A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

As the last of them vanished into the shadows, the wasteland dissolved, and I was back in the lobby once more. Fenrir leaned against the reception desk, clapping slowly.

"You tricked undead warriors into thinking you were honoring them?" he asked, clearly amused.

I shrugged. "Even the undead have feelings."

Fenrir chuckled. "Not bad, Carl. Not bad at all."

As I collapsed into a nearby chair, exhausted but triumphant, Fenrir handed me a cup of coffee.

"Don't get too comfortable," he said, his grin returning. "The next trial is… let's just say it'll test more than just your wits."

The fifth trial loomed over me like an overachiever's school project—unreasonably complex and clearly designed to make me question all my life choices.

Fenrir, in his trademark smugness, had left me a vague but unsettling brief: Convince a Valkyrie to let you pass without combat. Simple, right?

Spoiler alert: It wasn't.

********

The simulation flickered into view like someone had hit "load scene" in a particularly high-budget VR game.

I found myself standing in a vast, mist-shrouded plain, the air heavy with an unearthly stillness that screamed "something dramatic will happen here."

Before me stood the Valkyrie, her silhouette sharp against the pale glow of a crescent moon.

Her armor gleamed like molten silver, the intricate etchings of runes catching the light in ways that felt entirely too intimidating. Her wings were massive, black as a raven's, and her piercing gaze could probably stop a charging dragon mid-flight.

"State your purpose, mortal," she said, her voice as cold and clear as an Arctic stream.

I cleared my throat, doing my best not to look like a quivering leaf. "Uh, hi! Carl Suis, zoologist extraordinaire and part-time tester of absurd scenarios. I'm here to... borrow that artifact behind you. Temporarily. Promise I'll bring it back in mint condition."

Her expression didn't budge. Not even a flicker of amusement. Tough crowd.

Plan A: Flattery. When in doubt, butter them up.

"You know," I said, gesturing vaguely at her armor, "I've seen a lot of battle gear in my time—mostly in museums, granted—but yours? Top-notch craftsmanship. Those runes? Chef's kiss. And your hair? Flawless. Do you, uh, use a special conditioner, or is it all natural Valkyrie magic?"

Her gaze hardened. "Flattery will not sway me."

"Noted," I said quickly, retreating a step. "Just trying to appreciate excellence where I see it."

Okay..Plan B it is.

"Okay, how about a deal?" I said, holding up my hands. "Arm-wrestling. One round. If I win, you let me pass. If you win, well… you still let me pass because this is a test, and failing means I get metaphorically—or maybe literally—iced."

For the first time, a flicker of interest crossed her face. "You challenge me?"

"I mean, challenge is a strong word," I said, slipping on the enchanted glove Fenrir had "generously" provided. The rune stitched into it was supposed to enhance my grip, but I wasn't entirely confident it would save my arm from being ripped off.

We set up on a smooth, flat stone, her gauntleted hand easily enveloping mine. "Begin," she said.

And then she slammed my hand down so hard, I swore the stone cracked.

"Okay, okay, you win!" I wheezed, cradling my throbbing arm. "Best two out of three?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Mortal, you test my patience."

I guess I have to use Plan C.

When all else fails, weaponize someone else's humiliation.

"You know," I began casually, "I work for Fenrir. Big guy. You probably know him. Did he ever tell you about the time he got stuck in a tree chasing a squirrel?"

Her brow arched slightly. "You lie."

"Nope. True story. He was just a pup, and Ratatoskr tricked him into thinking there was a treasure at the top. He got halfway up, panicked, and howled until Odin himself came to get him down. They say the All-Father laughed so hard, he almost dropped him."

To my surprise, the Valkyrie smirked. "Fenrir has always been… impulsive."

"Exactly! See, we're bonding over mutual acquaintances. Maybe we could let this whole artifact-guarding thing slide?"

She didn't respond but seemed momentarily distracted. Taking my chance, I lunged for the artifact, a glowing orb nestled on a pedestal behind her.

As my fingers closed around the orb, the simulation dissolved, leaving me in a sterile room with Fenrir watching from a monitor.

"You told her about the tree incident?" he growled.

I shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"

His snarl sounded almost amused. "Barely. On to the next."

The final trial wasn't in a simulation. No, this was real. And Fenrir, in all his enormous, fur-covered glory, was my opponent.

"This is your final test," he said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Stop me without direct confrontation. Prove you understand the essence of being a true predator."

No pressure.

Armed with an enchanted bag of meat, a spool of rope, and an overactive imagination, I set to work. The result was something that resembled a Rube Goldberg machine designed by a deranged hunter.

Ropes hung from tree branches, pulleys groaned under tension, and the pièce de résistance—a bear trap enchanted to harmlessly hold—waited at the center, baited with the juiciest steak I could find.

Fenrir approached, sniffing the air. "This is your plan?" he asked, one brow raised.

"You haven't seen the best part yet," I said, tossing the bait directly into the trap.

His eyes narrowed as he lunged for the meat. The trap snapped shut around his paw.

For a moment, there was silence. Then he burst out laughing, shattering the trap with a casual flick of his leg. "You're bold, Carl. I'll give you that."

"Survival of the cleverest," I said, grinning despite my racing heart.

Back at Wolfwork Solutions HQ, Fenrir handed me a gleaming license certificate. "You've passed. Barely. But you're clever, resourceful, and irritatingly persistent. Those are predator traits if I've ever seen them."

I took the certificate, relief washing over me. "Does this mean I'm officially not bait anymore?"

"For now," he said, his grin sharp.

As I walked out of the room, I couldn't shake the feeling this was just the beginning of something far more dangerous. But hey, I had a certificate. That had to count for something.