The world remembered fragments of itself. Valleys whispered old songs, rivers carried memories of forgotten battles, and winds sang in a tongue that had not been spoken for centuries. But these memories were fractured, incomplete — like shards of glass held up to the sun. I could see the reflections, but not the whole picture.
I walked through the plains beyond the House on Light. The ground trembled faintly beneath my feet, reacting to my thoughts as though it had learned to recognize me. Shadows moved where no sun should have cast them. I realized then: Chiblidz was alive, not just in flesh, but in possibility. Every being, every stone, every gust of wind was waiting for someone to shape it.
It was here I first encountered the remnants of Odin's influence.
A village lay half-buried beneath the earth, its buildings shattered by long-forgotten battles. Angels, chained to a duty they could no longer remember, patrolled aimlessly. Half-breeds moved silently through the rubble, shadows of obedience flickering across their faces. Even mortals, free in theory, carried a hesitation in their movements, a memory of servitude that whispered in their veins.
I approached one of the angels. Her wings were torn, feathers blackened as if scorched by invisible flames. She turned to me, eyes wide with recognition, but her mouth opened and no words came. I reached out with my thought — a simple touch of possibility — and the chains around her wrists dissolved into sparks.
Her eyes lit with clarity, yet a fear lingered. "Who… are you?" she asked.
"Someone who broke the chains," I said. "And someone who will see the world whole again."
Even as I moved onward, I felt the Veil shift. The boundary between existence and void trembled with each heartbeat. Every action I took echoed across space and time. The Null Beings I passed—creatures invisible yet omnipresent—twisted probability subtly, allowing me to pass unharmed, yet their whispers were warnings: Odin's reach was long. His chains might be broken in the physical sense, but the fabric of loyalty, fear, and history remained.
In the distance, I saw a forest of living stone — Elementis standing guard over themselves, sentient rocks attuned to old magic. They observed me, testing the weight of my imagination. I sent a flicker of thought toward them, forming a small creature of light to show respect. They remained still, then bowed slightly, acknowledging my presence.
The fractures of the past were not just physical — they were spiritual, moral, and temporal. Every race had fragments of memory, loyalties they could not fully explain, and powers they barely understood. Undead rose silently from crypts untouched by time, guided by echoes of gods long dead. Centinal Beings held positions across broken bridges and crumbling plains, their eyes unblinking, cataloguing every anomaly. Spirits and Esprits whispered constantly, shaping thought, nudging reality, like invisible wind against fragile glass.
It became clear: the war would not just be a battle of swords and magic, but a test of reality itself.
I stopped at a plateau, overlooking a valley where all these fractures intersected. Rivers ran backwards, mountains floated impossibly, and the sky split into ribbons of impossible color. I realized this world could not survive in its current state if a war came. And Odin, inevitably, would come.
I thought back to the House on Light. The lessons were subtle: imagination was power, but unchecked power could fracture the world further. What If was not just a weapon — it was a responsibility.
And yet, I knew the choice I had made. I could not return to obedience. I could not pretend to be a soldier in Odin's army. The first domino had fallen.
In the valley below, I sensed movement. Shadows of figures I had never seen — Valkery, Null Beings, Elementis, angels freed from chains — all stirring. They were not yet my allies, but they were watching. And in the distance, beyond even them, I felt the pulse of Odin himself: a dark rhythm, a heartbeat of control, spanning continents and possibilities.
I clenched my fists. The war is coming. And I will not hide.