SIX MONTHS HAVE PASSED

  Draven carries on as usual, completing his daily training and tasks. He tests his proficiency with the sword and shield, axe, and scythe, and engages in battles of raw strength, using nearby mountains as punching bags—striking the hard surface until he creates doorways big enough for him to fit through.

  As Draven drives his fists into a mountain, the wind shifts. Turning, he sees the angel—but something is different. A feeling Draven cannot yet describe settles over him, hollow and unfamiliar. Yet he knows—it is empty.

  The angel’s presence is dimmed by an unspoken sorrow.

  This is their final time together.

  Angel (sarcastically): “My baby is all grown up.”

  Draven (laughs): “Shut up.”

  Angel: “You never stop, do you?”

  Draven shakes the dust off his knuckles. “Training never ends, right?”

  Angel: “How did your battle with the snake go?”

  Draven: “It was strong, but I was stronger.”

  Angel: “That’s not what I meant. You felt it again, didn’t you?”

  Draven (exhales sharply): “This time, it wasn’t just a flicker. I felt my true strength… It’s something I can’t control.”

  Angel (laughs): “I wouldn’t worry if I were you. You’ll get stronger, and eventually, you’ll be able to use it at will.”

  The angel studies Draven for a moment, then opens his cloak. Reaching deep—as if it hides infinite space—he strains to pull something out. The realm trembles for a moment as the angel finally withdraws a sheathed sword.

  Angel: “Take this. A parting gift.”

  Draven takes the sword and unsheathes it, revealing a deep, glistening red blade. Gripping the hilt, he feels the perfect weight of the weapon.

  Draven: “I’ve never seen a red blade before. What’s special about it?”

  Angel: “This sword is a reminder of who you are and what you will become… Hand it to me for a moment.”

  Draven hands the sword over. The angel grips it firmly and, with all his power, slashes through the air. A nearby mountain splits in half.

  Angel (smiling): “I had to show you the strength you’ll need for the future.”

  Draven (shocked): “You were holding back all these years? No wonder I could never beat you… that's crazy.”

  Angel: “I never thought this day would come. When you finally leave this lonely realm, I will open a gateway called Bifr?st… and say my final farewell.”

  The angel reveals his true form. Two more arms emerge from his body, wearing a white cloak trimmed with gold. A radiant ring appears above his head. Raising his arms, the sky shifts—clouds gather, lightning crackles, and ominous thunder roars.

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  The realm has never shaken this violently before.

  A beam of light descends from the heavens, crashing into the ground. Everything around it begins to crumble, yet the sight is breathtaking—a pillar of radiant energy, wrapped in the hues of a rainbow, pulsing with overwhelming magic.

  Angel: “This is it, Draven. The day has finally come—you’re leaving for Midgard.”

  Draven gathers his belongings: his axe, a satchel, and the sword the angel gave him. Carrying both the axe and sword on his back, he takes a deep breath.

  Draven: “I never thought I’d feel this way after wanting to go to Midgard so badly.”

  Angel: “Oh come on just think about the lovely women you’ll be able to—”

  Draven (laughs): "I mean if they what you say they are...I'll always remember my time here.”

  Angel: “You won't be disappointed, before you go, point your blade toward me.”

  Draven unsheathes his sword and raises it in the angel’s direction. The angel grasps the blade, and his blood begins to flow onto the steel.

  Angel: “Bloed Desmós. This is our bond… I will miss you, Raphael Draven Tyr. Be on your way.”

  Draven: “Thank you… for everything you’ve done for me, you damn angel.”

  Both smile and laugh, sharing one final moment before Raphael Draven Tyr turns away, stepping toward his destiny. As he walks into the Bifr?st, the shimmering pillar of light hums with energy, casting a radiant glow across the realm. Each step carries him further from the only home he has ever known, yet closer to the unknown world awaiting him.

  The angel watches in silence, his smile tinged with sorrow and pride. The realm trembles one last time as the Bifr?st envelops Draven in its brilliance, its celestial light swallowing him whole. And just like that, he is gone—forever.

  The Bifr?st roars to life, splitting through the skies of Midgard like a celestial spear. A brilliant pillar of light crashes down in the heart of an unknown forest, its radiance swallowing the land in an otherworldly glow. The air trembles, trees bend under the sheer force of its descent, and the very fabric of the world seems to shudder as if recognizing the arrival of something beyond mortal comprehension.

  Then, just as suddenly as it came, the Bifr?st begins to fade. Its blinding luminance dims into soft golden embers, scattering like fireflies before vanishing entirely. In its place, a massive crest is burned into the earth—a symbol not of gods, but of something else. Something new.

  As Draven steps forward, the world greets him. A deep, resonant hum fills the air—not of voices, but of Midgard itself. A hymn, ancient and sorrowful, rises like a whisper carried by the wind. It sings of expectation, of the weight upon his shoulders, of a fate yet unwritten. The melody shifts, sorrow lacing its edges, as if the world itself mourns what is to come.

  Draven stands still, listening, feeling. The hymn fades into the rustling leaves, leaving behind only the quiet murmurs of the forest. He exhales, gripping the sword at his back.

  He has arrived.

  As Draven takes in his surroundings, a rare silence overtakes him. Before him unfolds a landscape so vast and untamed that it seems almost unreal. Ribbons of rivers weave through the land like veins, converging at the edge of a towering waterfall that plunges into a deep gorge where a giant lake reflects the bitter sun. The air hums with life—trees sway with a grace. The sky stretches endlessly, as if Midgard exists beyond the reach of gods and their corruption, a world still pure, still free.

  Little did Draven know it was not so.

  Draven: “God damn… he sure wasn't lying about this place.”

  His awe is short-lived. A sly grin creeps onto his face, his thoughts shifting.

  Draven (lewd face): “Now, I wonder what the women are like.”

  He shakes his head, chuckling to himself.

  Draven: “Well, I guess I should begin my journey.”

  But before he can take his first step, something stops him. A strange sensation hums beneath his feet, a pulse of undisturbed energy exuding from the earth itself. He kneels, brushing his fingers through the blades of grass. The moment his skin touches them, tiny orbs of light rise into the air—glowing, weightless, dancing like fireflies before vanishing into the wind.

  His eyes narrow.

  This was different.

  His realm had never possessed something like this.

  He looks up, scanning the land once more, but now with a sharper gaze. That’s when he sees them—creatures unlike anything from his world. Translucent, shifting, amorphous beings moving sluggishly across the ground. Their bodies jiggle with each small motion, reflecting the sunlight in mesmerizing ripples.

  Draven: “What the hell are these things? Slime? They seem… alive.”

  Curious, he reaches out and pokes one.

  It quivers. Then, without warning, it splits cleanly into two, each identical to the first.

  Draven blinks.

  Draven: “…Alright, I did not expect that.”

  He stares at his finger, then at the multiplying slimes, and finally exhales.

  Draven: “Midgard is already weird as hell.”

  The slimes avoid him, instead moving toward sources that emit a faint magical presence, feeding on the energy they absorb. Draven realizes that his movements feel lighter, as if the gravity in Midgard is weaker than what he is normally used to.

  Draven: "They live off this stuff… I wonder what it is. I guess I’ll have to find someone to talk to."

  Draven travels deeper into the forest, feeling as if the trees themselves are watching him. He continues walking, but a strange sense of repetition nags at him—he’s passed the same boulder for the third time.

  Then, the trees come alive.

  Roots tear free from the ground, twisted limbs pulling themselves upward. One of them lunges at him from behind.

  Draven dodges effortlessly, a grin forming on his face.

  Draven (laughing): "I had a feeling it wouldn't be smooth sailing… Time to test this blade."

  As Draven prepares himself, he places his hand on the sword and draws it. Immediately, the trees sense his vast experience in battle. Without any difficulty, Draven swiftly defeats the tree sentinels.

  Draven: "That felt good. It’s almost like this sword is adjusting to me."

  As he ventures deeper into the forest, an uneasy feeling settles over him. The other animals and beasts keep their distance from a certain area, and even the tree sentinels awkwardly avoid it, as if sensing something unnatural.

  Then, he sees it.

  Not too far ahead, a massive troll trudges forward, a lifeless deer slung over its back. Its heavy footsteps send tremors through the ground.

  Both Draven and the troll stop suddenly, locking eyes in tense silence.

  Draven (disgusted): "What the hell are you?"