Adumala's deep voice echoed in the distance of his mind:

Each river holds a principle, Odin. You will not drink from them, but you will become part of them. As they will inscribe in your body pieces of their fragments.

The first step into Svöl wasn't cold, but it felt like he was stepping into the very principle of preservation through stillness. His breath caught mid-inhale, suspended in his throat like a fly in amber.

The river seized him with his fingers curled into claws, frozen in their reaching. His jaw locked open in a silent scream that would never end. Even his thoughts slowed, each one stretching into minutes while a single tear formed at the corner of his eye, but hung there, refusing to fall.

Through lips that wouldn't move, he heard himself whisper. "This is forever."

And for one terrifying second that lasted an eternity. Odin became a living statue, aware but immobile, preserved perfectly in the current. Then he felt it rushing into his body and fully fusing.

Then Odin blinked as he felt the principle of Svöl was now a part of himself, and then he crossed an invisible boundary into Gunnþrá.

This river did not paralyze, but it mesmerized. His eyelids grew heavy, drooping halfway as images unfolded behind them, ancient forests growing in seconds that stretched to millennia, stars moving overhead in lazy arcs.

He felt the spirit of contemplation, the power of thought that moves slowly but becomes more profound. It was the understanding that precedes action, the patient mapping of consequence.

It's then a figure formed, this one swirling with lazy intent. Odin didn't dodge, but instead, he tilted his head slightly, fingers sketching a pattern that mirrored the river's flow. The figure paused, head cocked in confusion, then unraveled like a knot someone had found the perfect thread to pull.

Odin swam upward, body shining with new depth, and turned toward the next river.

Fjörm awaited him, it was vast and slow-moving, like an endless horizon. As Odin entered, he felt its essence reach through his bones. This was the soul of distance, the beauty of space between things.

Fjörm taught that not all closeness was good, that sometimes what we love most is only beautiful because we must reach for it.

In its depths, another guardian rose, a pale long-limbed existence with eyes glimmering in longing. It struck not in anger, but in rhythm, as if to remind Odin of patience. Their battle stretched across the river's span, slow and deliberate. When he finally smashed his fist into the pale existence, the being dissolved, leaving behind a faint whisper:

Some things must stay far to remain stunning and desirable.

He pressed onward.

The fourth river Fimbulþul, was thick like a fog that turned everything wet. Its song was low and heavy, one that Odin heard while submerged, the current wrapped around him like a dream. Here flowed mystery itself, the unknown from which creation springs.

Beyond its veil, half-formed shapes drifted, nameless hues, echoes of worlds yet unborn. All of it drifted into his body, fusing into himself before he blinked and somehow found himself slipping into the next river, Slíðr.

Its waters shimmered with the color of silver. It carried the essence of endurance, the will to last, and the strength to remain. The figure that rose here was immense, its skin marked with cracks, its breath like winter wind.

They both rushed at each other before they smashed into each other's bodies. Odin's arms burned with every parry and returned strike. The duel wore him down until he dropped to one knee, then forced himself up and delivered a final blow.

The being was shattered like stone turning to dust. The dust then swirled around Odin before launching him beyond the river and into the next.

Beyond that lay Hríð, its waters soft and cool, carrying the power of gentleness. Still yet alive, it filled Odin with a peaceful strength that needed no excitement or rush.

The guardian here was small and almost fragile, a reflection of Odin's younger self.

Odin trembled at the sight before he slowly swam over, and then he gently embraced the figure as he felt the answer appear in his heart.

Embrace with gentleness, and then the figure dissolved into light. The light wrapped around him, seeping into his body, gained the understanding of gentleness before he was ushered into the next stream.

Then Sylgr, whose surface was still as a mirror but whose depth was immeasurable. It bore the spirit of silence that nurtures rather than isolates. The guardian came without sound, its presence vast but soft.

Odin understood after Sylgr entered into him, that silence could protect as well as imprison. His movements slowed, matched the rhythm of the quiet, and the battle ended before it began. The guardian began to break down in front of him before drifting over and pushing over to the next stream.

In Ylgr, silver light coiled around him like strands of thought. Here, reflection wasn't about the surface, it was consciousness turning inward.

Odin saw all his failures, hopes, and rages in a guardian identical to himself. Their clash was like a person confronting their own shadow, but in the end, victory came not through force but through acceptance.

Then Við, the ninth river, the river of boundless reach. Its waters stretched endlessly in every direction, revealing that true expansion is as much inward as outward. Its guardian was immense and translucent, each blow slow but terrifying.

Odin fought not to conquer but to endure, and when the figure dissolved, his awareness had widened and calmed.

He entered Leiptr next, the river of stillness, and of pause. It flowed like the breath between one life and the next, carrying the essence of transformation waiting to happen. Each droplet flashed, and suspended between motion and rest, Odin felt existence itself holding its breath. Before it then accepted itself into himself, and then he swam to the last river.

Finally, Gjöll current was silent, black, and glowing faintly with light that was not light. As Odin entered, language, words, and even understanding itself seemed to dissolve. Gjöll held something beyond naming, the essence for which no word had yet been born, the unnameable, the unexplainable, and undefined.

He felt himself unravel, each thought peeled away until only one remained.

Then he rose from the water, radiant and trembling. A flash of terrifying brilliance exploded through the icy expanse, he didn't know if moments or millennia passed.

A soft, gentle voice echoed in his mind. We are the boundary between what is and what is not.

Then, he heard them.

The individual songs of the rivers, the deep cello of Slíðr, the high flute of Hríð, the resonant bell of Sylgr, the complex sound of Ylgr, all wove together. They were not chaotic, but were a harmony of such perfect, intricate completeness it seemed the universe itself was humming.

Then the light gradually faded.

Odin blinked, his sight returning, and then he felt something wet on his hand, leading him to look down. His eyes slightly widened to see they were stained with blood, but it wasn't blue, but a mix of white, and white like ice and starlight.

His gaze traveled upward, following the trail of gore.

And he saw her.

Adumala.

Her massive, gentle form was broken. Her hide was torn off on the sides, her legs were twisted at impossible angles, and one of her magnificent horns was broken off. The lifeblood of the mother of creation pooled around her, steaming in the eternal frost.

A tremor started in Odin's hands, then seized his entire body. "W-What… H-how…" The word was a breathless fracture. "Adumala… Adumala!"

Before then, images flashed through his mind, and to his disbelief, he saw himself attacking Adumala. Smashing into her, biting into her, stabbing into her, slashing at her, and smashing his fist down into her.

All while Adumala didn't fight back, and only whispered comforting words while staring at him with a soft expression.

"You did it, Odin… I am so proud-" Adumala says softly.

The symphony within Odin shattered into a cacophony of horror, shock, and a self-loathing so profound it choked him. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees beside her colossal head. "I don't care about that!" he screamed, gesturing wildly at his own transformed body. "How did I injure you?! No, that doesn't matter! Quickly, heal yourself! Tell me what to do!"

Adumala's eye displayed no pain, only a gentle and boundless affection. She let out a light, pained laugh that shook the ground. "Oh, Odin but I can't. This is needed for your dreams and goals."

Odin froze, his mind refusing to assemble the pieces.

"It's impossible for another existence like me, Ymir, and the Towering Black One to be born." Adumala whispered, her voice growing fainter. "The Universe can only accommodate three of us for the moment."

"So why did you tell me-" Odin's voice was a ragged tear.

"-But it's possible for you to take up the role of one of us." She interjected softly. "To trick the universe into thinking you are one of us. To be one of us."

The horror dawned, slow and utterly damning. The rivers, the blessing, the fight… It was all a setup, a gruesome and necessary ritual.

Odin muttered. "Y-You needed to die… For me to take your spot."

Adumala's head dipped in an almost imperceptible nod. "Not only die. You need to devour me, to have all of my essence flow into you. This will then turn you into the New Mother of All Creation, the All-Mother."

A violent, uncontrollable tremor wracked Odin's frame. "N-No… I don't want this… Wouldn't that mean you disappear forever?"

Her eyes held a deep, cosmic sorrow. "Don't be silly. An existence like mine can't be gone forever. I will eventually reappear… Once you accomplish your goal."

"W-Why?" Odin begged as he trembled while staring at the blue and white blood on his hands. "Why are you going so far for me? I… I don't understand!"

Adumala smiled softly. "Because I believe in your dream and goal."

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