The Frostians

Chapter 27

**Chapter 27: The Forge of Vengeance**

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The air around Kristian was cold, but it wasn’t just the bite of the mountain winds—it was the chill of his growing rage. His breath came out in icy clouds, his eyes narrowed with fury. He had failed to protect Alysandra, and now Heimdall had taken her. The image of Heimdall’s smug face burned in his mind, and the sound of the Giallarhorn’s thunderous blast still echoed in his ears.

*I will kill him. No matter what it takes,* Kristian vowed silently.

He stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing down at the lands below. Tyr approached, the god of war’s expression somber, while Mimir, the wise head of wisdom, floated beside them, his voice filled with understanding.

“You know what must be done,” Mimir said. “If you are to defeat Heimdall, you’ll need a weapon that can cut through the magic of the gods.”

Kristian nodded, his jaw clenched tightly. “We’re going to Svartalfheim, aren’t we?”

Tyr placed a hand on Kristian’s shoulder, his expression grim but determined. “Aye. The dwarves of Svartalfheim forge the finest weapons in all the realms. If anyone can craft what you need, it’s them. But the journey will be perilous. The dwarves don’t give their gifts lightly.”

Kristian’s eyes hardened. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Heimdall will pay for what he’s done.”

Without another word, the three set off, traveling through a hidden gateway to the dark, misty realm of Svartalfheim. As they descended into the caverns of the realm, the heat from the forges below grew oppressive, and the air smelled of molten metal and fire. The clang of hammers and the hiss of steam surrounded them as they made their way deeper into the heart of the dwarven kingdom.

The blackened skies of Svartalfheim stretched endlessly above, illuminated only by the dim glow of the dwarves' forges. The massive stone structures carved into the mountains loomed over them, and the dwarves, covered in soot and grime, worked tirelessly at their anvils.

Finally, they reached the forge of Brokkr and Sindri, two of the greatest dwarven smiths in all the realms. The brothers eyed them with suspicion, their beards long and braided, their eyes sharp and knowing.

“And what business do the likes of you have in Svartalfheim?” Brokkr grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’re not in the habit of forging weapons for outsiders.”

Kristian stepped forward, his voice cold and unyielding. “I need a weapon that can kill a god.”

The dwarves exchanged a glance, intrigued but cautious. Sindri raised an eyebrow. “And which god are you planning to kill?”

“Heimdall,” Kristian growled, the venom in his voice unmistakable.

Brokkr let out a low whistle. “Heimdall, eh? You’ve got some nerve, lad. Killing the watchman of the gods won’t be easy, even with the finest weapon.”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” Kristian snapped, his patience thin. “Can you make it or not?”

The brothers exchanged another look, this time more thoughtful. Sindri stroked his beard. “We can craft such a weapon, but it’ll come at a price. The materials alone are rare and dangerous to obtain.”

Tyr stepped forward, his presence commanding. “We’ll pay whatever price is needed.”

Brokkr shrugged. “Very well, but you’ll have to bring us the heart of a fire giant from Muspelheim to forge the blade. Without it, the weapon won’t be strong enough to kill Heimdall.”