Aphelia cast a glance at the ink-dark ocean below. Without Odin’s word, she’d never link this same-looking sea with the underworld’s breath.

Uroboros looked bored and let out a neat yawn.

Seeing this, Odin led them straight across the water, rising high, until they hovered over the forest they’d left. From the sky, Aphelia saw it clearly: within each colossal tree, faint lights slept, one after another.

At those lights, tenderness softened Odin’s azure eyes like dawn fog.

“This is Alfheim, realm of the fae. I fled here because they were kind to the Aesir.”

“At the invasion’s dawn, the weak couldn’t fight. Guided by their queen, they chose sleep to raise a ward, shielding Aesir and severing giants from humankind.”

Odin sighed, a wind passing through old leaves.

“If the ward still held, they wouldn’t have found me, nor driven me into a dead end.”

“I don’t know how the fae fare now. Their queen hid them from giant and human eyes; may fate spare them.”

Odin exhaled, shook her head, and led them down to the Golden Plain.

“No need for long tales here. Aphelia and I first met on this very plain.”

“It stands for harvest and plenty, the Aesir’s breadfield. Pity—giant blood fouled it; who knows when it’ll be clean again.”

Pain and hate knotted Odin’s face, and Aphelia sighed.

Bone-deep hate gets paid in blood. Until giants are torn to scraps, this grudge won’t sleep.

“Far off lies the Asgardian Realm. We can’t spook the strong giants by dropping in suddenly.”

They followed her gaze; a golden palace stood like a sun caught in stone. With Aphelia’s and Uroboros’s sight, there was no missing it. Some strange force must rest on those gilded halls, or the realm wraps them in warding.

“That was my traveling palace. Now, most likely, giants have taken it.”

“It’s the realm’s other core besides the World Tree. I poured most of my strength into it.”

“Nearly all Aesir lived within that Golden Palace. Inside, absorption of power would rocket, a day like a year.”

“Absorb power? I thought you wielded Runes, borrowing strength through crafted forms.”

From your fights, the Aesir turned Runes into forces and tools. Even I, not yet whole, could drive the Rune you gifted.

“Ah, sorry, Aphelia—I misled you. To drive a Rune, you still rely on your inner strength.”

Beyond the Azure Aether, a clear power gathered in Odin’s palm. It tangled like dense roots, coiling around her hand.

“To wield Runes directly, you must eat the World Tree’s fruit. That’s the foundation.”

“If the World Tree moistens our strength like a switch, the fruit grows a container inside us.”

“I activated your Rune before handing it over, so you skipped that step.”

“I see.” Aphelia’s thoughts drifted to magitech—devices driven by a Mana Crystal.

In a way, they matched: the fruit as the device, the body as the crystal holding Arcane Power.

“But Rune power can’t match Aether. Aether overturns the world; it feels near absolute.”

“What do you call it where you’re from, Aphelia? ‘Aether’ surfaced the moment I awakened.”

“We call it Aether too. It must be born of the world’s essence; otherwise, this match is too exact.”

Still, Aphelia had never gained power like that; her path was wild, beyond the norm.

“Then yes,” Odin nodded. “It’s a power that touches the world itself.”

“This is the first layer. There’s more—divine clans’ lands, their cultures.”

“Once, an unceasing river lay between the Golden Plain and the realm, a defense that never slept. Humans blocked it by unknown means.”

“First layer?” Uroboros cut in, tail-swift. “What’s your world like?”

Odin didn’t answer at once; caution rose like frost. After seeing Uroboros’s eerie power, anyone would guard their tongue. Even Aphelia had, at first, until self-sacrifice tilted the scale.

Odin glanced at Aphelia, asking without words. Aphelia gave a bitter nod.

“Our world doesn’t sit on a simple continent. It hangs in the void—three equal layers bound tight by the World Tree.”

“The void?” The word stirred Aphelia’s mind like dust in a sunbeam.

Mages carve tiny domains in the void, but those are pockets. This is a whole world—three worlds braided into one.

“Yes. The World Tree fixes us, roots us in the void.”

“If the World Tree falls, the two upper worlds with billions vanish at once.”

“Erased without a trace, memory swallowed by the void.”

“So even if humans surged up from the second layer, they wouldn’t dare harm the tree.”

“They’d have nowhere to live, and only the Aesir can repair the World Tree.”

Confidence filled Odin’s words like iron, though her face stayed dark. The meaning was plain.

“Their mad hunt for me likely proves the tree suffered a deep wound. Ordinary folk can’t repair it.”

She pointed toward the realm, her gaze heavy.

“I’ve gained Aether, but the fruit’s power remains. Through its link to the World Tree, faint as it is, I feel the tree’s strength ebbing.”

“Ebbing… then it’s a mortal wound?” Aphelia’s chest tightened, urgency ringing like a bell.

“We have to move; I won’t drown in the void. I still don’t know how to cross these layered times.”

“Lose the path in endless void, without a guide, and life becomes a slow death.”

“Maybe not fatal,” Odin said. “The tree is weak, and we must go down a layer. Only there can we learn what humans did.”

“Letting so many giants pass means damage of real scale.”

Azure Aether tugged, and in a blink they returned over the gray, wide sea.

Back above it, Aphelia felt it clearly—a death-sign, dry and cold as ash.

“Paths between layers are few. Besides the World Tree, only a handful exist, most inside the realm. The only path we can use is this Underworld Sea.”

As if answering, the gray ocean heaved, and below, a vast mouth opened. It widened, a deep hollow in the sea’s bones.

“This is the path from the first world down. Through the Underworld Sea, we reach the third layer—the land of the dead, Niflheim.”

Watching the surf boil, Odin urged, “Go. If they catch up, we fight again.”

“Go? How?” Aphelia peered into the black, bottomless pit and felt her grip slip.

She had strange power, but mastery lagged, and a rueful smile tugged at her lips.

Before she could stall, a brute force shoved her downward—whoosh. Uroboros’s gleeful voice trailed from behind.