"Typhon… wasn't he completely destroyed already?"
Frozen in the moment by the phantom of the All-Father, Avia couldn't help but feel confused upon hearing Odin speak of Typhon's resurrection.
Typhon, the primordial dragon of Greece, was a pure-blooded dragon. Though the Greek pantheon was composed of machine gods, Typhon too was born beyond the Earth—created specifically to slay the Olympians. Simply put, within the Type-Moon universe, he was an alien lifeform… and yet still a pure-blooded Earth dragon.
The tale now passed down as "Typhon stealing lightning" was, in truth, the story of Typhon hijacking Zeus's blueprints to create a bootleg Divine Construct. In his bid to defeat Zeus, Typhon consumed the Hesperian Apple—only to discover it was a reverse wish-granting device. The result: he was completely annihilated by Zeus.
That was the root of Avia's confusion. Typhon had been utterly killed during the Age of Gods. If anything had survived, it could only be the Hesperian Apple inside him taking control of his corpse—true resurrection should've been impossible.
"Indeed, Typhon was slain long ago by that fellow Zeus," Odin replied flatly, glancing toward the heavens. "But all dragonkind across this continent trace their origin back to him. In the Nine Realms, save for his equal—Jörmungandr—the avaricious dragon Fafnir and the World-Tree gnawing serpent Níðhöggr both inherited fragments of his draconic essence."
"From what I've observed, it wasn't until you deployed that lunar machine that Typhon began reawakening by drawing upon the lingering draconic factor scattered across the Earth. Regrettably, I don't know the exact location of his death in the present age, so I couldn't verify it myself."
According to Avia's deductions, during the Age of Gods, the various pantheons did not occupy tectonic plates like the continents of today. Rather, each pantheon inhabited adjacent small worlds—like pocket dimensions.
To a god like Odin, he himself was already a myth of the distant past. The eternal ice covering Niflheim had long since melted into water. Of the nine Norse realms, only one now remained. Even the squirrel Ratatoskr, once the herald of discord, had vanished without a trace.
The age of mystery had come to an end. Now was the era of humanity. The divine realms had collapsed, giving way to the continents of the modern world.
"Mount Etna, in Sicily—Typhon fell there."
"Is that so? Then we'll go with your word."
Odin squinted at the human before him, then raised his hand. Twenty-five tiny bolts of lightning shimmered into being, each containing a strange rune within.
These were no doubt the primordial runes he had obtained during his nine days and nights hanging from the World Tree.
As the runes pulsed with light, the next instant, Avia found himself and Odin transported into a crimson world.
A realm of extreme heat and pressure, seething with primal, violent natural forces. The surroundings were walls of molten orange and red magma, pressing inward from all directions as if intent on consuming everything. Bubbles and cracks marred the walls—evidence of lava expanding and contracting under intolerable temperatures.
This was the heart of Mount Etna.
On the surface of the lava, it churned and roared like the furious voice of the earth itself. Flames danced across the lake of magma. And deep at the bottom of that hellish sea, a pair of wings gently stirred—perhaps the very reason this place boiled in storm and flame.
A colossal dragon body wrapped in bandages lay prone. Its feathers were those of an apocalypse, capable of rending the world and incinerating all creation. From those feathers burst torrents of blazing red—thousands of times more than water droplets—erupting like a volcano's core unleashed.
This was the true form of Typhon, the Greek primordial dragon.
"In at most three years, he will fully awaken."
There was a trace of conflict in Odin's expression. After all, the Age of Gods had ended. Gods could no longer descend in full power. At best, they could act through mortals—serving as guides.
Odin, too, seemed troubled. The church and its affairs didn't bother him too much—that was humanity's own business. He was tolerant of shifting faiths. But the resurrection of Typhon and the signs of the Giant God's awakening—those were different. One could destroy the world; the other, the entire planet.
These weren't crises the gods of the previous age should be handling. They belonged to the current stewards of Earth—humanity. Still, whether Norse or Greek, most gods had cherished humankind. Odin was no exception. Otherwise, why would he involve himself personally?
And more importantly, based on Odin's words, both Typhon and the Giant God seemed somehow connected to him.
Avia was acutely aware of that. So—
"Odin. Whether it's the Giant God… or Typhon—leave them to me."
To be honest, Odin was an excellent judge of character. Be it Fafnir in the Age of Gods, or Níðhöggr who gnawed the world, or Fenrir who threatened the gods, or even Sigurd, king of warriors—he could always see through to their essence.
And this man—Avia—interested him greatly. Not just because of the heavy scent of Greece clinging to him, or the presence of the primordial dragon Albion… but because those pale blue eyes, no matter how he looked at them, always seemed like the calm ocean in the dead of winter.
As if he belonged here—and yet somehow, did not.
"Originally, if a complete stranger said something like that to me, I'd never believe them," Odin nodded. "After all, this concerns world-ending, planet-devouring threats. But since you've earned Greece's trust—so too shall I place my faith in you. I believe you can resolve these crises."
Forged in the ice-bound crucible of the northern lands, and culminating in Ragnarok, the Germanic-Norse mythology stood as one of the twin mythic pillars of Europe alongside Greco-Roman mythology. In the magical world, it was said to be the first pantheon whose Age of Gods ended—around 1000 BCE.
Such was the widely accepted view.
"Thank you. Since I've accepted it, I'll give it everything I've got."
The storm clouds had parted. Beneath the azure sky and radiant sun, what Odin saw before him was a man ablaze with unwavering conviction.
"Haha… I suppose this is something of an experiment too, human. Then go—overcome this evil that stirs once more in the present age. If fate allows, I'll await you in Valhalla."
With the caws of two ravens echoing in the air, the All-Father—come from thunder and bearing a spear—prepared to vanish once more into the lightning.
At the same time, one final thing remained—the runes, drawn from Odin's lightning, hovered before Avia.
"Since Greece has already extended their hand, it wouldn't do for the Norse to be stingy. These runes—I gift them to you for your insight."