The world beyond Valenforge was fragile, like glass suspended over an endless void. Mountains rose and fell in waves of possibility, rivers could vanish if the wind whispered wrong, and the air carried the weight of countless choices unmade. Among these shifting landscapes stood the House on Light — a place that seemed older than time, yet untouched by it.
It was not a home, not a prison, not a battlefield — but a threshold. The walls glimmered with a liquid radiance, as if light itself had been trapped in stone. Shadows inside were alive, writhing and stretching, sometimes taking forms I could not name. The floor pulsed like the heartbeat of the world, and the air hummed with energy I could feel but not yet command.
I stepped inside and felt it immediately: this was a place where imagination became tangible. I reached out to a wall, and it rippled like water. I imagined the wall splitting into a river, and it did, flowing across the floor, gleaming and impossible. A ceiling high above opened like a sky, revealing stars that had never existed. Each breath I took resonated with potential.
And yet, this was only the beginning.
I explored the House room by room. In one hall, my reflection stared back at me from a pool of liquid light. Not one reflection, but many — dozens of me, some screaming, some laughing, some silent. They were possibilities, echoes of the paths I could take. Some were brave; some were cruel. Some would betray me.
It was here I first met Bobey.
He flickered into existence from a corner shadow, small, almost inconsequential, yet alive with laughter. He danced between the reflections of myself, touching one, tugging another, and vanished again.
"You think too much," he said. His voice was a song, though no sound left his mouth. "Imagination is power. Power is survival. And you, unknown 69, have no idea how dangerous you are."
"I don't even know how dangerous I can be," I admitted, but I felt a thrill in the air. Every thought I had, every impulse, shaped the world around me. I realized, perhaps for the first time, that What If was not a power I could control — it was a mirror of my own will, my desires, my fears.
I tested it. A single thought — What if I fly? — and I rose above the river of light. I imagined a storm and clouds rolled across the ceiling, lightning arcing harmlessly around me. I conjured creatures of impossible shapes, and they danced at my command, responding instantly to whim and thought.
And as the day faded, I understood the danger: Odin had built his empire around chains — chains that bound angels, half-breeds, and even mortals. And here I was, a Valkery who could bend reality with a thought. The two forces could not coexist.
I left the House on Light at dusk. The sky had changed, reflecting the thoughts I had poured into the walls, the air, the floor. Mountains glowed faintly as if the world itself had noticed my experiments. In the distance, I felt a pull — the shadow of Odin reaching across time and space, sensing what I had become.
The House on Light remained behind me, but its echoes followed. Every night I dreamt of its halls, and every morning, fragments of those impossible spaces lingered in the real world. Walls in Valenforge bent slightly under my gaze. Shadows moved with intent. The air carried whispers of potential, ready to obey my command.
It was intoxicating.It was terrifying.
And I was not yet ready to confront the world, or the forces that would inevitably come for me.