Secrets of the Fallen

Chapter 9: Secrets of the Fallen

The sanctuary's gentle twilight had barely faded when Asher began feeling suspicious. Though the Valkyries and Vikings went about their day-to-day tasks with silent efficiency and the care here was certainly caring there was a coldness and a stagnation in the way they carried themselves. Nothing changed. Their smiles, their movements… all were rehearsed, as if actors in a play that had been running for centuries.

It started with small things. One morning, as Asher sat cross-legged on a stone bench in a quiet corridor of the sanctuary, he watched sunlight catch the sheen of the polished floors. But every time he looked into the mirror-like surfaces, he never glimpsed a decent reflection of a Valkyrie. Instead, their shapes blurred, as if floating in a fixed, endless suspension.

Later that day, while he was walking with Mara along a less-traveled hallway, he witnessed something even stranger. A group of Valkyries moved silently along the side of an intersecting corridor. Their tread was synced, their eyes vacant even their laughter was gentle and musical, had an echo to it that sounded detached from life. Mara, ever on her guard, leaned over and whispered, "Asher, look. They seem repetitive."

He replied in a subdued tone, "Yeah. It's as if they're programmed puppets."

Later that night, as Niflheim's chill seeped into every nook of the sanctuary, Asher decided to go in search of answers. He posed the question to Sigrun casually during a standard break in training, "Why do you think nothing ever changes here? The food, the way you all move… It's as if time itself is looping."

Sigrun simply smiled grimly and shrugged. "Such is the nature of Niflheim. We are preserved by old magic, remnants of a day when gods ruled. Not everything is fated to change, mortal." Her tone was playful but beneath it lay a hint of something hidden that she would not tell.

Disgruntled, Asher began making his own inquiries. One cold evening, while Mara slumbered in a corner of the great hall, Asher slipped out of the communal area unnoticed. His feet made no noise as he walked through the labyrinthine passageways. He at last found a tiny door behind a tattered textile painting. He opened it and entered a tiny room where the air was thick with dust and old secrets. "Well someone without anything to hide doesn't keep an hidden door" Asher said to himself

Inside, in disordered rows of stone markers, which rested against the wall, names and dates, so aged they could have been written in a language no longer remembered, were etched into every marker. Asher's heart pounding, he crouched beside a marker, brushing off frost and decades of abandonment. He read the inscription a centuries-old date, a name time had forgotten. He looked up in disbelief. "Mara," he whispered into the silence, "this… these are graves."

He drew more markers out and, reading the faded writings, he began to understand: those who served the living here weren't alive to begin with. They were the bodies of dead gods and warriors—memories preserved by Niflheim's magic. The feasts, the food that didn't rot, the healing—they were all preserved by the dead.

When Mara later found him in that hidden room, her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the old cemetery. "They're dead," she whispered

A bitter laugh escaped. "The Order isn't all that's holding us down.".

That realization turned his indignation into a simmering resolve. He walked back into the great hall, where a subdued argument among the Valkyries and Viking wraiths was underway. a Valkyrie murmuring something about keeping "the living in their place" and a Viking grumbling about the "balance" of the dead.

Then Khaelos's voice slid into his mind, low and incredulous:

"You mortals, how could you not know? They're dead. And I'm surprised you didn't figure it out sooner."

Mara, who stood beside him in the dim light, said: "What now, Asher? If we try to leave, they won't let us go without a battle."

Asher's eyes burned with defiance. "Then we break out. I've heard rumors a relic, the Heart of Yggdrasil, somewhere in these ruins. They say it has the power to tear apart the barrier between worlds. We use it to blast our way out."

There was a moment of silence as the truth of their circumstances set in. "We cannot remain here forever, surviving on the dead," Mara whispered.

"No," Asher replied, his voice rough with determination. "We must find that relic, harness the power within it, and shatter this cursed prison."

In the days that followed, Asher and Mara moved in secret through the sanctuary. They read every yellowed scroll and carved symbol, piecing together the myths of an era gone by of gods that had fallen and warriors whose souls were trapped in Niflheim. They discovered that the food, the healing mead, and even the constant, unchanging presence of the Valkyries and Vikings were the works of an ancient magic born of sacrifice and eternal regret.

It was a late night, and outside the wind howled in a chorus of restless spirits, when Asher and Mara huddled in a hidden alcove near the ancient graveyard. The air was thick with expectancy and the scent of wet soil and frost. Mara's voice trembled when she said, "They say the Heart of Yggdrasil can break the walls between worlds. It's our only hope if we can find it."

Asher's eyes narrowed. "Then that's our next step. I will master my power here—control it so it's mine and not something that feasts on us. Then I'll use that power to bring down every single wall. I will break out—and when I do, the Order will pay, and Lena… she'll pay dearly."

They were interrupted by Khaelos's abrupt derisive laughter in Asher's mind:

"I expected you to know this by now, but I suppose you needed a push."

Asher ground his teeth, his mind plotting a plan. "We leave this place," he growled, to himself more than to Mara, "by force, if we must."

They planned their escape in whispers over a series of long, tense days. The rhythm of the sanctuary remained unchanged to all but themselves—Valkyries moved about their endless labor, Vikings milled about their work, and the ghostly whispers of the dead echoed through the halls. But Asher and Mara, with the secrets of hidden graves and ancient scrolls in hand, began mapping all secret doors and all weaknesses in the old magic that held this world together.

It was late on one freezing night, when the wan light of the world gave way to the foreboding dusk, that they made their move. They crept along dark corridors and secret passageways until they came to a massive, ice-covered gateway adorned with runes and symbols of the old gods. This arch, the scrolls of Yggdrasil purported, was a remnant of a portal—a gateway which, when energized by the Heart of Yggdrasil, would tear a hole in the veil that separated Niflheim from the world of the living.

Mara's eyes glinted with determination. "We have to do this now," she murmured. "If they have even a suspicion that we are trying to escape, they'll stop us. And I don't want to end up as ghost food.".

Asher nodded sharply. "I'm tired of being their reminder. I'm taking control." He took a deep breath, and with the dark energy still pulsing through him, he reached out and pressed his hand against the ancient stone. The runes glowed faintly, reacting to his touch.

There was nothing for a long while. Then, with a low vibration in the air, the stone began to vibrate. The portal was opening—but then, as if the very will of the dead opposed their escape, a chorus of ghostly voices sounded up from the hidden graveyard.

"You will not leav," one of the ghosts intoned, echoing off the blackness. "The dead do not want to see the living die."

A Viking ghost emerged from behind a broken pillar, its eyes burning with a mix of fury and sorrow. "This is our home. You disturbed our memory, and you disrupted my balance."

Asher's heart was pounding. "I didn't come to honor the dead. I come to live and I came here by cuance. I need to topple the Order. I will not be your prisoner.".

The fight erupted into a frantic melee. The spectral warriors, not quite solid, thrust forward with cold, relentless force. Their voices, now taunting, now grieving, rang out in the room as they struggled to press Asher and Mara back.

For one long, breathless moment, it seemed the dead would engulf them. Asher's dark energy flared wildly, challenging the old magic of the kingdom. The archway pulsed, its light quivering as the trial reached its peak. Mara held steady, eyes open wide as ghostly fingers reached out from the darkness, grasping for Asher's bandaged arms.

And then, amidst the chaos, Khaelos's voice boomed in Asher's head—unruffled, aloof.

"Enough, mortal. You have shown enough defiance. I will now give you passage after all you are too weak to take on trained warriors or Valhalla."

Before Asher or Mara could reply, Khaelos' overwhelming power surged through him once more. His body twisted in agony, and in a burning explosion of silver and shadowy light, the gateway of the archway burst open. The spectral warriors recoiled, their cries consumed by an otherworldly quiet as Asher and Mara were pulled through the shifting vortex.

Asher's eyes opened to a harsh, cold light. He was on war-torn, rough ground. His body was broken in some respects but strangely strengthened since it didn't hurt like last time, as if the dark energy had been cleansed in passing through the trial.

Next to him, Mara moved, her face set despite the exhaustion. The new world in front of them was a stark contrast to the world of the dead a desolate, war-torn landscape with a sky seething in angry hues of red and black. Along the horizon, the ruins of ancient fortresses and the marks of long-forgotten wars crosshatched the landscape.

Standing, Asher's eyes burned with resolve seeing the topography of the new realm. "Lena and the order will pay. Every betrayal, every tear, will be repaid in blood." He whispered to himself

Asher's dark energy vibrated steadily beneath his skin, a power he was beginning to command on his own terms.

He took a deep breath, the weight of his destiny descending upon him. "This is only the beginning," he snarled, his voice low and feral. "I will master this power, and I will demolish every obstacle the Order has put in place."