The lake swallowed me. I blinked, surprised. Hearthstone was gone, and so was the light.
Slowly, the tides shifted. The air bubble around me stretched into a tunnel, revealing a long, sloped pathway. I could see a dimly lit clearing at the bottom of the lake. I inspected the wobbly walls. They sloshed quietly.
Well, the only way out was forward.
I started down the path. Wet sand crunched under my boots. The muggy air stuck to my cheeks, clung to my clothes.
The clearing was a large, perfect circle, outlined in white river rocks.
But the well...
It was tiny.
The whole thing couldn't have been more than four feet across.
I stared at the well. It stared back at me.
It's not like I expected a red carpet and a neon sign with flashing lights. But the longer I stared at it, the more exasperated I became. This was it? I almost died for... a puddle?
Then, I stepped foot in the rock-lined circle.
I choked on the air. Everything was too crisp, too clean. I felt as if I had walked into the air-conditioned lobby of a spearmint toothpaste factory. And it was all radiating from the center of the clearing, from Mimir's Well.
My body gravitated to its edge, like a moth to an icy flame.
I looked into the glassy reflection. Then, as if I had tuned to a different radio frequency, the well revealed its knowledge to me.
Everything.
Everything.
Books. Films. Libraries. Sticky notes.
Whispered playground secrets. Godly Ragnarök meetings.
Everything was there.
Chubby toddler hands stacked blocks. Old women knit socks.
Everything.
A headstone. A choir. A burger joint. A war.
Life, death, fate.
Everything.
My father's laughter, the laughter of my enemies, the laughter of a god, a women crying, someone screaming, the drip of venom.
A boy rustling through a dumpster.
A kid with two different colored eyes.
Hands signing, mountains roaring, gods crying.
My head grew hot. Sweat dripped down my forehead.
Everything. Every drop, every ocean, every teaspoon of life, of death, all wisdom spooned into the well, all pushed and packed, no space to do anything but exist together, writhing and screaming for air.
My mind was screaming, someone was screaming, of Ragnarök, of chariots, of revenge.
My vision was growing dark around the edges, but still I looked at the past, the present, the future, the maggots writhing, Hearthstone touching his ears, a wolf prowling an apartment, whispered plans of betrayal, all intertwined, a knot tying itself over and over again, like the branches on the World Tree, and I was-
falling
falling
falling
I reach out, one last thought, one last hope.
YOU ARE READING
The Journey to Find Mimir
Fanfiction*BLITZSTONE ORIGIN STORY NOVEL* Blitzen is alone. All of Nidavellir, the underground world of dwarves, laughs at him as he grieves the death of his father. On the night of his lowest moment the cavern ceiling slices open and spits out a being of lig...
