The Death of Time

...Wimey

From the dark and cold into the painfully bright...

Ananke's first real conscious awareness of the Nordic Veil was the burning cold. To anyone without her experience, it would seem contradictive to think that cold burns. But it did, the moisture and warmth from her skin was leeched out so rapidly it felt like sunburn. Her nostrils nearly stuck together, her eyes ached and her breath caught in her throat. Training took over then, experience driving her to tuck her face against the warmer fabric of her coat to breath in the less frigid air there. But she had to lift her face to expel her air, knowing that the miniscule droplets on her breath would only add to her freezing if she kept them under the clothing.

The strange fugue state that had protected her consciousness during the transition through the Vale had fallen away and now Ananke felt her attention snap into high gear, taking in all of the things around her. In Chronos’ side of the Vale, it had been dead marble and stagnating progress. Here it was something else entirely. The cold, the life sucking, thought stealing cold that was as gravely beautiful as it was mortally dangerous. And yet despite that cold Ananke saw great fires burning merrily and the sight of trees growing right through the crust of ice. Or maybe it was all just branches from that one Great All Tree Ananke had seen in her vision. Either way the cold only seemed to coat the multitudes of wood in a crystal hoarfrost that caught the light and glimmered in colourful waves.

Ahead of Ananke walked the feather-cloaked form that could only be Freyja, the blue cats that had led ‘nake here rubbing against the cloak with long familiarity. “Even these beings who live here seem affected by the cold.” Herald spoke up, his voice muffled in his scarf.

Now the need for the supplies made sense and Ananke simply stopped and opened up the baggage, digging into the newly bought items with speed. She kitted Herald out first, the long familiarity of layering someone against the cold helping her numbed hands move quickly and shortly after he was garbed her own body heat started to return as the layers protected her as well. Despite having neither informed Freyja of stopping or even checking to see if the Nordic Goddess had seen them halt, when Ananke finished protecting their flesh against the unnatural cold, their guide and current ally was waiting them with patience.

The Goddess’ eyes seemed to glow and although she didn’t speak out loud, Ananke knew that the Goddess was speaking to the Father of Time inside her head. This is the end of Fimbulvetr; the harsh winter that precedes the end of the world and puts an end to all life on Earth. There have been three successive winters where snow comes in from all directions, without any intervening summer, innumerable wars and ties of blood have been abandoned. Odin the AllFather lay dead at the jaws of Fenrir and Sol has vanished.

What exactly is that supposed to mean for us and the Pillar of Time? Ananke replied, accepting that there must be a reason this Freyja did not speak to her directly as the Greek Pantheon had. She could feel the Titan God’s discomfort at her questioning, though it wasn’t his usual arrogance about having to explain to a mortal woman. Instead she had the distinct feeling that he really wasn’t sure what the entirety of this all meant.

They believe it will mean the death of the Earth and most of the Aesir and Vanir kindred, their Pantheon. But Freyja knows of our quest to change the course that Time is currently taking. Their wars have already starts so we are not able to alter that but she believes we can stop the death of many, many more.

“Look at the horizon.” Herald broke the silent conversation in Ananke’s head and drew her attention once again outward.

His awe-filled voice was for a reason. Despite the crystalline cold and ice that gripped the ground and mountain around them, in the distance Ananke could clearly see a wall of fire. In fact, now that she was aware of it, the light that illuminated the landscape around them came from no sun at all, instead it was all an echo of those encroaching flames, a dancing myriad of colours.