The golden halls of Asgard had never felt so vast and so fragile.
Odin stood at the center of the great circular chamber, a place carved from the roots of Yggdrasil itself. The walls shimmered with runes that normally blazed with light, but today they flickered, uncertain, as though the World Tree sensed what was coming.
Around him, seated upon thrones of stone, gold, cloud, and shadow, were the gods of every pantheon.
Zeus, crowned with storm clouds, lightning flickering between his fingers.
Ra, radiant as the sun that would soon be devoured, his falcon head crowned with the solar disk.
Amaterasu, her presence a gentle yet unyielding dawn.
Quetzalcoatl, feathers of emerald and azure shifting like living wind.
Anu, ancient and distant, enthroned upon the heavens of Mesopotamia.
Tēzcatlipōca, obsidian mirror smoking at his feet.
The Morrígan, cloaked in raven wings, eyes gleaming with battle yet to come.
And dozens more—some proud, some weary, some already resigned.
Never before had such a gathering been called.
Never before had it been necessary.
Odin's voice, when it came, was not thunder.
It was stone grinding against stone.
"I have seen what the Norns have woven.
Not in visions. Not in dreams.
In the thread itself.
The fall of the gods is upon us.
It will not begin with war between pantheons.
It will begin with silence.
The sun will be swallowed.
Sköll and Hati will close their jaws, and no light will escape.
All worlds—Asgard, Olympus, Takamagahara, Duat, Xibalba—will drown in endless night."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Zeus leaned forward, brow thunder-dark.
Ra's light dimmed, as if in sympathy.
"Then the Serpent will rise.
Jörmungandr, child of chaos, will uncoil from the roots of the world.
The seas will boil. The earth will split.
His venom will poison sky and soil alike.
He will crush realms in his coils.
He will swallow pantheons whole.
We will fight.
We will fall."
Amaterasu turned her face away, as though the words burned.
Quetzalcoatl's feathers stilled.
"From the south, Surtr will march.
His sword will outshine the dying sun.
Flames will devour Yggdrasil.
Golden halls will melt.
Every world-tree, every sacred mountain, every celestial palace—reduced to ash.
And from the cold depths, Hel will come.
Not alone.
With legions of the dead.
The forgotten. The unburied. The damned of every realm.
They will rise in numbers beyond counting.
They will sweep across the battlefields like a gray tide.
Ragnarök.
The Twilight.
The End of Days.
It is not one pantheon's doom.
It is ours. All of ours."
Silence fell, heavier than any chain.
Odin's single eye swept the assembly.
"I did not summon you to surrender.
I summoned you to witness the truth.
We have ruled since before time had shape.
We have been worshipped, feared, loved, betrayed.
We have shaped mortal destinies and been shaped by them in turn.
But the thread does not lie.
The cycle demands an ending.
And after the ending... rebirth.
A new world rising from water and ash.
But we will not see it.
None of us."
Zeus rose, voice crackling.
"Then we fight. Together. Not as rivals. As gods."
The Morrígan smiled, sharp as a blade.
"War is coming. I welcome it."
Ra spoke softly, yet all heard.
"Even the sun must set. But perhaps... we can delay the night."
Odin nodded once.
"Then we prepare.
We forge alliances that have never existed.
We arm the living. We awaken ancient powers.
We stand as one.
Not to avert fate.
But to meet it with defiance."
In the distance, far beyond the golden halls, a faint shadow passed across the sun.
The first sign.
The council dispersed slowly, each god carrying the weight of the prophecy into their own realm.
And somewhere, on the gray banks of the Styx, a single red lycoris burned brighter
as if it, too, had heard the call.