Steam drifted from the ruptured mound, pale and sluggish in the cavern's cold air. Crystallized husks of the things lay scattered over the frost-black stone, their once-pulsing cores reduced to dull, brittle shards.
Theo let out a low whistle somewhere behind him. "Remind me never to piss you off, Alain."
Kai'el just coughed and dragged his scarf higher over his mouth, eyes watering from the lingering sting in the air.
Alain barely heard either of them.
Something tugged at him—Gebo glowed, pulling him towards something. His gaze kept returning to the center of the clearing, to the largest of the mounds.
The frost had melted there into a slick sheen, water steaming as it trickled down the side of stone that wasn't stone at all, but the suggestion of something buried beneath.
His gaze had fixed on the object he'd seen earlier—half-buried in the central mound, revealed only for a heartbeat before the vines attacked.
Standing up from the pile of snow, he made his way toward the sword.
"Alain?" Theo called out, curious.
He reached the mound. Remnants of frost clung to the stone. The sword's hilt protruded just as before, untouched by the collapse of vines. The same place. The same angle. Frozen in time, as if waiting for the moment he was meant to touch it.
Alain extended his hand.
His fingers brushed the grip. He blinked for a moment and—
...
There were clouds around him, flowing effortlessly through the sky. Then, gravity suddenly pulled him down, passed the atmosphere until a mountain fell into view.
It was the same mountain, not the hollowed ruin he knew from the present, but its living self–vast, whole, and breathing with life.
He began plummeting once more, straight into said mountain. Right when Alain thought he would crash, he raised a hand to protect himself. Surprisingly, his body slipped right through.
Landing in some kind of forge, Alain looked at his hands again. They were translucent, actually his whole body was translucent, like blending in with the mist.
A ghost in someone else's memory.
Two titans stood at an anvil that was as big as a regular cabin.
The sister looked like she was tinkering with something. With a chisel in her hand, she carved precisely on what looked like a black crystal.
Alain drifted closer, helplessly drawn.
His attention was caught by something else.
With work experience of around 10 years, Alain had spent most of his life at the forges. So when he looked at the brother, he knew this was a world-class craftsman.
Every swing of his hammer was efficient, elegant even. He worked the blade magnificently. The titan knew when the blade cooled down too much, knew how hot it would need to be for those intricate edges.
Then the memory blurred.
The far wall cracked, light bleeding through in jagged lines. Stone shattered like glass. A tremor rolled underfoot.
Color smeared across his vision like someone dragging a brush across wet paint.
The sister dropped her work and started for the exit. Their bodies blurred with motion, smearing into streaks of light that Alain couldn't quite concentrate on.
Only the brother remained clear.
He stumbled deeper into the forge's heart, blade gripped loosely in one massive hand, still smoking with heat.
The mountain shuddered.
Alain followed him, partly because the memory pulled him along but also because he was intrigued.
The brother knelt, bracing himself. And then, lightning erupted into the chamber.
A bolt folded into the shape of a man. Alain's eyes widened, he'd seen this man before… in the Revelation.
Thor.
A bit older, lightning crawling across the lines of his body like cracks in porcelain.
His face was drawn tight with exhaustion… and something darker.
Grief.
The brother titan turned his head at the sudden light. He reached toward Thor—an open palm, a plea, a warning, Alain could not tell.
The moment froze, then became clear.
Thor's hand shot forward. Lightning surged as he seized the blade from the titan's loose grip.
For an instant, his face twisted—rage contorting with heartbreak.
Then he thrust the sword upward, right through the titan's chest in one brutal motion.
Alain gasped. The scene was graphic, if Alain had a body right now, he would feel inclined to throw up.
A shudder rippled through the mountain, rocks groaned in protest. The titan's body staggered, his hand scraped helplessly at the stone, carving trenches into it.
Mouth opening, he barely managed a sound that Alain could hear.
"...be safe…my…sister…"
Then the titan fell. Stone cracked beneath the impact, ash flew up into the air like a pile of snow being disturbed.
Thor leaned over the fallen giant, voice breaking on broken syllables.
"For Baldr."
The words rang through the chamber. The blade stuck to the ground, Thor tried pulling it out to no avail. Realizing it wasn't worth it, he disappeared with a strike of lightning.
Silence followed. Memory blurred at the edges again…
Footsteps echoed, a man entered the ruined forge-heart, cloak trailing like a shadow. He looked weak, leaning on a weird-looking scepter while he walked.
He knelt at the titan's side for a long, unreadable moment. The man closed his eyes for a while, a hand across his chest to show his respect to the dead.
The titan's body seemed like a feather to this man as he picked up the corpse with relative ease and left. Alain was shocked, since the man was about two times smaller.
The mysterious man came back, this time centered at the fallen sword. Reaching for the blade, he plucked it out with deliberate care.
The scene shifted, exactly to where Alain currently was. However, it was just a clearing of snow. Mounds had been dug all around the area, some larger than others, but all equally as neat.
At the center of the clearing was the biggest mound. Instinctively, Alain knew what was going on. The man had buried the massacre, the only one who had come back to witness everything.
The cloaked figure approached, plunging sword into the mound that stood in front of Alain just moments ago.
As he finished sealing the last layer, the memory's clarity dimmed. Colors washed out, form bled into formlessness.
The world folded. Alain's breath slammed back into his lungs.
He staggered.
Theo grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey—Alain! You good? You spaced out—"
Alain swallowed. The air felt too thin, too bright. His fingers trembled against his own palm the way they did after the first Revelation loop.
"…I'm fine," he said.
It came out hoarse.
Theo glanced at the mound, then back at Alain, squinting as if trying to read something in the air around him. "Whatever that was," he muttered, "you don't look fine."
A part of Alain wanted to answer. To explain the mountain, the memory, everything.
But he couldn't.
Somehow, speaking it aloud felt like it would make the memory real. He didn't want it to be.
He turned away. The mound was just a mound again—silent, half-melted, covered in a thin layer of refreezing frost. If not for the cold ache coiled in his gut, he could've convinced himself the vision was simply a hallucination brought on by exhaustion.
Yet when he looked down, the sword was in his hand.
He didn't even remember picking it up.
Theo eyed it warily. "We're not taking that with us, right?"
Alain didn't answer immediately.
Theo nudged him with an elbow. "Oi. Seriously. Tell me you didn't just imprint with something cursed."
"I didn't," Alain said quietly.
He wasn't sure.
He tightened his grip, just enough to test the weight. A pulse. A faint vibration that traveled up his arm and settled under his skin like the echo of a voice he shouldn't have heard.
He froze.
"…Alain?" Theo asked.
Alain exhaled slowly, staring at the blade. The pulse returned—gentle, almost reassuring this time, like someone knocking against a door from the other side.
Then a whisper brushed the inside of his ear.
Gold flared once more, forming words in the air that Alain had grown used to.
[Item Binded: The Abyssal Sword: Laevateinn]