Even Aphelia startled herself; yet the Bracer Gauntlets in her hands stayed cool and steady. Power kept pouring out, a river breaking winter ice. With giants hulking around her, curiosity lit her eyes like lanterns in mist.
“Hey, Miss Odin, you think Aphelia’s gonna get stuck in that mob of monsters?”
The two stood before a shimmering, kaleidoscopic barrier. Bored, Uroboros poked at Odin with a lazy grin.
“What’s this, Aphelia’s companion has no faith in her?”
Odin chuckled, not biting, and tossed the question back. Uroboros tasted the jab and grimaced.
“She only just got her strength back. You really think she can handle that lot?”
Uroboros wasn’t one to eat a loss. She fired her excuse like a dart, waiting for Odin to fluster.
Odin stayed unhurried. She wiped her long spear, then shook her head with a smile.
“They’re middling at best. If you mean actually hurting Aphelia, not a chance. And you—why do you sound eager for her to get in trouble? She’s your ally. Got any normal thoughts left?”
“Tch. I’m worried, okay? Even if she dies, I wouldn’t care.”
Uroboros forced a scoff. Just then, a soft, teasing laugh rose behind her.
“Oh? If me dying is no big deal, I’ll go die now.”
At some point, Aphelia had appeared right in front of Uroboros. She patted Uroboros’s shoulder, kindness warm in her gaze.
“Ah, you’re done already? No injuries, right…”
Seeing Uroboros’s act, Aphelia sighed, exasperation like a breeze through reeds.
“If I really died, you’d be in trouble too, wouldn’t you?”
Her tone carried a flick of annoyance. She looked nothing like someone fresh from a war—clothes neat, aura calm, as if she’d strolled through.
“Nope, not troubled at all. Why would I be troubled—”
Odin shouldered Uroboros aside and cut in, curious.
“Aphelia, the beasts outside—why’s it so quiet? Did you lay them all out?”
No way she killed them. Those things aren’t meant to die…
Memory pricked; three voices bragged about them once, and Odin’s head ached. In the Land of the Dead, they spawn nuisances, not corpses. Don’t kill them, Aphelia…
But Aphelia’s gentle smile brewed a bad guess in Odin’s gut. Her voice trembled.
“You only knocked them down, right? Not killed…”
“Sorry. Killed them.”
Ophelius scratched her head, sheepish. To Odin, that wasn’t “sorry”—it was a red flare. She stared at Aphelia in disbelief, voice shaking.
“Aphelia, those were Soul-Eaters. They look solid, but they’re just gatekeepers projected by Niflheim. Are you sure you reduced them to ash?”
“Yeah… what’s wrong with that…”
Odin pressed her palm to her brow. Aphelia’s face softened with guilt. New strength had gone to her head; her hand had been heavy—too heavy. It wasn’t just overdoing it. She’d scrubbed them out.
“Fine… dead’s dead. It’s done. I’ll talk down those three stubborn elders later. Come on. We’re entering Niflheim.”
She drew her spear across the barrier. A slit of light opened, gleam spilling like spilled stars. Within, reflections stacked like a thousand worlds.
Hearing that, Aphelia instinctively stepped back. Her gaze sharpened, wary of the two, refusing to take point.
“What’s wrong, Aphelia? Why not go?”
They turned in unison. They got Aphelia’s mild answer.
“You two first. And from now on, never make me lead.”
After enough bad runs, Aphelia would never walk in front of these two again.
Deep in Niflheim, by a river glittering like scales, three white-clad maidens smiled from the bank. The water lay mirror-smooth, reflecting the trio as they slipped inside Niflheim.
Past the veil, the world flipped from the Stone Wastes to wonder. Green meadows rolled. Giant trees speared the sky. The forest pulsed with life, nothing like a Land of the Dead. More alive than the woods on the third layer they’d seen before.
“Odin… this really is the Land of the Dead?”
Aphelia eyed the verdure, tasted the air, felt the pulse. This was a real forest, not conjured fog or brittle ward.
She breathed deep. Coolness washed her, nerves uncoiling like a fist opening. Even Uroboros seemed lulled by the green hush.
Odin didn’t bask. She sighed, then lifted her spear to point at the trees.
“This is the Land of the Dead. Its core. The other regions aren’t like this. This is where the dead persist. If it all looked this lovely, we wouldn’t call it the Land of the Dead.”
“Fair. So, who are we here to find?”
Aphelia gave a sheepish smile. After so long wound tight, it was natural to ease in a place like this.
“It’s a long story. Walk and I’ll talk.”
“The core of the Land of the Dead—Niflheim—guards the path the World Tree opens to the Second Layer. It’s home to the RhineFairies. And it’s now the only region in this land the dead cannot tread.”
“Now? You mean there used to be another such haven here?”
Catching her wording, Aphelia plucked a fruit and took a bite as they walked.
“Bold of you.”
Odin rapped her lightly on the forehead, then answered.
“Yes. Back then, the Valkyries’ temple also sat within the Land of the Dead. Not only here—there were Valkyrie temples in the human world as well. Sadly… before everything went wrong, the brave Valkyrie who led them left this world with her host.”
Old years rose; Odin’s sigh was tender and raw, nostalgia braided with regret.
“Left this world, as in…”
“Literally. With no warning, the Valkyries vanished, as if they evaporated overnight. The temples all held fierce traces of spatial distortion afterward. The only conclusion—departure.”
Uroboros cut in.
“Why leave? Weren’t they your people?”
“Of course not.”
Odin smiled and shook her head, then answered firm.
“They were human. Purely human.”
“They proved humankind’s worth to the Asgardians through their own strength—humanity’s glory. Because of them, the giants, mankind’s ancient foes, dared not harm humans lightly. The Asgardians honored them.”
“That’s why I don’t know why they left. Maybe they refused to be caught in the middle, pressed from both sides.”
Anyone could see how helpless, how hurt Odin felt.
A thought struck Aphelia. She asked quickly:
“Odin, do you remember the name and face of their leader?”
Such a simple question stopped the lord of a god-race cold. Her fond expression locked up. She’d forgotten.
“Sorry, Aphelia… I don’t know why, but it’s like I never saw her. Her name and face won’t stick. Beyond battle memories, all I have is a blur of white.”
Odin offered a rueful smile. The three stopped at a river to rest a while.
“All gone, huh. It’s fine… Odin, do you remember a Valkyrie named Hrok? She used a longsword, carried a—”
“A massive black coffin, right? When I met her, she didn’t use a sword yet. She wielded a spiked war mace. Truly a butcher on the battlefield.”
Odin smiled, old memories stirred. Her answer made Aphelia narrow her eyes. She shot Uroboros a glance. Uroboros whistled, all innocence.
