When he opened his eyes, he was not himself.
The world he saw burned red and black. Endless rivers of fire flowed like molten veins, curling through a land made of obsidian glass.
Mountains shimmered faintly under a heat that had existed before names. The air trembled with power, heavy and alive.
Reinhard found he was standing at the edge of that fiery world as Odin. The space between this realm and the frost one was a wide, shimmering expanse.
He could still sense the frost realm far behind, its chill whispering across his back, even as heat licked at his front.
He took a step forward.
The ground cracked beneath his foot, glass fracturing but not breaking. The firelight reflected against his pale skin, and for a moment, the flames seemed to bow in recognition.
He walked.
The rivers hissed around him, and the fields of black sang quietly as they shifted under his steps. Each breath filled his lungs with warmth so intense it hurt, but he kept moving, his gaze distant.
