Progenitor's Burden

Prologue: Gods Awakening

Watching Sinclair fade from my sight once more, I was struck by an odd sensation, a strange emptiness. After so long in that stasis chamber, I'd been certain it would be the last thing I'd ever see. Not that I was fully aware of anything while suspended in that state. Still, the memory of it lingers, cold and muffled, like a distant dream.

It seems my people have managed, wielding what little power they could. With me out of commission and the others either in hiding or protecting what fragments they could, the worlds had grown weaker, more vulnerable. But that's about to change.

Reaching out while steadying my focus. I felt this urge to find those closest to me. I directed my skills in Seiðr to seek out my kin. It was time to awaken, to reclaim our strength and take back what was once ours.

Just faintly, at the edges of my perception, I could sense the great Tree. Yggdrasil was so faint it was barely there, like a whisper in the dark. Stretching my awareness further, I focused on finding the closest nodes; even the faintest connection would help begin repairing the damage caused by moving the planet as I had.

The distance between where we were and where we are now is staggering. I knew my calculations had been rough in my haste, but my people needed me. Curse that broken system that spewed these abominations onto my worlds.

Looking down, I realized that in my anger, I had crushed another mug, mead spilling down my robe. No matter though. I had more important things to attend to.

Hours passed, each moment straining my focus as I spooled out magic powerful enough to shatter entire worlds. I combed through the faint traces, searching for even the smallest glimmer of what once connected me to my worlds. And then, finally, there you are. A node, isolated and fragile but still there, lay within reach, and I seized it with a surge of relief. Reestablishing a connection proved much harder than I'd anticipated; my worlds had fallen into ruin far beyond anything I could have imagined.

I let the magic weave into the node, feeling it snap into place. A rush of energy surged down the line, racing toward me, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the power of Yggdrasil hummed beneath my skin again.

As the power flowed through the connection, it crashed into me with the force of a tidal wave. Centuries of pent-up energy, stagnant for so long, rushed back through Yggdrasil's fractured veins. The sensation was staggering, and I braced myself, expecting the familiar surge of strength to follow. Instead, I was struck by a chaotic torrent, raw, untamed, and laced with cracks and gaps like a shattered mirror.

Then came the information.

Fragments of data and splintered memories hit me all at once, each more overwhelming than the last. Faces of my people long lost, glimpses of cities fallen to ruin, lands that were once ours now teeming with shadows. My mind strained to process it all; the system struggled to parse centuries of history in an instant. I felt myself freeze, locked in place, as the data backlog forced itself into my consciousness, a relentless flood of missed events, wars, and a silence I hadn't foreseen. Each new image added weight, pulling me down.

Draugr infestations in Midgard… Fimbulwinter is taking root where it should not… a fractured Asgard with remnants scattered across realms. The pressure built with each new revelation, and I felt the years of abandonment in every corner of my world. I reached out instinctively for Yggdrasil's guidance, but even that steady presence faltered under the weight.

The chaos surged, and then suddenly, amidst the darkness, I felt a presence.

The chaotic surge of memories and energy continued, but as the torrent raged, a steady signal emerged from the depths of Yggdrasil, cutting through the overwhelming darkness. Two presences, familiar yet fragile, rose from the ancient bonds. Freyja's essence pulsed first, grounding and calming, like the touch of ancient roots entwined in the earth, a steady lifeline amid the storm of memories. And then I felt our son Víðarr.

Víðarr's energy was quiet but unyielding, like a fortress standing resolute against the ravages of time. His strength was unlike Thor's boisterous thunder; it was tempered, silent, and enduring, like a stone set against the endless tide. I could feel his determination, a reminder that even in the face of desolation, some bonds remain unbroken.

The weight of lost centuries still bore down on me, but their presence tempered the deluge, giving me something to hold on to. My focus sharpened, and Yggdrasil's energy, battered but alive, began to stabilize within me. Reaching out, I anchored myself in their faint signals, drawing strength from their resilience. These two, Freyja and Víðarr, had survived, enduring across the ages as the world changed and crumbled around them.

I tried to speak, to call to them through the threads, but the energy between us was too unstable. The currents twisted and wavered, and instead of words, I could only brush against their consciousness, like a whisper carried off by the wind.

Yet even that was enough.

Through the bond, I felt them stir, their ancient energies shifting as if they had been awakened from a deep, ageless slumber. Freyja's essence pulsed, warm and familiar, while Víðarr's strength solidified, like stone settling back into place. Though they could not yet speak, I felt their awareness return, their presence growing stronger with each heartbeat.

A rare smile crossed my face, a glimmer of satisfaction as I sensed them awaken. The System hadn't taken everything. We still had this, and it was a start.

With that certainty, I turned my attention to the lines between our two systems, focusing on weaving something stronger, something that could withstand the ravages of time and distance. The threads of Yggdrasil, weakened though they were, pulsed as I began to guide them into place, crafting stable connections where only faint traces had lingered before. Each line I laid was a step toward restoration, a bridge between what had been and what we could yet reclaim.

Through the bond, wisps of memory and half-formed images began to trickle in, like droplets from a cracked vessel. I could feel Freyja's consciousness brush against mine, light and familiar, yet fractured, pieces of her scattered over long ages. A memory flickered, hazy at first, then sharpening into focus: her hand extended toward a field of withering flowers, her face tense as she tried to coax life from the land. But nothing would grow, the soil unyielding, poisoned by something deeper. Her frustration mingled with sorrow as the vision faded.

How long has it been since she's walked in her fields? The thought clawed at me, a pang I hadn't felt in ages. Freyja's realm had always been fertile, a place of warmth and wild beauty. Now, that connection felt brittle, as if the roots of her powers had been severed. I reached out tentatively, trying to sense more, and felt only a faint pulse; her lands were still there, but diminished, starved of the life and strength she once commanded.

Then came a murmur from Víðarr's side of the bond, his energy heavier, grounded like stone. The image that surfaced was one of bleak endurance, a forest reduced to bare, twisted trees, stripped of their former grandeur. He stood alone amidst the ruin, guarding the last remnant of his domain. His quiet, stubborn strength permeated the scene, and for a moment, I saw him lifting a colossal blade, burying it into the ground to hold off an advancing darkness. But the strain was evident, his movements slower, burdened.

And still, he stands. Respect warmed my mind, tempered by bitterness. Víðarr was the silent protector, the one who bore his duty without complaint. Even now, he refused to yield, but his realm, like Freyja's, was hollowed out, shadows gnawing at its edges. There's so little left of what we built.

As I pushed further, another impression drifted through, a memory that wasn't tied to any single god but to Yggdrasil itself. I felt the World Tree shudder, buckling under weight I had never sensed before, branches snapping under strain as entire realms went dark. I could sense its ancient pain, as if it had been struggling to hold us together in our absence, but now… There were scars too deep for even Yggdrasil to heal. Each realm, attached to its roots, felt distant, flickering like lanterns in a storm, some barely casting any light at all.

Jotunheim… Alfheim… Asgard, I reached toward each in turn, searching for familiar threads. Jotunheim stirred faintly, the giants' energy diminished but intact, resilient even in isolation. But Alfheim's glow was thin, barely present, a sliver of what it had once been. Even now, the elves clung to their ancient magics, but it was a fading light. And Asgard… nothing but silence. A wound, jagged and unhealed, hung in its place. Gone. Everything is gone but dust.

A flicker of anger churned within me, a force I had once known well, now dulled by the ages. And yet, there was Freyja's warmth, flickering just enough to counter the dark. Víðarr's resolve, even as he withstood the decay. Small flames in a world of night. Focus on the things you can change, rather than dwelling on what has already happened. This other system would pay for what they did.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

It's a beginning, and with the right people in motion, I will have my vengeance, feeling the weight of Yggdrasil's damaged roots. I pressed my awareness further, strengthening each tenuous connection as best I could, knowing it was barely enough to hold back the encroaching Myrkr.

*****

The weight of ages pressed heavily on me, an ever-present burden I had grown far too accustomed to. My once-majestic forests stood stripped and skeletal, nothing more than brittle remains of what had been. I stood motionless amid the desolation, my blade driven deep into the soil. It was the only thing holding the encroaching darkness at bay, a frail barrier sustained by the dying embers of my strength.

Time had long since slipped beyond meaning. The flow of Yggdrasil's energy, once a vibrant and steady hum through my veins, had dwindled to a whisper. Sometimes, it faded so faintly I wondered if the Tree had already perished. So this is what it feels like to fade, I thought, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my weapon.

Then, I felt it.

A flicker, faint as the dying breath of a long-forgotten flame, brushed against the edge of my awareness. I went still. My senses, dulled by centuries of isolation, snapped into focus. The pulse was fragile, tentative, but it was real. Instinct took over. I reached out, hungry for its presence, willing it to grow stronger.

No… it can't be.

I cast my awareness outward, straining to catch that flicker again. It danced at the boundary of my perception, elusive but unmistakably familiar. My grip on the blade tightened. That presence… I hadn't felt it in so long.

It couldn't be him.

Then it came again, stronger this time, and the resonance struck me like the distant blare of a battle horn. I knew that presence. I knew it.

Odin.

His name seared through me, tearing open the stillness that had consumed my soul for so long. But even as the recognition bloomed, doubt gnawed at the edges of my mind. Why now? After all these ages, why now? My fists clenched, and the brittle ground beneath me trembled beneath the weight of my anger. If this was some illusion conjured by the Myrkr, I would not be deceived.

But the flicker persisted, gentle, insistent. Not a hammering force, but a steady pressure against the wall of my solitude. I shut my eyes and turned inward. My connection to Yggdrasil was fractured, like the sundered land around me, but I found it.

It was him.

The realization hit me like a hammer to the chest. My knees buckled, the truth too heavy to bear for a moment. Odin. The All-Father. After everything, he had returned. His power reached me again. The name tore from my throat before I could stop it, a guttural rasp ripped from centuries of silence.

"Father."

My voice sounded alien, dry and rough, thick with disbelief, fury, and a fragile thread of hope.

I clutched the hilt harder, pulling strength from the fragile link. It wasn't much. It wasn't stable. But it was real. The oppressive fog of isolation thinned just enough for a breath of clarity to reach me. A growl rumbled deep in my chest, raw and primal.

This world had tried to bury me, to trap me in this low-power state, but now something greater called out. If it was truly Odin, then I would answer.

The invisible chains around me strained as I pushed against them, every thread of my being bent toward freedom. Movement was agony, but I welcomed it. Pain meant purpose. I could feel the faint hum of his presence, steady now, and it lit a fire in a place I had thought long dead.

I opened my eyes.

A faint glow shimmered in my gaze, the first outward reflection of the will beginning to stir within me. If you've truly returned, All-Father, then I will rise. But this world will not yield easily.

I pressed harder against the unseen barrier, each inch a battle. The first steps of my awakening were slow, grueling. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I had direction again. With every heartbeat, the thread connecting us grew stronger. That alone was enough. It had to be.

The earth beneath me shuddered as I forced my legs to move. My muscles screamed in protest, locked by age and disuse, but I refused to be still any longer. I pushed until I stood upright, the bonds of my imprisonment cracking and falling away like crumbling stone.

Then I heard it.

Clear. Commanding. Undeniable.

Prepare for that which is coming.

The words slammed through me, laden with urgency and purpose. They weren't just a call. They were a warning. And they set something alight inside me.

A spark. No, a blaze.

Hope. Real and dangerous.

My grip tightened around the blade's hilt as I turned my gaze outward, scanning the remains of my realm. Nothing but ruins and ash stretched before me, a hollow echo of the life that once thrived here. But somewhere, somewhere, among these bones, my people might still endure. If any remained, I would find them. We would rebuild.

Drawing a long, steady breath, I reached deep into the broken reservoir of my power, hoarded for too long. My bond with Yggdrasil was fragile, but it held. I gathered what strength I could and sent it outward, along the thread that connected me to him.

Hold tight, Father. I will do what I can.

The words came like a vow and a prayer all at once. His presence steadied me. Reminded me of what must come next.

Turning from the dead grove that had been my tomb, I stepped into the ruins of my domain. Every footfall defied the decay that had tried to consume me. Every step was a reclaiming.

This world, and all the others, would be ours again.

I will see it done.

*****

The silence of my slumber had been deep and endless, a void I had willingly surrendered to in order to preserve the last fragments of my strength. My sanctuary, a refuge crafted through careful weavings of seiðr, existed in a sliver of space between realms, tucked so far from reach that even the shadows of the Myrkr could not find me. It was still there, untouched by time or turmoil, a place of quiet where the chaos of the outer worlds could not intrude. Within that timeless hush, I drifted through memories of what once was, the lands I had walked, rich with golden grain, skies that shimmered with dawn's promise, and the air itself thrumming with the hum of magic, of life, of purpose.

A pulse, so faint it could have been the echo of a dream, rippled through my sanctuary. Like the first shiver of water cracking through ice, it moved across the boundaries of my refuge, brushing against the veil of my consciousness. It was fragile and fleeting, but I recognized it instantly.

It swept through the stillness I had so carefully preserved, stirring the layers of seiðr I had bound around myself for protection. My breath caught in my throat.

My eyes snapped open, and I shot upright, a cold bolt of clarity racing through my chest as my heart pounded with a sudden, urgent rhythm. The sensation came again, more distinct now, a steady resonance reaching out across the void. It coursed through the threads of existence with the unmistakable cadence of something I had long feared I'd never feel again.

I extended my senses with caution, my awareness unfurling like silk on the wind, seeking the source hidden within the threads of energy that still pulsed beyond this place.

It couldn't be…

"Odin."

His name formed on my lips before I even knew I'd spoken it. Barely a breath, yet it hung heavy in the air, trembling with meaning. The All-Father, gone for so long that even the pain of his absence had dulled into something I simply carried. And now… his energy. Distant, flickering, but real. It reached through the ruins of Yggdrasil, through time, space, and silence.

I pushed myself to my feet. My body resisted, sluggish from disuse, the weight of centuries clinging to me like cobwebs. Each motion came with effort, joints stiff, limbs reluctant to remember movement. My sanctuary trembled around me as I loosened the hold I had on its boundaries, allowing my senses to bleed out beyond the walls I had built.

The roots of Yggdrasil emerged in my mind's eye, once radiant, surging with life, now reduced to a hollowed, twisted mass. They stretched out in pitiful strands, many of them severed, the others brittle and strained under the weight of everything they had borne. The sight twisted something deep in my chest.

How far we have fallen.

I focused, locking onto the faint glimmer of the Tree's remaining magic. With great care, I reached out and laid my power across the roots. The contact sent a chill down my spine. They shuddered under my touch, so fragile, so close to collapse. My refuge, my carefully maintained haven, began to unravel as I funneled its stored seiðr back into the broken ley-lines of the Tree. The safety I had wrapped myself in for so long bled away, one strand at a time.

I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into the flow of energy, examining every thread. The damage was… staggering. Each strand bore scars, stories of devastation, of realms burned and severed, of magic drained until nothing remained. The Tree was not what it had been. But it still lived. Somewhere, deep beneath the scars and decay, power remained. Dim, flickering like a candle guttering in the wind, but alive.

That was enough.

I moved by instinct. My hands rose, fingers curling and shifting through the air, drawing ancient runes and sigils I had not summoned in an age. Threads of seiðr unfurled from my fingertips, glowing with faint gold, and wrapped themselves around the broken root structure. They spun and wove, binding fractures, reconnecting threads, strengthening the old latticework of the Tree's foundation. Each motion pulled from my core, sapping my reserves. Exhaustion crept into my limbs, but I ignored it.

I had endured worse. I would endure this.

"You've held on this long," I whispered, my voice rough from disuse but steady, resolute. "Let me help you endure a little longer."

As I worked, I could feel Odin's presence growing, stronger, more deliberate. His will steadied mine. He was out there, reaching for what remained of our kin, reuniting the scattered threads of our shattered pantheon. But this task, this sacred burden, had always been mine. It was I who tended the roots. I who preserved the weave. I who nurtured the life that flowed through all.

The roots beneath my efforts groaned. The tension within them, the strain of ages, pushed back. For a breathless moment, I feared they would break altogether. But they didn't.

"Hold fast, my dear," I murmured, leaning into the warmth that poured from my hands. The golden light flared brighter as the magic flowed freely now, sinking deep into the fibers of the Tree. "We are not done yet."

I closed my eyes, drawing on every ounce of skill I possessed to analyze the damage. Each thread told a story of ruin, realms lost, magic drained, lifelines severed. But there was still power here, deep in the core of Yggdrasil's ancient roots. It was faint, flickering like a dying flame, but it was enough to start the work of repair.

I moved instinctively, my hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, strands of Seiðr spinning out from my fingertips. The threads wrapped around the damaged roots, patching fractures, strengthening connections, drawing energy from the fragile core. Each movement sent a wave of exhaustion through me, but I did not falter. I would not falter.

"You've held on this long," I whispered, my voice low but resolute. "Let me help you endure a little longer."