The light of Heaven did not shine—it breathed.
It pulsed through the marble bones of the celestial halls like the slow rhythm of an ancient heart, gilding everything it touched in liquid gold. Rivers of song wound through the air, carried by choirs unseen. Yet beneath all the beauty lay a silence—a hollow between each divine note, a fracture that none dared name.
At the peak of the heavens, where the tips of Yggdrasil brushed the edge of eternity, Odin Allfather stood alone.
The wind up here was older than memory, thick with the scent of thunder and ash. His one good eye glowed like a storm trapped behind glass; the other, empty, stared through worlds unseen. His breath came ragged—not from weakness, but from the weight of realization.
"Stupid," he muttered.
The word fell like a curse into the void.
Then again, louder—
"Stupid! Fools!"
The echoes crashed down the crystal corridors of Valhalla, rippling through the feathers of resting Valkyries and the braids of the Einherjar.
