Item #: SCP-6464

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6464 is to remain in the care of a Foundation employee at Site-19. It is preferred for SCP-6464’s caretaker to have some previous experience with botany or plant care. SCP-6464 should be watered daily, using ordinary tap water. Plant nutrients may be used to assist in the care of SCP-6464. SCP-6464 should have access to either sufficient sunlight or to an artificial sun lamp providing an amount of light sufficient for photosynthesis to occur.

Though failure to maintain the health of SCP-6464 has been speculated to have several serious consequences, care for SCP-6464 has few complications and any adverse outcomes are not considered likely. To ensure the safety of the object, under no circumstances is SCP-6464 to be transported outside of Site-19.

Description: SCP-6464 is a small tree, around 58 centimeters in height. The tree is notable for having multicolored leaves that display a minor bioluminescent quality. SCP-6464 has an unusually high number of roots which it uses to firmly hold itself in the container it is currently located in.

Several scans have confirmed the existence of another biological entity constricted by the roots of SCP-6464 that seems similar in anatomy to a worm, known as SCP-6464-1. SCP-6464-1 is much larger than an average earthworm, appears to require no form of nutrition, and is still alive after decades of being largely immobilized by SCP-6464.

SCP-6464 grows at an incredibly slow pace, with only about four centimeters of growth recorded since the Foundation obtained the object in 1945. Despite this, the object has remained healthy consistently during the Foundation's ownership.

SCP-6464 is currently under the care of Researcher Alex Jensen, a senior staff member of the Foundation's Mythological Division.

Letter to Researcher Alex Jensen, dated 12/07/2015

Alex,

As I line up responsibilities for others with my retirement impending, I am giving you direct responsibility for the care and protection of SCP-6464. You probably haven't heard of that yet, but it is a plant that has sat on my desk for as long as you've known me. You've always taken great interest in it and commented on how beautiful it is, so I think it's only fair you become its new caretaker.

Underneath this note, I've included a journal. This journal was given to me when I first received SCP-6464. It helped me understand the importance of what I was doing all these years. It was an honor and privilege for me to tend to it for the past four decades. After you read this journal, I'm sure you'll feel the same way I did.

- Zeb Iverson

Journal entry 26/04/1938

My name is Gunilla Viklund. I have decided to begin writing this journal to give some historical context to the object I have recently come to possess. Earlier this week, I was visited by a friend and fellow researcher on the subject of Norse mythology. He brought with him a rather elderly man holding a small potted plant. The elderly man had a long gray beard and long hair to match. The plant is incredibly small, with various leaves of different colors. The elderly man spoke very little but insisted that the tree was now my responsibility. When I asked why he at first laughed, he then explained that he had sat in on one of my lectures about Norse mythology and found my passion for the topic quite impressive. This man was friends with Zacharias, a colleague here at the university. Zac had nothing but good things to say about me according to this stranger. The elderly man said the qualities that he liked the most were my alleged determination and kindness which he said would make me well suited for ownership of the tree.

Normally this wouldn't require its own journal but the tree displays a number of fascinating qualities that I feel compelled to study and write about. In addition to the abnormal coloration of the leaves, the plant has an almost bioluminescent quality to it, glowing faintly in the darkness. It also appears to be roughly similar to a very aged tree, albeit much smaller than it should be.

I should also note I have no experience with botany outside of gardening with my mother as a child. My concentration of knowledge is in ancient religions and mythology, with a strong focus in Norse mythology. That being said, I have a hunch on what this tree could be, but I think that's highly unlikely to be true. I want to write this off as some sort of clever trick, but the man was adamant that I take care of this tree to the best of my ability. I'll be keeping this journal to note further developments. What I can say is that the plant is about 28 centimeters in height, with multicolored leaves and a light gray bark, and very snarly roots from what I'm able to see. I'll note any growth or changes in this journal. I will also be doing some research into the origins of this plant to see if I can find anything notable.

Journal entry 14/06/1938

Research into the origins of this plant has been frustrating. The old man who gave me the plant has all but disappeared from the city of Oslo and even Zac, who went to the same bar as him every day has no idea where he went. As it turns out, Zac doesn't even know the man's actual name. He told everyone to call him Gothar and he stopped showing up the day after he gave me the plant. Many people in the city can remember him but none of them seem to know who he actually was and where he went. I even reached out to my family back in Stockholm to see if they could look into him, but they found nothing. I've told some colleagues from other nations to put a notice out as well, but so far nothing from any of them. Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Iceland, even England. Nobody seems to be able to find anyone matching his description.

I've also reached out to botanists here at the university and none of them can identify the plant. Nothing has changed about the plant in the time I've owned it. Leaves are still very colorful and shiny. Still looks like an aged ash tree. It's pretty firmly rooted into the soil so all my attempts to transplant it into an actual garden have failed, it's almost like it's stuck inside that pot for the time being.

Now as for my analysis into the mythology, we've always known the Norse to have warden trees and to keep some trees around as sacred, but none of them look like this. I hate to say it, but it looks like the world tree. Yggdrasil. It can't possibly be, since it's incredibly tiny and as far as I know it isn't holding up the entire known universe. I'd be dishonest with myself if I didn't think that every time I looked at it though.

As long as progress is slow about learning what this thing is, updates will be few and far between. I'll update this journal if I learn anything, but until then I have to be rational and assume this is just some oddity that was given to me by a wild old man.

Journal entry 12/09/1938

Through a friend in the science lab I was able to have a scan performed on the pot that the plant seems to be stuck in. The scan showed the roots make a very tangled web that has functionally fused into the pot at a certain point, which makes sense as to why I can't seem to transplant this to my garden at home. More of note however is another creature living in the pot. It could be a rather large worm, based on the shape. All indications point towards it being alive, but I've never seen any sign of it before and the scan seems to show it tangled within the roots of the tree.

Considering my previous concern that this tree has many similarities to the world tree, this was obviously a bit concerning. Luckily if my shovel can't get through the dirt and the roots I sincerely doubt that whatever it is that’s down there is going to make it out. As far as I can tell, my best course of action is to continue caring for the tree.

Journal entry 02/02/1939

I haven't written any updates about the tree for a while. It's been the same size and in fine health. However, one of the universities I reached out to about the tree apparently did some research of their own and unfortunately attracted some attention their way in doing so.

A German intelligence officer, Tobt Schwachkopf, knocked on my office door this morning. He asked to see the tree. I wasn't able to really do much to stop him since it was sitting on my desk. I let him get a brief glance at it and explained my history with the plant, owning it for almost a year and tending to it daily. He was completely transfixed the entire time. He asked if I had any idea how old it was, if there were any indications of growth during the time I owned it. I told him that I had no idea and that it hasn't grown a bit since I came into possession of it.

He at first asked if he could take the tree back to Germany. I told him that I wasn't quite comfortable with that. He then offered me quite a large sum of money, but I refused that after some consideration.

He laughed. He said he would have it eventually, so I might as well take the money. He left not long after and told me he'd come back to see if I reconsidered. I told the security on campus to no longer allow him near my office.

I regret sending the information to my colleague in Germany. I don't trust their government, much less their army. The fact they want this tree so badly is making me nervous as to what exactly they think they're going to get out of it. I'm going to have to assume that whatever this plant is sitting on my desk, it's a lot more important than I thought. I'm going to take this responsibility more seriously.

Journal entry 07/10/1939

Five more months of research and I feel like I'm banging my head against a wall. I've read a dozen books, visited places all across Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. I've found only things that make me more concerned about the tree.

I'm going to vent for a bit here in what should otherwise be a purely academic journal but this tree is causing me nothing but trouble. The research is painstaking, and way too much stress for someone in academia to deal with. The fact I have an "interesting artifact" has become the talk of the campus. People I've barely met swing by asking if they can see it. I've started to take the tree home with me in the evenings because I heard someone in the café talking about how much they'd like the tree on their desk. This is driving me up the wall. I've never wanted to have people looking for me in that sort of way. I've never wanted a spotlight, because to me that feels exactly the same as a target on my back. This tree, which doesn't grow and doesn't seem to do anything all that interesting, has made me the most famous woman on campus.

At the same time, that dumbass Schwachkopf has resorted to sending me letters and they've become increasingly threatening. He says my days of refusal are numbered and I'm going to regret not taking his offer for the rest of my life. He says he'll spare me and my friends if I just give up now. Jokes on him though, I barely have any friends. I'm just surrounded by strangers like always, even if those strangers are now staring at me. I've got Grethe who is probably going to take a job in London anyways and Zac who just left on a research trip to Iceland. Before he left he gave me a hat. A fedora that is definitely too big for me. Big and brown. Wide brimmed and way too tall. He says it'll help me hide from prying eyes but I don't think I'm the kind of person who can pull it off.

So that was a rant, sorry if that shows up in a textbook someday. I looked for any rumor or legend of some tree that was considered to be an "embodiment" of the world tree. I found plenty about guardian trees overlooking villages and more details than I thought I'd ever find about the Irminsul that Charlemagne burnt down. I searched through old documents at various museums and libraries. I found one thing of note, a poem that was presumed to be written by a court poet for Denmark's King Sweyn Forkbeard, when he was the King of Denmark, Norway, and England. The poem seems to be from his English court. I'll be stapling it into this journal.

The poem as far as I can tell describes the poet following Sweyn to a distant land where a great and thriving tree stands. The roots make a massive web throughout the soil and the leaves are described to be multiple colors. The poem gives some guidance for how the plant grows. If this is indeed the same tree that I have right now, it has managed to shrink quite substantially.

It isn't much, but this is the first real lead I have as for the tree's origins. The similarities to me are enough to look into where this distant land could have been if the poem is based on something factual. I'm beginning to look into potential locations but there's not much in the way of details as to the directions they travelled to get there. The poem tells me there's something to find, but doesn't do much for where to find it.

Title unknown, poem circa 1010 (translated from Old English)

A long sail across sea and river, to an island untamed by man

A forest dark yet lively, singing loudly in the night

A light through the cracks of branches shines

A gruff old man met us where the trees touched the shore

A hesitation, his voice becoming softer as we moved to the brightness

A slow place, as we walked down a long, crooked, ashen path

The air was sweet and gentle, a feeling new to my skin

The three of us, our eyes stuck on the trail

The king, completely silent, steps heavily

The birds, the locusts, all fade away

The colors dance in front of us, shifting all over

The tree is in sight, and its beauty overwhelming

Pulsing, the ground beneath with the twisting and wriggling roots

Shining, the leaves of many colors, sending out light to sky above

Whispering, the voices of gods and goddess in the air around us

Towering, the tree above us and around us, reaching to the skyline

Beating, my heart slowly in my chest, a peace in my soul

Growing, the tree, as the gods grow in power with it

I look at the leaves and I see a map of the stars

I breathe the air and feel the touch of the gods

I feel the roots underneath, holding back the monster

I touch the bark and feel the weight of my ancestors

I taste the leaves and clarity comes to me

I drink the sap and pain fades from me

Eternally, my heart and mind are still there

A distant land, a wild world

But it is, am I certain

My home

Journal entry 12/01/1940

I hate Nazis.

Schwachkopf has been calling all around the university. He's called the University's president multiple times telling him that I'm obstructing important research and that the German government might request intervention from the Norwegian government in preventing me from "selfishly hoarding '' one of the most important discoveries in history. For what it's worth , the university has loudly and clearly rejected him and they've told me the government has no interest in bowing to German pressure when it comes to their own internal affairs.

That being said, the interest in the plant on campus has grown and my office has been relocated to a more secure part of campus to prevent people from loitering outside my door. I also have been keeping this silly hat on all the time to help hide my face. Why did this have to happen to me? I like being quiet and out of the way

At the very least things look to be at a standstill as far as that is concerned. Schwachkopf has no means of getting to me, the university is ensuring my safety, and the tree remains safe in my hands.

On the research end, I've got only the poem to go off of and some geography research, knowing what places were a little less inhabited during the Viking period. The Faroe Islands are a possibility, Gotland has several areas that may fit the bill, but the place I keep coming back to is Gotska Sandön. There's a national park but that's only part of the island and there's still a part deep within that remains untouched by humans. Definitely a lot of trees and birds there, which fits the limited description from the poem.

Chartering a boat out there is going to be tough, my phone calls back to Sweden have yet to find someone with an interest in going there with the current naval situation with the war going on and all. I don't know anything about sailing and I assume the waters won't be super friendly to a novice like me. In the meantime I'm just taking care of the tree everyday and reviewing more options.

I've grown kind of attached to this tree, if that isn't already apparent. It isn't getting any taller but the leaves seem a little shinier since I've come to possess it. I'd like to see this tree really grow some day, and I'm hoping there's some answers on that island.

Journal entry 09/04/1940

No. No no no no no no no no.

The German army is invading. They rolled over Denmark in a couple of hours and they're already landing on the shore here in Norway. Paratroopers landed here in Oslo and there's fighting going on all over the place. The university is currently protected by Norwegian soldiers but it isn't going to last long, I can tell.

I'm packing a bag, getting whatever I can to defend myself, and I'm making a rush towards Sweden. Sweden is still neutral, and I can go back and stay with my family in Stockholm. The problem is the infrastructure is wrecked almost entirely and there's Nazis crawling all over the damn place out there. I'm gonna have to take the off roads and be prepared for a fight.

I will not let Schwachkopf touch the Yggdrasil. Whatever he and his insane superiors want with it, they're not allowed to have it.

I'm going to get to Stockholm, I'm going to find someone to sail me out to Gotska Sandön and I'm going to take care of the tree.

I'm grabbing as much as I can carry in supplies. Clothing, food, a compass, a telescope, a map, some matches, a sleeping bag, a canteen. Those should keep me safe from the elements if I have to run through the wilderness, which is likely. I have grabbed what I can for personal protection. I used my paycheck to get myself a pistol and I've made a makeshift sheath for my biggest kitchen knife. I'm hoping I find more equipment on my way to Stockholm. Failure is not an option.

Journal entry 11/04/1940

Two days of trekking so far, I don't know if I've made it across the border yet but I must be close.

I had a close call with a German patrol division a few hours ago but they seem to have passed, I'm hiding out in a farm that must have been destroyed by the bombing. So much for "protecting us" from British intervention. I had a far too optimistic thought of finding a horse to ride the rest of the way but I can't find a single living animal and even if I could I don't know how to ride a horse in the first place.

I found some boots out here way more comfortable to walk in than my shoes, so that's a welcome change even if they're a little big. I also found a whip, which I guess will serve as a last line of defense if I run out of ammo. Not much else other than some oats that are covered in shrapnel, which I don't feel like eating.

I'm going to have to take a slower pace to make sure no Germans spot me. I am loath to shoot this gun. I'm hoping to make it back to Sweden in one piece without having to pick up any emotional baggage.

The tree is not adapting well to the cold winds and travelling mostly by night. The shine on the leaves has lost just a little luster. I have no way to measure it but I'd even say it has shrunk ever so slightly. Once I make it home I'll do whatever I can to preserve the health of the plant. If this thing really is Yggdrasil, I don't really want to consider what happens when it dies. Something very bad, I'm sure. I'm concerned about the worm or whatever it is that's down in the pot, I've felt something shaking underneath all that soil.

Journal entry 14/04/1940

I've made it. I'm safe. I'm definitely in Sweden, and I've managed to get a ride back to Stockholm. A passing truck decided to give me a ride. I can't believe I made it. I'm going home. I'm going to be safe.

I made it here quietly and without being spotted. No violence, nothing but a long and cold march past the border. My clothes are torn, I'm covered in bruises and blisters, and I've got only a crumb left but it doesn't matter because I'm in Sweden.

I thought for sure I'd have to fight my way out, that I'd be barely alive by the time I marched into Stockholm, half naked and sickly and just barely clinging to the Yggdrasil.

I'll be in my own bed by the end of the night. The tough part of my story is about to reach its end. I can move back to research, and this journal can serve its original purpose again.

Journal entry 15/04/1940

I've been home for a day now. Anya, my sister and I just cried, and we hugged each other for an hour when I arrived. It feels completely different being back here. It feels so different from the home I lived in for years, even if it is the same place. My bedroom is how I left it, but the feeling is all off. I guess the war really has changed everything.

The tree is still looking a little worse for wear but the sunlight and staying put seems to have helped a little, that shine in the leaves has come back just a little bit. It measures up about the same as when I left Oslo so maybe it didn't shrink.

I guess I'm staying here, I don't know for how long. Norway looks doomed to German domination and it looks like there's little to stop Germany from winning this war in the long term. I'm going to have to start my life all over again.

I guess I should write down one last concern. The pot is still shaking wildly. Whatever that worm is, I'm mortified that I've woken it up. If it is what I think it is, Níðhöggr, well let's just say that I won't have to worry about the whole "starting my life over" thing and neither will anyone else. I don't know exactly how to quell the shaking, but I’m going to do everything in my power to figure it out.

Journal entry 16/04/1940

He's here.

Schwachkopf knocked on my door today. Apparently he's been invited into Sweden as a guest to foster a lasting peace with Germany. He said he was working with the police to get a warrant for my arrest. He's claiming that I killed a dozen soldiers on my escape from Oslo and he will have me locked away for the rest of my life and all my property seized.

I never killed a single damn soldier. I didn't want to if I didn't have to, and I didn't have to. I'm a college professor, not some sort of dangerous adventurer who collects ancient artifacts and fights Nazis. I just want the Yggdrasil to be safe. Now it isn't even safe in my own home, if I can call it that anymore.

I've told Anya to flee north to hide out with some of our relatives on their farm. I'm going to Gotska Sandön now. If I'm going to be killed by Nazis anyways, I might as well figure out the secret of this plant first.

This will either be the last entry or you'll hear from me with a lot more answers.

Journal entry 20/04/1940

I've made it. This is the place from the poem. It has to be. It's clear to me now. This is Yggdrasil.

I marched north from Stockholm under the cover of night, I followed the coast the whole way. Eventually, I ran into a familiar face. Gothar, the old man. The reason I was even here in the first place. He said he had been waiting for me. He was sitting on a Viking longship, and told me he would give me safe passage to Gotska Sandön. I didn't even question him, I didn't ask for any explanation about where he went or why he gave this plant to me. I just went on the boat and sailed with him.

The island is beautiful. The ashen paths, the trees so old and beautiful, the animals timid and self sufficient. He led me down a long path to an empty patch of dirt, surrounded by a circle of ancient trees with twisted branches and ancient runes carved into them. He told me to place Yggdrasil here, and when I set it on the ground, the pot exploded and the roots shot out in every direction imaginable. Across the entire island, you can feel the squirming of the roots beneath.

The tree is growing again. Perhaps a centimeter already. The leaves have never had a shine this radiant before, and the leaves are changing colors minute by minute. The branches dance and a serene sound emanates from the plant itself. This is home. We are home.

Gothar says I've done well, that the tree is only growing again thanks to me. My support, my commitment, my faith. The island is only part of the equation, Yggdrasil needs spiritual connections as much as it needs water and sunlight. This island just makes that connection stronger, if Gothar is to be believed.

I believe him. This is the world tree. When it grows tall enough I will stare into the tree and see the different worlds beyond this one. I will commune with the gods above.

Gothar says that there's many secrets hidden on this island, and perhaps someday I'll find a passage to another place where I can meet the gods I've researched for so long. I hope he's right.

Updates will be slow, my job now is not to research the tree, but to empower it. To heal the damage that has been done to the Yggdrasil. I am its protector.

Journal entry 25/05/1940

I can't believe what happened here. I'm only just now able to write about it.

A small German patrol boat came ashore about four days ago, immediately started looking for me specifically. Called out for me by name. I hid in trees, I hid in bushes, I even found a cave and hid out there for a while. Eventually though, one of them was within inches of me. I had to shoot him in the face. Couldn't have been older than 18. Dead before he knew what hit him.

Before I could question myself though, roots came out of the ground and crawled up around him. They dug into his skin and I watched it pulse the blood away. Slowly the roots dragged him into the soil, and his body was gone as the squirming, tangled mess submerged back into the ground.

By the end of the first night I had killed six more, all of them with my pistol. The same thing happened, the roots would emerge and consume the body like a quick snack. I kept Yggdrasil in my sight, but it grew harder to ignore. The leaves all turned red, and the glow was stronger than ever. I found Gothar and he was clearly shocked. He said the island was no longer safe and we had to make an escape plan, that the Nazis could profane the island and awaken the Níðhöggr. He went to another old cave where he pulled out a pair of axes, and he said he'd help me protect Yggdrasil for as long as he could, that he was a warrior once. The next time I saw him, he had painted his face with blood.

If that was where it ended, that would have been one thing to unpack. The patrol boat had maybe about a dozen soldiers, and we dispatched most of them in a day or two. Then the submarine popped up from the water.

Must have been fifty of them. We had no chance at all. We didn't give up though. Gothar switched over to a bow and arrow, he probably killed two dozen before they finally caught up to him. I watched, as they finally caught up to him. He charged his sword into a crowd of them. He died on his feet, and the roots dragged him down too.

The Nazis were just as mortified about the roots and the plants, and some of them even discussed scorching the entire island. I knew I couldn't let them.

Eventually I ran out of ammo, and with the ground consuming the corpses quicker than I could loot them, I had no gun to speak of. I was able to disarm a soldier using my whip and I was able to take his rifle, but the clip only had ten shots and one of them had to be used on him. I knew my time was running out.

They surrounded me one evening. I was exhausted and had nowhere left to run. I thought they'd kill me right then and there but they didn't. When they had me at gunpoint, Schwachkopf walked up. He laughed. He said that he knew he would get me eventually, but he was impressed with the fight I managed to put up. He said he wished there were more women like me back in Germany. I was silent.

They tied me up and dragged me back to Yggdrasil. It had grown so much, nearly twice the height I found it at. Blood was pouring out of it like sap, and the runes carved into the nearby forest were glowing with a dark light that blurred my eyes just to stare at them.

They placed me in front of the tree, said that I should make a worthy sacrifice. After all, I'd proven that I was a warrior. The twenty or so of them that were left sang German drinking songs and took turns kicking me in the gut.

When they pressed the gun against my forehead it happened in an instant. Roots flew out from the ground and began ripping the Nazis apart. Branches from the forest all around crashed to the earth and crushed people underneath. The bugs, birds, and rodents swarmed out and attacked everyone in sight. A mass of leaves and grass grew around my binding and chewed through the rope. I was able to run, I was able to fight back. I saw one of them making a hasty exit. Schwachkopf. Fleeing like a coward, his men dying all around him.

I had to make sure it ended here. I searched their campsite. I couldn't find my gun or my whip, but Schwachkopf had kept my knife in his tent. I ran after him. He wasn't getting away.

I cornered him near a drop off in the land, too high for him to jump without breaking a leg. Schwachkopf pulled out his pistol and he shot at me. Too high though. He knocked off my hat, the big brown fedora. By the time he had wasted his shot, my knife was in his throat.

That's when I saw what troubled me the most. As he gripped his throat, the trees collapsed around us. I took several steps back and looked on. The Níðhöggr crawled out underneath him, now it was a massive beast, no longer a mere worm. It shot forth and swallowed him whole. The beast eyed me and lurched forward. Suddenly the roots came back and began to dig into the Níðhöggr. It crawled and squirmed and broke the roots off only for more to shoot forth and rip into it. Only processing the horror, I watched as the beast was dragged down back into the earth, contained again after a very brief escape. The ground was cracked and smoking. I smelled sulfur in the air. The plants where he stood had withered and died and animals had dropped dead where they stood. Thirty feet around, the island now had a scar.

The Nazis are all dead, and during the fighting the tree must have pulled down their submarine as well. Besides their campsite, there's not a sign of them left.

I am alone. Alone to protect the Yggdrasil and to keep the Níðhöggr locked away.

Journal entry 08/05/1945

Perhaps I should have, some time between that day and now, written anything else in my journal, but my life feels so different. I lived on the island another 5 months before the cold became too much. I found a small patrol boat the first batch of Nazis used to sail here, and I made plans for an exit. I took a bucket from the German camp and this time found it quite easy to remove Yggdrasil from its soil. I merely touched it and it fired up from the ground, its roots making a tangled nest beneath it. The Níðhöggr, as tiny as a worm, struggled inside. I placed it in the bucket, filled with some soil from the island and it locked itself in as tight as it was in the pot I had found it in.

I sailed out to the north of Sweden, to reunite with my sister. We kept the barn on the farm warm and put Yggdrasil in the light of a window. We lived quiet lives as farm hands for the last four years.

Today the war is over, Germany has surrendered. My greatest fear can no longer haunt me, but I am afraid we're not far out from another threat taking interest in Yggdrasil. My aunt, who owns this farm, tells me she received a letter from the Soviet Union enquiring about my whereabouts. It could be nothing, but I refuse to take any risks when it comes to the safety of the World Tree.

I'll be reaching out to people I can trust to make a plan about the future of this tree. I've owned it for the better part of a decade and maybe there's a better way to keep it safe than to hope I'll be safe. I know Grethe is still in London and I have to presume Zac was probably just fine in Iceland. Maybe it is time for me to go back to Oslo and pick up the pieces.

Journal entry 12/07/1945

Met with Grethe and Zac in Oslo today. Grethe cried when she saw me. Zac just laughed and asked if I lost the hat he gave me. When I pulled it out of my bag, still with a bullet hole in it, he laughed harder. "I knew I gave you that for a reason", he said.

The two of them had quite the offer for me, and after quite a bit of thinking about it, I think I'm going to take the offer.

During the waning days of the war, Grethe and Zac were given jobs at some sort of organization. They couldn't tell me all that much in the way of specifics other than they've been given permission to hire me on. They claim it's a relatively simple concept: Protect powerful objects of myth and legend from those who would abuse them. Lock them away, take care of them, keep the world safe.

I think that's the best we can hope for with Yggdrasil. Keep the tree alive, keep the Níðhöggr trapped.

I'll be allowed to care for the Yggdrasil, until the day I wish to retire from that duty. I'll be paid to do nothing else, and I'll be able to go home every night knowing it is secure.

Forgive me gods if you have other plans, I have to keep this world safe. I'm going to call Grethe back and tell her I'll take the job.

Letter to Researcher Zeb Iversen, dated 12/07/1975

Zeb,

Out of all the employees on site here, you've always shown the most passion for your work. Your eyes light up like a child's when you see runic text or an old Norse weapon that has been brought in. It's that kind of passion that I carried with me when I was your age; your late 20s are probably one of the most turbulent parts of your life but they're also the most magical.

I'm an old woman now, or at least I feel like one. 64 years. I've given the Foundation three decades of service to the day. It's been a pleasure I never thought I'd have in my life. With the help of so many brilliant people like you, we've come so much closer to understanding the world that our ancestors lived in, closer to the gods than we ever imagined.

I've decided this is my exit. I have a place I need to return too while I still have my wits about me. I don't intend to come back. Anya, my sister, always wanted to come with me if I ever went back. I think there's some secrets still waiting there for us.

On my desk, since the day we've met, there's been a plant. A tree. Not even two feet tall, but a beautiful little thing nonetheless. I've cared for it every day, because it's not just a plant, it's something quite important. Something so important, I've arranged for you to receive the documentation from the Foundation about it. SCP-6464. It is now in your care.

I've placed on your desk my old journal from a time when I was a much younger woman. It should help you understand what SCP-6464 is and everything that it went through on its way to you.

I know this might come out of left field for you, we aren't especially close and there's another several dozen employees that I could have given it to, but I want you to find it under similar circumstances that I did. Take care of Yggdrasil, it will take care of you.

Now, I'm off to disappear. I'm sure the Foundation will look for me but I doubt they'll find a trace. There's a cave off in Gotska Sandön that is calling my name.

Valhalla, I'm coming home.

- Gunilla Viklund