Havoc and Retribution

The Infinite Beyond

The silence that follows the song is not complete as many would assume.

When Verdandi stems the tide of sonorous music flowing from her and resumes humanoid form, the song is still there. It's not an echo, not a fading stream of notes like the dying of a harp. The song remains, pulling them all together, rewriting the things in the world that have been wrong. They can all hear it now, the song that was once discordant to their ears, now retuned and true to its original form. The mad conductor is gone, Balance restored once more.

Verdandi is smothered in hugs by her sisters, Athronei and Neona exclaiming in joy, a strange sight given they are all powerful goddesses of Fate. Verdandi's face is happy, happier than the Avengers have ever seen her, more alive, more full, power still sparkling in her hair leaving rainbow streaks in her brown waves. "Oh sister," Athronei says, tears in her eyes.

Yggdrasil glitters in front of them. The great world tree does not look as it does before the collapse. Gone are the orderly branches, the smooth bark. In their place are twisting, artistic shapes, worlds rebuilt, and scars in the bark that gleam with rainbow light. There is evidence of the battle, nothing smoothed over and forgotten. Yggdrasil wears its wounds proudly as part of the stronger tree it has become.

There is a rush of wings above and the Dragon swoops down to land on a platform in space, a shadow silhouetted in stars. Brilliant rainbow light expands in rings from its form and one last echoing roar songs through the cosmos, shaking the Yggdrasil's leaves, the chiming of crystal sounding like laughter.

The form that emerges from the light changes as it walks towards them. One minute tall and skeletal, the next short and muscular and the next, horned and fanged, shimmering with scales.

They walks towards them, the Norn of the Afterlife, once again in one body.

With the dragon form shed from their skin, they are small. Wiry muscles, scored with scars ripple under bronzed skin. They wobble a bit as if they are not accustomed to human legs and then the Norn looks down at themself, assessing.

Instead of the rags Hel preferred, they find themself dressed like a Vanir warrior woman. They are wearing tight-fitting, flexible pants in dark sepia, a golden tank top and a long-sleeved shrug of leather panels. They remember this outfit from their memories of Sigyn, can feel Sigyn remembering her days fighting the Aesir in these very clothes. Practical and simple; Jaycee is so happy her ancestress didn't prefer Amazonian battle leathers that reveal far too much thigh and ahem... chest.

They feel their curls, absurdly happy to have curls again, rich and velvety under their fingers. They feel the bands pinning sections of their hair back, the warrior style Sigyn wore in battle and the style Jay wore to the physics banquet months ago. The updo spills down their back, the bands glittering gold, twinkling with reflected rainbow light. Their roots are black, peeling away to vibrant red-auburn that finally cascades into white-blonde, all three souls demanding physical presence on their person.

Last, they look down at their boots. No silly, superheroine high heeled boots, Sigyn was always more practical than that. They hear Sigyn chuckle in their head, we're clumsy enough without heels, love, and Jay and Hel absolutely agree. The boots are solid, worn leather, flexible and thick. Buckles wrap around their ankles and the tops of their calves where the boots stop.

Alright, get on with it, Hel mutters somewhere inside them.

The Norn shakes their head in wonderment, three voices talking inside. They look up at the assembled motley crew that stares at them in astonishment.

"Sister," Athronei says, rapture on her face, breaking the silence.

The Norn of the Afterlife turns their glowing eyes to the Norn of Death, cocking their head and studying her. "Athronei," they reply, voice almost insubstantial, a husky alto that is inquisitive.