stretching across the land like a thin mist.

It was Odin, Vili, and Vé who first noticed the void. As they wandered the shores of Midgard, they saw two trees, uprooted and lifeless, lying on the sand. The wood was pale and brittle, its branches tangled like forgotten whispers. These trees, they decided, would become something new—something unlike the gods, the giants, or the creatures that roamed the earth.

Odin stepped forward first, leaning down to the trees. From his breath came önd, the gift of life itself. The dry wood softened, its grain rippling as if it were waking from a long slumber. Next came Vili, who placed óðr into their forms—consciousness and the spark of thought, the ability to dream and to fear. Finally, Vé laid his hands on them, giving them lá, shape and senses, the tools to experience the world that had been built for them.

And so, the first humans were born. The gods named them Ask and Embla. Ask, the man, was tall and straight like the ash tree. Embla, the woman, was supple and strong like the elm. Together, they were placed in Midgard, a realm crafted just for them—a sanctuary surrounded by the sea and shielded by Ymir’s eyebrows, protecting them from the chaos that lurked beyond.

The gods watched as Ask and Embla took their first steps, awkward and tentative. They breathed the air, touched the earth, and began to understand the world around them. The gods smiled, pleased with their creation, yet their smiles were tinged with something heavier—something like sorrow. For the gods knew that life, once given, would not remain simple.

Ask and Embla were free to shape their own lives, to carve their stories into the land. But with freedom came uncertainty, and with existence came an inevitability the gods could not ignore: death. This, too, was part of the gift they had given—an end to every beginning, a shadow that would follow humanity for as long as they walked the earth.

Midgard grew around them, and Ask and Embla thrived. Their children spread across the land, carrying with them the gifts of the gods: life, thought, and form. The world became noisy, vibrant, filled with voices and footsteps and laughter. And though the gods remained distant, they watched, their presence lingering in the rustle of leaves and the whisper of the wind.

Even now, when the air is still and the horizon stretches wide, you might feel it—the pulse of life that began with two simple trees on a quiet shore. Ask and Embla are long gone, their names fading into legend, but their legacy endures in every breath, every thought, and every step taken upon the earth.