Garm

Beneath the roots of the world, where the dead walk silently through the mists of Helheim, there is a sound like chains straining and the low growl of something ancient, restless, and blood-bound. This is Garm, the hound who watches the gates of the underworld. In some tellings, he is merely a guardian, tethered in the shadows to prevent the dead from leaving and the living from trespassing. In others, he is more—an omen, a beast of fate whose howls will mark the end of days. At Ragnarök, it is foretold that Garm will break free from his chains and battle the god Tyr in a mutual death, their blood soaking the shattered bones of the world.

The myths are slippery around Garm, as they often are with creatures bound to thresholds. Some say he is a darker mirror of Fenrir, another child of Loki, though others insist Garm is older still, a creature born from Hel’s cold breath and the silence of graves. He is sometimes confused with, or folded into, Fenrir himself—a testament to how closely their fates entwine with apocalypse. But unlike Fenrir, whose rage burns openly, Garm is a presence held in tension. His fury simmers. He waits. And waiting, in the underworld, is its own kind of violence.

Visual Description:

Garm is imagined as a towering, muscular hound with a coat the color of cinders and dried blood. His eyes burn red like forge embers in a cold hearth, and saliva drips from his blackened jaws in slow, smoking strands. Chains hang broken and rusted from his shoulders, and his paws leave scorched prints across frost-covered stone. His fur is matted and thick, embedded with bits of bone and ash, and his ears are torn, perhaps by centuries of straining against his binds.

In art, Garm often stands at the dark gates of Hel, massive and watchful, with one paw raised as if always on the verge of movement. Behind him, the realm of the dead stretches in frozen grey, and above him, the faint silhouette of the world tree looms in the fog. Around his neck, a heavy iron collar gleams faintly with runes of warning and command—long since broken. He is terror bound in patience, the kind of beast that doesn’t chase you, because he knows eventually, you will come to him.