The pungent smell of ashes stung my nose. And cold droplets fell one by one on my forehead and cheeks.
‘Is it raining?’
Fernandez frowned at the droplets falling on his face. Drifting through the tangled concept of time in the Realm of the Imagination and being thrown back into reality was never pleasant, and his whole body felt as if it had been slashed by a sword.
And now, on top of that, it’s raining. Perfect. Fernandez frowned and opened his eyes.
A wheat field stretched out before him. Like a wheat field under the midsummer sun, a dazzling golden glow spread before his eyes. From the clear, sky-like eyes, rain was falling.
“Abel.”
“You’ve… been through a lot.”
Abel stroked Fernandez’s cheek with trembling hands. He got up, his body disheveled, and looked around. Flames were swirling around him in all directions. Yggdrasil, the great divine tree that had endured the ages alongside Asgard, was burning itself, announcing the end of a world.
“Your Excellency!”
Kirhas, holding his arm and supporting him, laughed. Her clothes and skin were stained with wounds and dust. The traces of hardship were evident on her body. He slowly raised his hand and stroked Kirhas’s hair.
“Let’s go back.”
“Yes, Your Excellency!”
Climbing down the burning trunk of Yggdrasil, the three began their descent to the ground. Stumbling, sometimes dangerously missing their grip. Supporting and guiding each other, never stopping.
Like human nature, even if they fall, they never stop.
Loft was sitting on a massive throne made of bones and skulls, spinning around and laughing. Beside him stood Freya, dressed in a pristine white ceremonial armor adorned with flowers and leaves. They sat at the highest row of the grand tent, looking down at the interior.
“Friends. It’s so good to see you after so long. Ah, Father too.”
“Loki.”
The king of the giants, Utgard. The ruler of the Jotuns, with his arms crossed, looked at Loft with a crooked gaze. His steel armor, adorned with leather and animal horns, revealed his solid muscles.
He spoke in a voice that echoed ominously from beneath his helmet.
“Withdraw your forces. It’s time to finish this.”
“On such a fine day, is there really a need for more bloodshed, Father?”
“Isn’t it time to avenge your disgrace?”
“My disgrace? Hahaha! Father. Utgard! You dare say that to me? My disgrace? You were the one who handed me over to the Aesir!”
Loft’s eyes burned with fury. The skulls he sat on rattled with his anger. Then, Thor, sitting at one end of the round table, slammed his hand on the table.
[Jotun. Yes, withdraw your forces. Do you hate the Aesir? We have no intention of living under your protection!]
“Is that what the other Aesir think too?”
Freya, standing quietly beside Loft, spoke softly.
[Banadis!]
“Though I was a hostage. Well, I didn’t hate all the Aesir. How can everything in the world be only good? Or only bad? I enjoyed the spring in Asgard in my own way, Thor. So believe me. Botan has given me half of the Einherjar, so I will respond with the authority of the Aesir.”
Freya took a step forward and declared.
“The Aesir have paid enough for their sins, and they still face lifelong exile. Come to Vanaheim. I can’t promise permanent peace, but I can grant you the right to live among the Vanir. The end has come, and the nightmare of Fimbulwinter ends today. There is no need for anyone’s blood to be shed anymore.”
The old man sitting at the end of the table, who had remained silent, looked at Loft and smiled faintly. Loft chuckled and gestured to him.
“Mimir, if you have something to say, speak freely. After today, we may not see each other again.”
“With Banadis’s Einherjar and Heimdall’s Bifrost in your hands, great king. You have now become the ruler of this era.”
“Like Botan was?”
“What will you do now? Conquer thousands of worlds and reap lives?”
“Oh, Mimir. Wise friend. Don’t threaten me.”
Loft smiled dryly as he looked at the lord of Helheim.
“Thor will inherit the throne of the Aesir. I have no intention of doing so. And as for the Aesir… well, let them scatter to Vanaheim, Midgard, Jotunheim, or Helheim as they wish. I no longer wish to be entangled with them.”
“What an irresponsible king.”
“Do I have any subjects left to be responsible for? My subjects are these guys.”
Loft tapped the skulls supporting him. The skulls clicked, their jaws snapping shut.
“The Einherjar, and all the dead. They need at least one lighthouse to guide them on their path. If the only choices after death are the cold hypocrites of the heavens or the mad demons, that would be too sad. On the long journey to the afterlife, which lasts longer than life itself, wouldn’t it be nice to have at least one ‘friend’?”
“Do you intend to become the God of Death?”
“If I must, I’d rather be a companion than a god. Don’t call me that, friend. Weren’t we comrades who shared the same boat?”
Loft laughed heartily. Mimir, the one who had devised and delivered the Ragnarok plan to Loft. The two strategists, who had used each other to achieve a single goal, looked at each other and laughed.
“Hail to the great king. You’ve grown well, Loft.”
“Enough with the flattery. Now, everyone. Great sovereigns of the thousand worlds. Pay attention.”
Loft clapped his hands and stood up.
“Now it’s time for everyone to return. The play is over, the curtain has fallen. The actors must return to their homes and start new lives. Even after preventing the world’s destruction and killing our enemies, life goes on. Utgard.”
“Hmph.”
“Withdraw your forces. Why not enjoy the snow in Jotunheim?”
“And if I refuse?”
“Well, the Einherjar, Helheim, and the grieving refugees of Asgard would all condemn you in one voice. Maybe even use a sword or two?”
Utgard slowly closed his eyes and turned his head. Watching this, Loft smirked and looked at Thor.
“Thor. My friend.”
[……Do as you please.]
“That’s what I thought! I’ll take the Bifrost. You take the throne.”
[I’ll take Jormungand’s corpse too.]
“I don’t know what you plan to do with it, but fine. Go ahead. Now, Freya?”
“I’ll go to Midgard.”
Freya stepped back from the table and smiled. Surprised, Loft tilted his head.
“To Midgard?”
“It’s been a long time since I left Vanaheim. What meaning would there be in me going to establish a new home? I’ll accept the Aesir’s exile, but I have no desire to start a power struggle for Vanaheim’s throne. I’m not suited for the throne.”
“Then what,”
