At Hero's Bay

Force of Reckoning

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲

𓄹 𝐘/𝐍 𓄼

        Frigga, the Queen of Asgard's murder was declared to the public at sundown, along with the other five hundred civilians and soldiers who, too, fell at the hands of the Dark Elves.

        She had seen the rage and grief in Odin's eyes, stirring with storms very much like her own, just waiting to be unleashed at the first opportunity—one that he was seeking out on his own accord. Foolish, she thought but dared not to say a word as she stood in his war council, continuing to pick up the pieces along with everyone else. Orders were thrown around, left and right—very much like the piling corpses—where Y/N was left jaded and a bit nauseated throughout those long and grueling hours. She finally retched up her breakfast and decided to stay with Ziz'il after wrapping a discarded limb in a bundle of white terrycloth.

        Y/N seldom remembers how exactly this all happened, wondering who was truly to blame. Was Jane to blame for finding the Aether? Was Ziz'il to blame for not being strong enough to protect the Hlíf? Was Odin or Thor to blame for not coming into the room fast enough? Or did the fault entirely lie with Y/N, as she was the one who decided to synthesize part of the Aether into herself? What she does remember—and hardly spends so much time worrying over—was the entities dwelling within Y/N's deranged psyche.

        I curse you, Malekith's voice resonated within her very flesh, where her own bones and veins reverberated to the tone of his primordial ire, you will all feel the darkness. Ginnungagap, the state of the universe before the creation of the world—and even her old gods—was a place where the Dark Elves reigned absolute. He just wants to go home, Y/N thinks with a dismal frown, but so do I, and he pissed just those chances away. She decides not to speak of what she harbors, enduring the echoes of his voice running through her veins, and eventually finds the strength to stride down the halls.

        Yalina and Skàgrok were receiving proper medical attention from Eir in her healing room, along with a handful of other individuals who were grateful to be breathing. He made it abundantly clear to Y/N not to seek them out until they were healed, as she was the person solely responsible for their recent hardships—including their past ones. She did not complain, and nor did she utter a farewell to them as they limped alongside the remaining Einherjar soldiers. Thanks, she wanted to say but decided to turn back to the ruins of Asgard's chaos, and she asked where Ziz'il Nizne was.

        Ziz'il was tasked with being preparing the boats for the funeral tonight, where Y/N finally finds her, hauling over a thick set of ropes and tying a few rafts together. The look Ziz'il gives Y/N is very different from Odin's; there's regret—why could that be? But the only question the Amisian had to offer was a quick break and strips of fried pork, even though she knew eventually, she would just throw it back up again. On the harbor that overlooked the Sea of Space, they sat together, basking in the silence that reeked of smoke and death.

        "I-It was my fault," Ziz'il suddenly confesses after swallowing the last pork-strip, "Yalina, she...I shouldn't have left her. I-I thought she would've been fine—she was strong, but she—"

        "—Hey, hey. Ziz'il...come on," Y/N rests a hand at the small of Ziz'il's back, where she finds herself being slumped against and her shirt already soaked with tears, "Yalina is still alive. Asgard's collapse was not on either of you, okay? You weren't the one giving orders. You both were following me."

        Ziz'il sniffles into the crux of Y/N's neck, "S-She...she suffered protecting us. To make sure we w-would keep this realm safe. But we...w-we lost anyway. We lost!"