Olive branches in his antlers and rosin smoke wafting from his hands, Kai of Heilung blesses the crowd, the Warriors, his fellow shamans on the Lycabettus Theatre stage. We are at the top of the Hill Walked by Wolves in the heart of Athens, the city lights sparkling somewhere under us. There are gnarly bright-green projections on the rock face cradling the amphitheatre.

With one mighty blow of a horn, a call into the crowd and Maria, her eyes concealed by her headdress, leaping into her drumming, the ritual begins.

Heilung is one of the rare bands where the sheer ambition of their live performances transcends the cynical suspicious won’t-believe-it-till-you-show-me modern mind. Erupting on the European festival stage in 2017 at Castlefest and Midgardsblot, looking and sounding like nobody else in this strange niche of experimental Nordic folk-trance-acoustic-metal-but-not-metal, they have brought cathartic healing to mesmerised crowds around the world with their dramatic set-pieces. Like a play or a half-forgotten memory, the narrative arc of their performance is never outright explained, yet you feel yourself journeying through the symbolism – the crawling shadows, the interlocked antlers, the hanging, the fire dance. The first time I saw Maria on stage, the thought was “If she sprouts wings and flies off over my head, I wouldn’t bat an eye“. Her presence has the magnetism of a predator – look away and you’re lost.

But you can’t look away.

The Athens crowd felt it too. Howling, jumping, holding the warriors as they navigated through, the exchange between us and the performers was constant, churning, our voices crashing against theirs like the tide.

The ritual goes through us like holy fire – never hurting, deeply changing. I’d caught an olive branch from the opening ceremonial blessings. It felt alive in my arms the whole night.