“This is the seam between Underworld and earth, a fog-thin corridor between shores. Every soul about to die, or likely to die, drifts here. Within my reach, the dead get guided back to the mortal stream, into what you call reincarnation.”

The girl cut Aphelia off without a blink, her voice calm as still water, and explained.

“Then… does your management here get bound by time?”

The thought rose like a fish snagged by fate; Aphelia couldn’t help asking.

“Of course not. If time chained this place, the world outside would already be a broken hive.”

“Then I want to find someone. Can I?”

Hope surged like a returning tide. Aphelia trembled without meaning to, eyes bright as wet lacquer as she looked at the girl.

She reasoned fast, like sparks across dry straw. If she stood in an era unknown, it still meant this was her world, only in the past or the future. The ferryman herself had said she managed souls beyond time, so—

She saw again that blood-red silhouette on the Abyssal range, a life carved short, crimson as clotted dusk.

The girl didn’t answer. Onyx-black eyes held Aphelia’s gaze, glass-still and unblinking. Only after a long silence did she break the hush.

“Of course. I didn’t think you’d ever come ask me, but here we are. Say it. Who do you need?”

“R-really? Do you need her name, or—”

Words tangled like reeds in a current. With a solution close enough to touch, Aphelia stammered.

“Take my hand. Say her name. Hold her face in your mind.”

The girl offered a small, pale hand, as cool as moonlit jade, her tone older than her years. In front of her, Aphelia felt like the child whose stormy heart couldn’t quiet.

“Y-yes!”

Aphelia reached with both hands and clasped that tiny hand. The chill sank in like night dew on stone, carved-fine as jade. She didn’t linger on it. She gathered that familiar figure in her mind, thread by thread.

The one who had haunted her soul like a lamp behind paper walls.

As Aphelia remembered, the girl shivered with other people’s memories. A thousand pallid shadows flickered through those black eyes like moths against glass. From her small frame, a crushing pressure spilled out like a winter front.

In that instant, power flowed around Aphelia through the clean-white bridge of their fingers, a river beneath ice. The barren dark filled, packed tight with presence like a forest suddenly leafed.

They came joyful, grieving, enraged, terrified—faces like masks in a ritual parade. The moment they noticed Aphelia, hunger sharpened, as if they’d scented a peerless feast. Yet before they could draw near, the little girl erased them with a casual sweep, like chalk wiped from slate.

It didn’t last. The girl frowned, slipped free of Aphelia’s grip, and the strangeness vanished like mist at noon.

“The one you’re thinking of—I can’t find her.”

“How? How could you not find her? Please, I beg you, try again!”

Aphelia’s voice broke like thawing ice. She couldn’t accept it. If this girl called herself a ferryman of souls, how could she not find Violet’s soul?

Unless she was a lie—

“I suggest you put away that small and shallow thought.”

Her eyes said she’d seen straight through Aphelia. Her tone went winter-cold. With a flick of her cool, child-small hand, the countless drifting presences gathered behind her like a stormfront, and a terrible pressure poured through the air.

“I’m sorry… I lost my head.”

At the sudden shift, Aphelia saw her own misstep. She exhaled, bowed her head, and apologized, her gaze dull as spent coals.

She didn’t fear death, not truly. She only wanted one more meeting. At least to say sorry with her own mouth.

The girl looked used to this kind of plea. She sighed, waved the strange presences away like birds from a field, and the cold force thinned to nothing.

“If I can’t find a soul here, there are two reasons. One, she’s still alive. Two, she’s become something stronger than I am. Don’t despair. If she’s alive, there will be a time for you to meet.”

Aphelia let out a brittle laugh, like glass tapped by a fingernail.

“I’m about to die. Aren’t you here to ferry me? What’s the point of ‘see her again’…”

“Who said I came to ferry you?”

The girl laughed without much kindness, like someone hearing a tall joke, and curiosity pried Aphelia’s heart open again.

Hope kindled like a dry wick. She chose her words carefully.

“You… didn’t come to ferry me? Does that mean—”

“Right. Stop testing me. You’re not dead. You’re fine. What’s wrong—did I scare you?”

She tipped her head and smiled, mischief bright as a cat’s eyes.

“Hah… hah… You did scare me. Please don’t make that kind of joke twice, Lady Ferryman.”

With that certainty, Aphelia’s breath loosened, and she managed an embarrassed smile.

“Don’t worry. A soul woven entirely from the Primordial Flame—no one but you can shake it.”

She shook her head, patted gray dust from her white dress like snow from sleeves, and turned to go.

“Wait—what do you mean? What is the Primordial Flame? And what does it mean that no one can shake my soul?”

Aphelia reached out, the questions sparking like flint in the dark.

The girl didn’t slow. She only waved back.

“Next time, goddess. Someone’s already calling you.”

Someone’s calling me?

The thought barely formed when the floor dropped away behind her like a cliff edge. A rush of emptiness grabbed her gut, and urgent voices hammered her ears.

“Aphelia…”

“Aphelia…”

“Aphelia… wake up!”

Through smeared light, a figure kept patting her cheek, calling her name like a bell in fog.

Sight cleared by degrees. Aphelia finally saw who leaned over her.

“Cough…”

“Aphelia, you’re finally awake!”

The one calling her was Wende, the woman Aphelia had raised with the Crimson Fire. Wende hurried to prop her up and pressed a waterskin into her hands. Honey-thick fragrance slid down her throat, and the body’s dryness and fatigue ebbed like tide.

“Cough… cough!”

“Easy. No rush. Sip it.”

Seeing Aphelia wake, Wende’s shoulders loosened. After Aphelia waved her off a few times, Wende lowered the wine gourd, and Aether glimmered faintly from her fingers, smoothing Aphelia’s breath like warm hands on silk.

“Cough… Did I… come back? Or did we both die, Wende?”

“We didn’t. Neither of us.”

Aphelia stared at Wende’s ash-blue dress like checking a dream for seams. She pressed her palm to Wende’s warmth to be sure, then let out a long breath. She looked up at the massive tree above, felt the softness at her back like moss.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever been this grateful to feel warmth.”

Wende chuckled, light as wind through leaves.

“If it’s warmth you want, life’s a long road.”

They rested in that odd aftertaste, traded a glance, and laughed together, laughter edged with weariness and relief.

After a while, tiredness folded them closer, and they leaned into each other like two birds on one branch.

“Hey, Wende, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Go on.”

Wende smiled at her. After life and death, the distance between them felt smaller, like snow melted from a path.

“Who… are you, really? To this world, to this whole era. Miss Wende—or is that not your true name?”

She didn’t look surprised. She smiled softly, reached into empty air, and this time, no blue-green Rune answered. Instead, a strand of Aether like living Thunder sparked in her palm.

She crushed it as if it were paper, let it twist into a dozen strange shapes like smoke, and then watched it fade.

“My name—Odin. I’m head of the Asgardian Realm, the one who commands lightning, and the ruler of this era… Pity, Asgard stands on the edge of ruin, and as its leader, I don’t intend to go back and save it.”

Odin gave a crooked smile and lifted her face to the jeweled night. Her eyes held weather—regret, resolve, and something unreadable.

Aphelia didn’t flinch. She only smiled and followed her gaze to the star-wet sky.

She had suspected for a while. She just hadn’t guessed Wende’s true self was the god steering this era.

Maybe… it was time to call her Odin.

“Then don’t. Eras move like tides. No matter how strong someone is, they’re small against that sea.”

Surprise flickered in Odin’s look, a sheen of approval, and then she sighed.

“You’re right. Maybe Asgard’s fall really is the push of the age, even if I once pushed the age myself and led Asgard to rule the world. Still, I think this: we gods should step down from the altar and hand the future to humans.”

She spoke of her resurrection and the new power in her hand without a quiver of attachment, like a traveler laying down a burden.

“What about those giants? You looked shocked to see them here.”

“They’re the opposite of Asgardians, born with a taste for ruin and slaughter. For some reason, this time they were driven by humans and became the vanguard that marched on the divine realm.”

As she said it, Odin drew out a hammer and a blade from nowhere, iron-dark and cold as winter. Pain shadowed her eyes.

“These were my kin’s weapons. If they fell into giants’ hands, my people have likely met their end.”