Then Odin frowned.

Reinhard felt determination resurface, that stubborn refusal to accept limitations that defined his nature.

"No..." Odin's voice grew stronger. "My mother, she's different! She isn't like the other Frost Giants who destroy. She actually creates and nurtures... That shouldn't be possible if what you say is true."

The being's gaze intensified, flames in its eyes burning hotter.

She was made for another purpose. Each word fell like a pronouncement of fate. A role apart from the others, and a role she continued to follow, never growing from it.

Odin's fists clenched tighter. Bronze gleamed in the firelight as his fingers pressed against his palms. "Why was she created differently? All the other giants act the same... All except for Ymir."

It's because they have a different role from the others. The being tilted its massive head slightly, a gesture that somehow conveyed both patience and significance. Just like how you and your siblings have a role different from theirs.

Odin's eyes narrowed slightly. "You know of my siblings?"

I am a fundamental being of existence. The being said simply. I know what must be known.

Reinhard felt Odin's mind work through the implications. The words carried weight beyond their surface meaning, suggesting knowledge not just of individuals but of patterns, of purposes woven into existence itself. He didn't fully understand, but something deep in his consciousness recognized the importance of this place, this being, and this moment.

A silence fell between them again, broken only by the low roar of fire.

Finally, Odin asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

The being's gaze deepened. The flames in its eyes brightened, intensified, and became almost painful to witness even through Odin's perception.

Because, little spark... The words carried finality, inevitability. It is time.

"Time for what?"

For the universe to move forward, to evolve, and shift to its next phase.

Odin's expression hardened. "Universe… Is that the name of the black void that surrounds everything? And you mean existence can still grow?"

The being's massive hand lifted, and the fire realm shivered with anticipation.

Watch.

The rivers of fire responded, surging upward, defying gravity and physics, coiling around the being's arm like serpents. The heat grew unbearable, even Odin, who had walked through fire unharmed, felt it pressing against him. The air itself seemed to scream, molecules vibrating so fast they approached the threshold of transformation.

Reinhard watched through Odin's eyes as the flames condensed. They compressed, density increasing exponentially, heat and light and pure energy forced into smaller and smaller spaces until they hardened into shape.

A blade emerged.

Long and slender, it glowed with light too pure to stare at directly. White mixed with gold, and hints of blue at its core, the color of the blade illuminated the area, the color of stars being born, of matter and energy becoming one.

When the being was raised, Odin felt something he'd never experienced before.

Fear.

Pure, primal terror that screamed at him to run, to flee, to escape before the blade fell. Reinhard felt it flood through their shared consciousness, the recognition that what the being held wasn't just a weapon.

It contained the concept of cutting itself, separation made manifest, and transformation given form. The fundamental force that divided one from another, that created boundaries where none existed, that changed what was into what is, and will be.

The being brought it down gently, with the patience of something that had all of eternity to complete a single motion.

Light burst outward.

It scattered across the realm like sparks from a struck anvil, each point blazing with impossible brightness. Odin staggered back, bronze-tipped fingers raised to shield his eyes. Reinhard felt the impact through their connection, not physically, but something that struck deeper, that resonated with consciousness itself.

The sparks hung in the air, suspended.

Each one glowed, and within that light, images formed.

It was the universe's memories, moments from before time had meaning, from when existence itself was learning what it meant to be.

Odin saw creation.

He saw the perfect, silent, and endless void.

Not darkness, because darkness implied the absence of light, and light hadn't been conceived yet. This was potential itself, unmeasured and unmeasurable. Everything existed there in possibility, every choice, every outcome, every form that matter and energy could take.

All waiting, dormant, for something to give it direction and purpose.

Then, far away in that infinite nothingness, two realms began to appear.

One of frost, and one of flame. Two opposites that illuminated the void, their existence defining each other through contrast.

Together, they broke the monotony of eternal potential.

They were the first motion, the first change, the first moment where possibility became actuality.

That was the first motion. That being said. The 0th phase, the end of nothing, and the beginning of all.

The sparks shifted, images flowing into new configurations. Reinhard watched, transfixed, as rivers of mist began flowing from the icy realm like breath from sleeping lungs.

Currents of flame spiraled from the fire realm, seeking, reaching, drawn by forces that preceded consciousness.

Then came desire. The being continued, its words matching the visions. The first yearning for life. The frost dreamed of movement. The fire sang of creation. Their longing crossed the void between them.

The sparks began to swirl faster. Reinhard felt Odin's heartbeat accelerate, matching the rhythm of the cosmic dance unfolding before them. The world itself seemed to hold its breath, reality pausing to witness its own origin.

Flame reached for frost.

Mist reached for a spark.

The distance between them narrowed, instantly in the next moment, close enough to touch the next. Time had no meaning here, or perhaps time itself was being born from their approach.

When they met, light bloomed.

Not the harsh light of fire or the pale gleam of ice, but something entirely new. The void rippled like the surface of a vast ocean struck by dawn's first ray.

The single spark of contact multiplied exponentially, one becoming two, two becoming four, four becoming thousands. They danced, whirling in patterns that would later be called geometry, describing relationships between matter and energy.

They coiled around the sparks, giving them substance and form. Fire provided energy and direction, while ice provided structure and boundary.

Together, they created something neither could achieve alone, the foundation to create something itself.

And then, within the light, something moved.

A shape stirred, neither fire nor ice but both and more. Half formed from frost that remembered stillness, half from flame that craved change. The paradox made manifest, the impossible given breath.

Then a heartbeat echoed out.

Reinhard felt it through Odin, a resonance so deep it seemed to echo from before time began. The universe learning it exists, and consciousness emerges from unconsciousness. The first awareness, the first knowing, the first moment where something looked upon itself and understood.

I am.

Odin's chest tightened as his crimson-blue eyes widened, reflecting the dance.

The shape grew clearer, first mist, swirling and condensing, before light came, providing definition. Then form came after, as the impossible solidified into the actual, and when the brilliance faded.

Reinhard's vision cleared enough to see that a single figure lay at the center of the gap between the icy and fire realms.

Ymir.

The First.

The Ancestor.

The being from whom all frost giants descended, who had created through sweat and will and unconscious purpose.

The black being lowered its blade. The weapon dissolved back into pure flame, then dispersed into the air as if it had never existed.

And thus. The being said softly, its voice carrying both finality and promise. The second phase began. The birth of the First Ruler.

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