The crevasse sank into the bowels of Alfheim like an open wound in crystal. As he descended, Jormund felt the violet coolness of the sky fade away, replaced by a heavy, suffocating heat that carried the smell of burnt metal and ancient sweat.
At the bottom of the abyss, the forge was nothing glorious. It was a soot-covered cave nestled between two walls of shiny rock. There, a massive but short-statured being struck a block of metal with rhythmic fury. Each blow of his hammer sent sparks flying that seemed to burn the air itself.
The dwarf did not stop when the giant approached. His red beard, braided with strands of copper, swept across the anvil with each movement.
"One more step, and I'll turn your thighbones into poker irons, you big fool," growled the dwarf without looking up.
His voice was nothing like the melody of the elves. It was the sound of a rockfall.
"The elf sent me," replied Jormund, his voice echoing off the narrow walls. "He says you're the only one capable of forging a weapon for an Anomaly." "
The dwarf finally stopped. He set down his hammer with a metallic clang and turned. He had only one eye; the other was a black crystal prosthesis that seemed to scan not Jormund's body, but the temporal energy vibrating within him. An evil smile split his soot-blackened face.
"The elf... That pointy-eared parasite sends me nothing but trouble or corpses," the dwarf spat on the ground. "But you... You are the last of the Jötunn. You smell of the dust of lost worlds and the anger of extinguished stars." "
The dwarf approached, his calloused hands brushing the golden veins on Jormund's arm.
"You want to break the Bifrost? You want to split the skulls of the Olympians? I can forge the end of their reign for you. But not with the rotten iron of this kingdom of liars."
"What do you need?" asked Jormund.
The dwarf laughed, a sharp, almost malicious sound.
"To break a divine lock, you need a weapon that does not belong to the order of the gods. I need primordial obsidian. But it is found in the hanging gardens, at the top of the silver waterfalls. And that place has a new owner."
The dwarf leaned close to Jormund's face, his crystal eye glowing with a strange light.
"A dragon, giant. A beast so terrifying that the elves dare not even speak its name. It devours light, and its shadow stretches across half the kingdom. The elves are too proud to admit that they tremble before it. Bring me its head, or drive it from its nest, and I will forge you a hammer that will make Odin weep."
Jormund clenched his fists. A beast capable of paralyzing an entire kingdom of elves and silencing a dwarf could only be a nameless horror.
"I will return with your obsidian," Jormund said grimly.
"We'll see," the dwarf sneered, picking up his hammer. "Many have left with the same certainty. Only their boots are ever found."
Jormund turned on his heel, ignoring the blacksmith's sneers. He had a beast to hunt. He did not yet know that the "monster" terrorizing Alfheim fit in the palm of his hand.