Athena's General Reincarnated in Another World

Nathan Evenhart:

When Siegfried mentioned Ragnarok, it felt like my mind split in two. On one side, too many questions. On the other, answers I wasn't sure I was ready to hear.

But before I could speak, he raised a hand.

"Before we talk about that," he said, his expression sharpening, "I want something to be absolutely clear."

He stared at me—not with threat, but with weight. Like he was measuring my convictions.

"What do you think I am? And Sisika?" His eyes narrowed. "I mean... in terms of race. Of power."

I hesitated. Everything I believed about this world—everything I thought I understood—collided with the truth that had been staring me in the face.

Still, I forced myself to say it. The word burned on my tongue. I had sworn I'd never call anyone that again.

"Gods."

Siegfried smiled. "Yes... but not exactly." He took a step forward. "I am a divinity. But not a god, Nathan. And that difference?" He gestured broadly around us. "That's the line between an empire... and a forgotten myth."

There was pride in his voice—but no arrogance. He spoke the way a teacher does before correcting a pupil.

"'God' isn't just about power," he said, glancing around the vast hall of relics. "It's faith. Cult. The spine of civilization."

My eyes narrowed. "So you're not a god?"

"I'm a divinity. Only one family in Asgard carries the title God. And trust me—they guard it with zeal."

The words echoed through me, and pieces of something ancient began to shift in my mind.

"Wait… then Cylla—?"

"She's a divinity, yes," he said—then paused. "And also... no."

My brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

Siegfried tilted his head slightly, as if searching for a way to make something impossibly vast feel small enough for me to grasp.

"She was born among us—a divinity, like me. But the blood in her veins? That's divinity in its rawest state. She's a Goddess by right."

"What's the actual difference?" I asked.

"I'll try to explain in a way you can follow." He folded his arms and looked up, thinking. "In Asgard, divinities are common. Some shine more than others, of course. But her family?" He gave a short breath—almost reverent. "They're the highest caste. The bloodline that others kneel before."

A chill ran through me.

He reached into the air—and something shimmered between his fingers. Then he tossed it at me.

I caught it out of reflex. It was a coin. Heavy. Golden. Warm to the touch. The metal glowed faintly with an inner light.

I flipped it. One side bore a sigil I didn't recognize. The other... a face. A dragon. Wearing an eyepatch. And the single visible eye stared right back at me.

"Is this... currency?"

"Yes. Official tender," Siegfried said, flipping another coin of his own between two fingers.

"You use money?"

"Of course," he said, raising a brow. "What'd you expect? Bartering chickens for favors?"

The coin pulsed again, like it was alive.

"We have kingdoms. Laws. Dynasties. And yes—an economy. Everything has purpose. Especially currency."

He said it with a kind of cynical pride.

"Money is a distraction for the immortal. A social structure. Our world is like yours… only infinitely better. Comparing them would be like comparing a gem to a pebble in the dirt."

My eyes were still fixed on the coin when he added, "The face you see engraved there? That's the Great King. The All-Father... Odin."

There was reverence in his voice—not just respect, but something deeper. Almost sacred.

Then he snapped his fingers. The coin vanished from my hand like dust in the wind.

"That name is sacred, Nathan Evenhart," he said calmly. "Use it carelessly, and you might not live long enough to regret it."

Odin. The All-Father...

Siegfried continued. "Sisika—or Cylla, as you call her—is the great-granddaughter of my master. Odin himself. After her parents died, she was adopted directly by him."

That hit harder than I expected.

"She is the highest of princesses," he said. "Above every other heir of the divine clans."

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He paused—just long enough for the weight of the truth to settle in.

"Her blood? There is no equal. Not even among the Thrones."

My thoughts collapsed in on themselves.

Cylla is... a princess? From a world of gods?

"But…" I struggled, trying to understand. "Then why did she tell me she grew up in a wooden cabin?"

The memory of her "pocket dimension" returned. It had been humble. Simple. Too small for someone with divine blood.

Siegfried looked away for the first time—and something in his expression shifted.

"That," he said, voice quieter now, "was a mistake. One my master would rather forget."

There was a strange, restrained heaviness in his words.

"It's a long story. What matters is this: Lady Thrud, Sisika's mother, ran away. She left everything behind."

He paused again.

"She knew that if she tried to bear the child of her long-dead husband… she would die."

The way he said it—it wasn't just a statement. It was a judgment. Silent. Final.

My mind flooded with questions—and Siegfried, ever perceptive, sensed them.

"You need to understand something," he said. "Divinities don't reproduce like you do—through that unstable, messy… biological process."

Disgust clung to his words.

"You think we have children like you? Like mortals?" He frowned, almost offended by the implication. "In our world, biology doesn't make heirs. Life—real, divine life—requires sacrifice. Half a soul."

I went still.

"And she… did that alone?"

He looked away.

"She tried," he said softly. "Even knowing it would cost her life."

Nothing more was said.

There was no need.

"She was Odin's granddaughter?"

Siegfried gave a small nod. "Yes. Sisika's mother was Odin's granddaughter. Which makes Sisika… the All-Father's great-granddaughter."

He exhaled slowly.

"Not that this information will mean much to you—not yet."

Then he turned and pointed at a nearby painting—a cosmic landscape filled with radiant figures walking among stars.

"The clock is ticking. And every answer I give spawns a dozen more questions. So from here on out…"

His voice lowered.

"I lead this conversation."

He turned to face me, direct and unwavering.

"There are things not even millennia can explain. So for now, you'll learn what a child in our world knows before they can walk."

The message was clear: Cylla's lineage wouldn't be explained further. Not yet.

But deep down… I wasn't fixated on titles. I cared about her safety. And the safety of my family.

"So tell me…" I said, my voice cutting through the air. "What really happened at the academy? What kind of attack was that? What is the Pact? What's the demons' true goal?"

Siegfried stopped in front of another painting—darker this time. It showed monstrous figures rising against walls of flame and lightning. Above them, the sky cracked apart in deep, black fissures.

"It all begins with a single word," he said.

He turned to me.

"Ragnarok."

The name echoed inside me. Cold. Ancient. Familiar.

"That name… it appeared in the vision I had. The diary fragment the Aspect of Soul showed me." My eyes narrowed. "It was mentioned during the noble assembly too. And… you. You're the Siegfried who once dealt with the royal family? Centuries ago?"

Siegfried smiled faintly—almost with pity.

"Yes. I've worked with several generations… across the centuries."

Then he raised a sheet of paper.

"Before we go further, I need you to see this."

He handed it to me.

It was a perfect copy of the document from the ducal ball—the one that triggered that haunting vision.

"What you saw was an echo," he explained. "A fragment of memory left behind by Mimir—the Keeper of Knowledge. He existed long before me. A being from an age before even my generation."

His voice hardened.

"Mimir faced a horror known only as the Darkness. Something beyond mortal understanding. Unfortunately… he was defeated. Beheaded. His head was cast into Helheim—a void from which nothing returns."

Everything inside me went still.

And then I asked:

"So... what was Ragnarok?"

Siegfried reached toward an old painting.

The moment his hand touched the frame… the canvas shimmered—and came alive.

Images surged forward, too fast to fixate on, yet vivid enough to carve themselves into my soul.

Warriors in feathered armor, their helmets shaped like birds of prey. Phoenix legions soaring across the sky. Dragons—dozens—tearing clouds apart with roars that cracked mountains. Iron-clad mammoths, lions the size of castles, elves and humans battling side by side. And… skyborne whales, gliding between realms like ghostly serpents.

At the center of it all stood a colossal dragon—one eye hidden behind a patch, the other blazing—leading them like a god of war.

I tried to glimpse more—but in a blink, it all vanished.

"That's enough," Siegfried said, stepping back.

His eyes were darker now.

"Ragnarok wasn't a war. It was every war. The collision of all nine realms into a single battlefield."

He walked toward a nearby sculpture—three figures carved from obsidian. A massive serpent. A wolf with burning eyes. And a bat with wings like veils of shadow.

Siegfried ran his fingers over the stone.

"Three names," he said, his voice almost reverent.

"Jormungandr. Fenrir. Hel."

Each name made the air feel heavier.

"The Trinity of World Destroyers."

I instinctively touched my face—the faint, pulsing ache of the Celestial Eyes still lingering beneath my skin.

"They realized the mistake too late. The war had crossed the point of reconciliation. And what you humans live in now… is just a truce. A temporary ceasefire."

Siegfried turned to me, eyes hardened.

"So... Ragnarok was a war?"

He closed his eyes for a moment. Then opened them—slowly.

"No," he said. "It was all wars. At once. A collision of worlds."

He turned again, placing his hand on the sculpture.

"And the worst part…" His voice dropped. "It never ended."

My stomach twisted. "You mean… it's coming back?"

He shook his head, grim.

"No. It's not coming back. It's already begun."

"The academy attack…" The pieces clicked. "They crossed into this world to continue the war."

"Exactly," Siegfried said, nodding once. "Asgard and the gods on one side. The demons on the other. The battlefield changed. The war didn't."

"How many worlds..." I swallowed. "...have been destroyed?"

He looked at me.

Too long.

Too quiet.

"Siegfried?"

"Six."

And the world seemed to shrink around me.

"Three remain." He turned slowly, his gaze heavier than stone. "And yours… is now the front line."

Silence.

Heavy. Endless.

My thoughts reeled, flashing back to my old world.

There had been a war between Titans and Gods—a conflict ignited when the gods, driven by ambition, tried to steal Cronos's power. They struck first under the guise of strategy, allying with powerful creatures. Betrayal masked as necessity. The Titans fell. Enslaved. Harvested.

In that world, gods ruled aspects of nature. Zeus commanded lightning. Hades reigned over fire and the underworld. Poseidon shaped the sea's will. Athena embodied intellect, strategy, precision. Ares—raw power, violence, the very essence of war.

They were immortal, yes—but not omnipotent. They required worship. Armies. Believers. Their strength swelled with devotion and faded without it.

If I returned there now, they might call me Zeus—for the lightning I wielded, the storms I brought down with a gesture. But the truth was sharper, harder to ignore.

A human mage in this world could do things no human back home ever dreamed of.

And that meant only one thing.

The gods—and even the mortals—here operated on a scale far beyond what I had once believed possible.

Siegfried's voice cut clean through my thoughts with a single, weight-laden line:

"The evil that once manipulated the gods… is returning."

My chest tightened. The academy attack. The corrupted creatures. That unbearable pressure—the kind that didn't just threaten the body, but crushed the soul.

I whispered the name.

"Loki."

Siegfried nodded once, solemn.

"The Demon God."