Amber lights radiated from the portal, its ethereal glow engulfing Shao and his companions, transporting them through the channels of time to another of the nine realms— *Vanaheim*, the land of the ancient gods and the sages of chaos.
The place was unlike anything they had ever seen. The trees towered hundreds of meters high, their trunks glowing as if they were breathing. Even the clouds moved in a slow, fluid rhythm, carrying an invisible, ancient melody that echoed the heartbeat of the world.
Him whispered in awe, "Is... this Vanaheim?"
Astir stepped forward cautiously. "The home of the Vanir... They are enchanted by the forces of nature, but they are no weaker than the higher gods."
No one was there to greet them, yet they felt watched. With every step they took, the earth responded—flowers wilted beneath their feet and bloomed again as they moved away.
Shao stopped before a massive tree at the heart of the land. "There is something here... A beating heart... As if the world is alive."
Suddenly, the ground trembled, and from the shadows emerged a young woman clad in a green cloak, her emerald eyes piercing. She carried a long bow adorned with ancient runes.
She spoke in a clear voice, "You are strangers. And Vanaheim does not welcome strangers... unless they prove their intent."
Astir quickly responded, "We are not enemies. We came through the path of the chosen blood, seeking answers."
The woman looked directly at Shao, her gaze shimmering with something between curiosity and fear.
"The chosen blood... So, the upheaval has begun."
The ancient forest stretched before them like a rift between two worlds. Towering trees, their trunks covered in living Nordic engravings, moved slowly with every breath of wind. A strange stillness prevailed—not silence, but anticipation.
Fildra spoke calmly:
"Your path to the Root of Wisdom will not be merely physical. The land here tests the inside, not the outside. Those who cross without a pure heart will be devoured by merciless roots."
Astir looked at Shao—not with worry, but with faith—then said,
"We've faced worse than this... In Niflheim alone, we crossed the gates of madness. A tree cannot frighten us."
But Him remained silent, staring at the forest as if he knew it... or remembered it.
Shao asked as he stepped toward the winding path between the trees,
"Fildra... What is the Root of Wisdom? Is it a creature? A god?"
She answered slowly, as if reading from an invisible book,
"It is the first root of Yggdrasil, where memory was born and prophecy was bound. It speaks the language of origin, the language of the soul. Those who hear it never return the same."
And the moment they entered the shadows, everything changed.
The light vanished.
There was no sky.
There was no sound.
They moved in heavy silence, the air thick and viscous, as if they were walking inside a dream. Then visions began to emerge from the trees—not nightmares, but memories wrapped in mist:
Astir saw herself as a child, standing in the middle of a battlefield, staring at her father's lifeless body.
Him saw his village burning—not by the hands of enemies, but by his own.
As for Shao... he saw nothing.