Destroyer of Worlds

2

Snow falls. A flurry caught in the unforgiving wind blowing relentlessly across the frozen wastes that stretch to the horizon. In that wind, there are whispers, lost souls, telling of the end of the world, of all worlds. Their stories are caught in the ruddy glare reflected in the rolling snow dunes and the crested waves of ice.

High in the silver sky, the Burning Man looks down on this place, and the shimmering city of gold and glass at its heart, as he looks down on all places, waiting to cast the final judgement. The towering outline of fire is still waiting to be filled, but it will not be long now. It is the twilight of the gods, and men, and all living things.

Ragnarok.

Dreaming, yet awake, you understand this as you move out from the confusion of the World-Tree's branches and drift across the desolate landscape. The whispers have told you what was and what will be, what is real and what is not. You move on quickly. You want to see more. Worry knots your thoughts, that perhaps this time it will not be all right.