"The Thirteenth Night of Gjallarbrú's Silence, when the moon wanes and the stars dim behind the shroud of Yggdrasill's roots, the Skalds name it the Day of Mannfrelsi's Weight. It is the remembrance of the lone wanderer who bore chains heavier than mountains, yet carried them not in bondage, but in freedom—for his spirit could not be broken though his back bent beneath the load. The Norns speak that such a burden is the price of true liberty, for only he who bears the weight of the world may carve his own fate through shadow and storm. On this night, mortals lift their gaze to the heavens, knowing that freedom is not the absence of chains, but the strength to carry them."
Monsieur meets with Hrossálfr and then he carefully explains about the secrets of this realm and further beyond. Monsieur clearly asks him about why he's telling someone like him about things like this. But he ignores the question and still continues to answer each word and helps Monsieur learn many truths and dark reality.
Although Monsieur met him just now, he talks as he seems to know Monsieur for countless years and helps him learn what he wants.
After the brief talk for unknown hours.... He carries Monsieur in his back and runs very fast and appears at the gate of Valaskjálf, Hrossálfr then proceeds to head back but while walking he tells Monsieur to agree half of what he will say and disagree with half of what he will talk about.
Monsieur questions about what he is telling but Hrossálfr simply ignores it and heads to the rainbow bridge.....
Shortly after Monsieur walks ahead and walks the stairs of the Valaskjálf-hall and then questions each step about what to do and where to go but he knows that this is a moment which will never come again in life-time.
~Stop the cap~ By Author.
Monsieur opens the big gate and then he sees a hall which he only dreams in his thoughts.
Quick Note- Valaskjálf is a colossal, shining hall, large enough to hold Odin's throne above the clouds of Asgard, its silver roof gleaming like a second sun, yet not as sprawling as Valhalla — it is built more for vision and wisdom than for armies.
Monsieur slowly walks to its heart-Where Odin is-
Monsieur thanks Hrossálfr in his mind because he helped him tell everything about Valaskjálf.
Monsieur then slowly walks to the main place and knocks on the door...
"May I come in?" says Monsieur in a nervous manner.
"Come in as you like" says Odin
Monsieur opens the final gate and then sees Odin...
Odin appears to look mysterious and unknown-
There are Wolves Geri and Freki at his side
And Ravens Huginn and Muninn (Thought & Memory) on his shoulders
And at last The eight-legged horse Sleipni but unlike usually where he sits at the back of Sleipni he is sitting at his throne, High and mighty.
He may look like a wanderer, but with the aura of a king he stands high above all the nine realms.
"First of all, Please clarify who my mother really is" says Monsieur looking at Odin's eyes.
Odin looks at Monsieur's eyes in straight manner and no stuttering way.
-Odin leans forward upon his Throne, his one eye gleaming like a star that has seen the birth and death of worlds. His voice is low, yet it rolls like thunder across the hall.-
"You ask of your mother… then listen well, child of fate.
She is no lesser spirit, no nameless wanderer. Your mother is a goddess beyond the bounds of one world or one faith. She has walked through all existence, and through the shadows where existence fails. She has set foot in the realms of every myth and every song, and still she pressed further, into that which lies beyond stories themselves.
She bears all knowledge — of gods and mortals, of fable and of fiction — yet never did she bow her head to master or chain. She was as water: gentle, kind, flowing where she willed, refusing none who thirsted for aid. Even the high ones, even we who sit in Asgard, once sought her hand in times of need. And she gave, not from duty… but from grace.
You, child, are born of such a mother. Remember this: she belongs not to one realm, nor one destiny, but to all. And in you, her echo lingers."
Monsieur is puzzled after hearing what Odin said and is in more shock, Monsieur want's to ask something but...
Odin's one eye glints like a storm on the edge of time. He leans upon his great throne, his voice echoing through all the Nine Realms, each word heavy with unseen meaning.
"Monsieur… the thread you clutch is not the first, nor the last.
The mother you seek walks not in circles, but in the folds between worlds, where existence trembles and non-existence whispers.
Tell me: what is the sound of a star before it is born? What weighs heavier — the truth you seek, or the shadow that answers it?
The path forks in ways unseen, and even I — I who see all — cannot step where you must tread. Yet you must go.
Step lightly… yet stride boldly. What is behind the gate is both nowhere and everywhere, and the keys are the questions you have not yet asked."
He raises his hand, and the air shimmers. The ground beneath Monsieur bends like water. One step — and the world fractures.
"Go… and remember: every answer is a beginning, every question an end."
With that, a swirl of light and shadow opens before Monsieur, pulling him into a realm where the rules of reality itself bend, a place between stories, where even gods are travelers.
NO WAIT I HAVE TO ASK ONE LAST TI-
SYSTEM- TRANSPORTING THE PERSON TO A DIFFERENT PLACE-
System confirming location....
System, Location fixed....
Transporting person to different region-
SYSTEM-GOODLUCK MONSIEUR-
"The Coming of the Weaver of Worlds"
Across the whispering stars, before the first breath of time,
Before the rivers sang or the mountains rose,
There moved a shadow of light — soft, endless, eternal.
It touched the roots of Yggdrasil,
And the jeweled halls of Valhalla,
And the silent sands where Osiris sleeps,
And the gardens where Brahma dreamed the cosmos awake.
Through Olympus' marbled halls,
Through the endless deserts of Allah's night,
Through the lotus fields of Avalokiteshvara's gaze,
Through the sacred groves where the Druids prayed,
Through the echoing void of worlds yet unborn,
The figure walked, unseen, yet known.
Each step sang the song of every faith:
The thunder of Thor, the calm of Krishna,
The silence of Buddha, the fire of Agni,
The mercy of Jesus, the wisdom of Quetzalcoatl,
And all that has ever been worshiped,
All that has been whispered, all that has been forgotten,
Bent toward a single current —
The turning of fate, the bending of worlds.
He comes, not as a conqueror,
Nor as a tyrant of heaven or hell,
But as a weaver of paths, a guide of lost souls,
A hand through the chaos of existence and non-existence,
Through the mirror of fiction, the spiral of myth,
Through the hidden order beneath the riot of life,
Through every story ever sung,
And every shadow that waited for light.
The stars themselves pause to witness,
And the void leans close to listen,
For the one who comes will change the rhythm of being,
Will gather all fates into a thread of clarity,
And teach the worlds to bend, to flow, to unite,
To march in harmony with the heartbeat of eternity.
He will guide the lost,
He will ignite the blind,
He will plant the seed in the soil of every religion,
In every realm, in every time, in every story,
And the song of existence itself
Will rise, and all shall know:
That the great one walks among the threads of all things,
And nothing — not even non-existence — shall remain untouched.