Jormund stood frozen, his fist still clenched, charged with temporal energy ready to pulverize a mountain. His eyes shifted from the black rock pedestal to the nameless elf, who had crouched in a corner, pretending to tremble like a dead leaf.
"Don't move, Anomaly!" whispered the elf in a strangled voice. "His gaze... he's probing your soul!"
Jormund turned his attention back to the "Beast." The dragon was no bigger than a ceremonial dagger. Its golden scales shone with such purity that they seemed to absorb the violet light of the cave. It held a piece of crystal between its miniature claws, which it nibbled on with an annoying crunching sound, similar to that of a rodent in an attic.
The Jötunn took a step forward.
"Is this a joke?" growled Jormund. "Is this the light devourer? The monster that paralyzes your armies?" "
At his words, the little dragon stopped eating. It raised its small head, spread its translucent wings, which made a sound like crumpled parchment, and let out a cry. It was not a roar capable of splitting the earth, but a high-pitched whistle, like that of a pressure cooker.
"Oh, by the roots of Yggdrasil, he's furious!" cried the elf, backing away further. "You've insulted him!"
Jormund ignored the elf and approached the pedestal. He towered over the creature. To him, this dragon was nothing more than a golden insect. He reached out a massive hand to grab the creature, determined to move it out of the way or crush it to end this farce.
"Move, you gnat. I have a door to break down and a world to liberate." "
But just as his fingers were about to close around the creature, time didn't just slow down: it twisted. Jormund felt an electric shock run through his arm. The little beast hadn't moved, but the space around it had expanded. Jormund felt as if he were reaching for a distant star. His fingers touched only emptiness.
The little dragon tilted its head to one side, its large black eyes fixed on Jormund's.
"You're pretty big for someone who doesn't know where he's going," a voice echoed in Jormund's mind.
It was not a child's voice. It was an ancient, deep voice, a voice that seemed to carry the weight of the oceans. The voice of Jormungand.
The Jötunn took a step back, stunned. This was not elven magic. It was a primordial presence.
"You... you can talk?" "
The little dragon picked up his piece of crystal, continuing to project his mental voice with regal arrogance.
"I speak, I watch, and I am bored. The elves are too cowardly to amuse me, and the Dwarf is too bitter. But you... you carry the scent of the end of time. You are the Anomaly. "
The creature flew away and landed on Jormund's shoulder. Despite its small size, Jormund felt an immense weight, as if a mountain had just been placed on him.
"Tell me, little Jötunn... why should I let you steal my master's obsidian? "
Jormund finally understood. It wasn't the dragon that was the terror of Alfheim. It was what it represented. This tiny being was the ambassador of something much greater, lurking in the shadows of the Wildlands.