"Origin's power hits like a storm—again, again!"
Sigdrifa slid into a fever, a wildfire licking bone, born a warrior like Aphelia, soul-deep craving the drumbeat of battle.
The stronger the foe, the stronger the surge; Aphelia had drowned in that flood before, slew the enemy, paid a price like broken ice.
Seeing Sigdrifa tip into rage, Violet grit her teeth; crimson Aether budded into a short spear, a thorn made to jab her awake.
Earth couldn’t bear two gods trading thunder; reports rolled in like ash, the planet sagging toward full collapse.
Sigdrifa held back the tide, yet she was a blade, not a shield; even her Aether churn spurred the Earth Vein to crack like dry clay.
If Earth weren’t one of the primordial mother worlds, its veins tough as old roots, her rough grip would’ve turned it to dust drifting in dark.
"This can’t go on; Valkyries across the globe are losing Aether link—someone must dive into the Earth Vein and steady the flow, or we win and inherit a wasteland."
Hrok bit down hard, her heavy hammer thumped the ground like a heart; through iron, she felt the buried rivers twist.
By any measure, only she and Violet could work the deep roots now, two lanterns in a storm.
Violet fumbled out a silver key, her eyes clouded like winter river; after a long struggle, she tightened her grip and moved to open the door.
A hand pressed hers down, a cool weight like stone. "No, Violet. Bring them out now and you’ll send them to die; their bodies aren’t whole, and air is poison."
Violet’s voice snapped like a bowstring. "Then what’s left? We’re running out of breath—Aphelia still isn’t back!"
Hrok fell silent, a forge gone cold; she wasn’t a technician, just a maker of weapons and the arts that swing them.
Violet was built for campaigns, long as winter nights; the others slept on, Aether too thin to wake them, like seeds without rain.
Even if Violet pulled them out, they’d burn bright and gutter fast; Valkyries aren’t tinder, they’re strategic meteors, not meant to be spent.
"Leave it to me."
Hrok drew a long breath, a mountain taking weight, eyes steady as iron set.
She gripped the hammer and gathered Aether, a river into cracked earth; someone had to mend the vein, even if the current stripped flesh from bone.
Even a specialist Valkyrie could die between Sigdrifa’s storm and the Earth Vein’s grind without full strength; Hrok stepped in as an ‘outsider’ entering a maelstrom.
"Aether control is universal; even the Earth Vein heeds it. No one knows its bones better than me; I thought my knowledge useless, turns out it was saved for today."
Her tight face eased into a bitter smile, rain on steel; she knew what she had to do—war without sacrifice isn’t war, and sacrifice is the great equal weight.
She’d known since waking, heart packed for the journey; she just hadn’t expected the dawn to arrive this sharp.
"I’ll stop Sigdrifa…"
Violet clenched her fists till knuckles sang; her nails bit her palms, warm wet like a red seal, and she didn’t notice.
"That’s impossible, Violet; you know at the root it won’t work."
Hrok shook her head with a quiet laugh, and carved Runes into the air, Aether etching like frost on glass.
Those Runes centered on her, a crucible to turn flesh into sheer Aether; it was forbidden, but a Valkyrie bears forbidden knowledge like scars.
Runes drifted into Hrok’s body like falling feathers; Violet’s throat tightened, a winter choke.
Valkyries keep their souls in Aether when the body’s chain snaps; with a body intact, conversion is one-way, a fork where you choose soul or flesh.
Hrok would pay with her body, turn strength to brighter Aether, so she could enter the Earth Vein and set its pulse; her flesh would vanish like smoke.
Cut off from the body, her soul would lose its path; when the borrowed Aether ebbed, the Earth Vein would strip her bare—no need to say the end.
"Hey, Violet~"
Tears blurred Violet’s eyes like rain on lantern glass, and Hrok suddenly laughed, a warm spark in a cold room.
Violet looked up, and the sight broke her dam; tears overflowed like a spring.
Hrok’s skin was written full of Runes, starlight crawling; the hand gripping the hammer had gone glass-clear, just an outline in air.
Her whole frame thinned like mist at sunrise, fading fast, about to dissolve into breath.
"The new world I won’t see—you go see it for me."
Her voice fell like a feather; Hrok vanished before Violet, face calm as a quiet lake, smiling at her across the water.
Above, Sigdrifa’s duel with Origin turned tighter, two storms locked; even she fought while dragging an entire planet like a chain.
The pressure defied measure, a mountain on her back; her will burned white and ignored weight, trading blows without a single held breath.
A gigantic Aether tree rooted into Earth, roots twined with every Earth Vein; all Aether poured into Sigdrifa like rivers into a sea.
Origin’s power rode that same current into her body; injuries transferred like thorns, the pain a tax she kept paying.
"Aphelia, hurry and wake—another minute and even I…"
Sigdrifa bit down; silver-white thorn Aether crawled out around her like brambles, but cracks veined it like dry glaze.
One touch and it would shatter to dust; she held the line on a razor’s edge, refusing the fall.
Her arm grew heavy as iron soaked; her vision blurred, a brief fog—she hadn’t tasted a cliff like this in years.
She coughed blood, bright as berries; her power slammed against Origin’s, two hammers racing to end it quick.
If speed failed, flesh would decide; no one knew whether Origin had a body, a secret coiled in shadow.
Sigdrifa’s body came from Aphelia, a gift of tempered steel; only the rising sync of soul and flesh kept her standing this long.
They’d been one, yet in this life Aphelia was like a new star, bright and strange.
On the ground, Violet pressed her palms together, prayer a flame cupped in wind; she begged for Aphelia’s return.
If it’s Aphelia, miracles walk; from old kingdoms to now, if it’s her, the impossible bends.
In the Aether dreamscape, Aphelia wrestled the power she’d just swallowed, a storm of wills pounding her soul like drums.
She almost sank into those ‘familiar’ scenes, sweet as old songs, until she heard the calls cutting through mist.
Aphelia!
Aphelia!
"Violet…"
The visions tore like silk, familiar faces and things went strange; Aphelia clutched her chest, heat roaring up from the heart-furnace.
She wanted to howl, to vent the wild river raging inside.
Someone is still calling me…
That thought sparked, and the world broke like a mirror; a torrent of Aether burst with her roar, an aurora that smashed the vault around her.
Then it collapsed inward like a black hole, pulling shards back into one, night stitched with light.
She sensed a vast presence beyond the gathered minds, a mountain’s weight; she lifted her head and saw the black ring above Earth.
"Damn you, Origin—again!"
Crimson Fire flared with pitch-black Aether, a sunrise rimmed with night; it shaped into her Bracer Gauntlets and greaves.
Crimson Fire formed armor like art wrought in flame; black Aether accented it like living keratin, and together they cast a keep-out aura like a blade’s cold.
Aphelia moved, the ground forgotten; she streaked like a meteor and slammed toward that black ring.
