For Surtra, it was very unique to observe the emergence of this blue-gold monolith as she was extremely perceptive to The First Tongue.
She had spent eons studying its nuances, learning its rhythms, understanding how Phonemes flowed into Logos and Logos wove into Philologies. She knew The First Tongue the way a master calligrapher knew brushstrokes, the way a composer knew the spaces between notes.
And what she was seeing right now didn't make sense.
The entrance of this monolith came with it grand Weavings of change, and the moment that it descended, she was shocked and infuriated to see the surrounding atmosphere of Muspelheim begin to be drawn towards this monolith. As if it was being absorbed. Devoured. The primordial flames that had burned across this realm since before the great differentiation, the very essence of Muspelheim itself, was flowing toward that blue-gold construction like water drawn toward a drain.
Someone was drinking their realm.
