The silence of Alfheim was an insult. Jormund had been walking for what seemed like an eternity under the purple sky, but the landscape refused to change. Around him, the white marble ruins stretched out, broken and elegant, like the bones of a civilization that had forgotten how to die.
"We've already passed this arch," Jormund growled, stopping dead in his tracks.
He pointed to a column engraved with a silver rune. It was the fourth time he had seen this same crack, in exactly the same place.
The nameless elf, perched with annoying grace atop a floating piece of debris, didn't even bother to look at him. He was playing with a strand of his pale hair, an indecipherable smile on his lips.
"Passed by? What an archaic thought," sneered the being of light. " In Alfheim, time is not a road, it is a garden. If you seek the exit, you only water the weeds of your impatience."
Jormund felt a familiar warmth rise in his chest. His powers over time, those that allowed him to bend the second to his will, seemed to slip over reality here as if on ice. The Anomaly was used to commanding the flow, not drowning in a loop.
"Stop your mind games," the Jötunn threatened, taking a step toward him.
The ground beneath his boots suddenly changed texture. What had seemed like solid stone became as soft as sand, then hard again the next moment. The elf laughed, a crystalline sound that echoed off the ruins.
"You are so... physical," the elf mocked, disappearing and reappearing ten meters behind Jormund. "Do you think breaking the Bifrost is a matter of muscle? Odin did not close the door with an iron lock, but with a paradox. If you can't get out of a simple walk through ruins, how do you expect to force your way into the realm of the Gods?"
Jormund closed his eyes, ignoring the taunts. He understood that the elf wasn't guiding him: he was exhausting him. The path to the Dwarf wasn't hidden by walls, but by perception.
Using his golden energy, he did not seek to move forward, but to "anchor" his weight in the present moment. He refused to follow the pace imposed by the purple sky. He became an anchor in an ocean of mirages.
The scenery wavered. The ruins twisted, revealing for a brief moment the true nature of Alfheim: a network of silver waterfalls and underground forges hidden behind the veil of beauty.
"Oh, you're cheating," whispered the elf, his voice quivering with resentment mixed with admiration. "I like cheaters. They make such more interesting corpses."
With a casual gesture, the elf pointed to a dark crevice that had just appeared where the arch had been a second earlier.
"Come down, if you dare. The Dwarf awaits you. But remember: here, even the truth is a lie that has not yet been discovered."