Odin's smile faded slightly. He remembered the Towering Black Being's words that, in the proper order, he and his brothers would have worked together to end Ymir.

A unified effort, sharing the burden and the cost.

The original script.

But would they have? Or would the price have been distributed among them, each losing something precious? Vili sacrificing his clarity? Ve surrendering his stability? All three of them diminished instead of one transcending?

His grip tightened on the Void-Splinter Spear and the First Flame's blade. Perhaps Adumula's choice had spared them that shared loss.

Given Odin alone the power to act, the freedom to choose, and the burden that all three might have gotten.

Stripping him of his heart, engraved the sin of killing his best friend, and made him a Sinner.

He turned away from his sparring brothers and continued walking.

The landscape shifted, and new figures appeared.

Reinhard's attention sharpened.

A female frost giant sat in the snow, her form more delicate than others of her kind. Her ice body caught light in subtle ways, not the harsh crystalline reflections of the smaller giants, but something softer. Her features held serene beauty, frost-glass eyes gazing down with infinite patience.

On her lap rested a smaller figure. T

he Pale One, or what they called him Borr, which is the name Adumula had given him. Bronze-tipped fingers gestured animatedly as he spoke, his movements full of energy.

His pale skin glowed faintly against the snow, crimson veins visible beneath the surface.

Bestla, his mother ran her massive hand through Borr's white hair. The gesture was gentle despite her size, fingers moving with practiced care. A smile touched her lips as she listened to whatever story he told.

Borr laughed, the sound carrying across the snow. His hands moved faster, painting pictures in the air, clearly reaching the exciting part of his tale.

Odin stopped while Reinhard felt complex emotions swirl through their shared consciousness.

My mother… Bestla.

A much younger Odin attempted to shape ice. His small hands moved clumsily, trying to mimic what he'd seen the frost giants do. The ice refused to cooperate, melting under his uncertain control.

Bestla watched from nearby, her massive form casting a shadow across him.

"I can't do it." Odin said, frustration making his voice crack. "It won't listen!"

"Because you're asking." Bestla's voice was cool, matter-of-fact. "Command it."

"But I don't know how to-"

"Then learn." No sympathy softened her tone. "Ignorance is a choice, Odin. An insult to your potential."

She'd walked away, leaving him alone with the uncooperative ice.

Hours later, when he finally managed to create a stable structure, which was crude and small but solid, she had returned.

"Better." That was all she said.

But her eyes held something that might have been pride.

The memory shifted.

Odin is sitting before Bestla, perhaps eight or nine years old. He'd asked a simple question about why the frost giants behaved as they did.

Her response had been cryptic. "They dance to the song they cannot hear, and following rhythms written before anything existed."

"I don't understand."

"Good. Understanding that comes too easily is worth nothing." She leaned down, frost-glass eyes boring into him. "Struggle with it. Let the confusion sharpen you."

"But can't you just explain-"

"No." Absolute finality. "I will not rob you of the joy of discovery by handing you answers you haven't earned."

Reinhard felt Odin's conflicted emotions. His mother's love was cold, distant, and expressed through challenges rather than comfort. She pushed him constantly, accepted no excuses, and demanded excellence without offering guidance.

But she wasn't cruel, never cruel at least to him. But it was more than she refused to let him be weak, ignorant, or dependent.

And yet...

An older memory surfaced. Odin, perhaps five years old, was lost in a section of the icy realm he didn't recognize. Worry had crept in, a real worry that he might wander forever, that the endless white would swallow him.

Bestla had appeared. Not rushing, not frantic, and just suddenly there.

She'd said nothing. Simply scooped him up in one massive hand and carried him home. Her movements were gentle, her grip secure.

And when she set him down, she'd run one finger across his head in something that might have been a caress.

Then she said. "Don't get lost again. I won't always come."

But they both knew she would.

The memory faded. Odin's current thoughts overlaid it.

His mother had been his first teacher. Harsh, demanding, accepting nothing less than his best. She'd taught him to question, to struggle, to earn understanding through effort rather than acceptance.

But she'd also been... Strange.

Sometimes her eyes held knowledge that shouldn't exist, awareness of things that hadn't happened yet. She would look at him with expressions he couldn't interpret.

Sorrow mixed with pride and fear mixed with hope.

Now, with his transcended perception, Odin understood.

She could glimpse the future and hear the Universe's whispers. Through that ability, she'd learned about Borr and understood his importance before they'd even met.

He knew that their union would produce something significant, and his importance to her.

And she'd seen Odin's path. Know what he would become in the original order, and what prices he would pay. That knowledge had influenced every interaction and added weight to every lesson.

The sorrow in her eyes. She'd been watching him walk toward inevitable sacrifice, unable to change it, only able to prepare him as best she could.

But in the end, he diverted from that and ventured on a path she couldn't see. Even now, he knew she thought he was still on the normal order of the Universe.

Reinhard felt Odin's chest tighten. Would his mother approve of what he'd done to Adumula? Of what he plan for the universe? Or would that sorrow deepen into something worse? In truth, he didn't want to know because that might cause him to hesitate.

I can't anymore.

His attention shifted to his father.

Borr gestured wildly, his story reaching its climax. Bestla laughed, a soft and beautiful sound that Odin rarely heard.

Odin practiced with a training spear, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. The weapon felt too heavy and was balanced all wrong.

Borr appeared beside him. Without warning, he swung his own spear, a real weapon, not a practice tool.

Odin barely blocked. The impact jarred his arms, nearly knocking the weapon from his grip.

"Again!" Borr's voice carried no sympathy.

Another strike hacked out, and another desperate block.

"You're holding it wrong. Adjust your grip."

Odin tried, but the next strike sent his spear flying.

"Pick it up. And do it again."

This continued for hours with no praise, no encouragement, just relentless correction.

Odin's arms burned, his hands blistered, and tears of frustration leaked from his eyes.

Finally, he managed a proper counter. Nothing fancy, just a clean deflection followed by a technically correct thrust.

Borr caught the spear before it connected, and then his face split into a massive grin.

"There! That's my son!" He pulled Odin into a crushing hug. "I knew you had it in you! Brilliant! Perfect!"

The warmth of that praise had made every painful hour worthwhile.

Another memory.

Odin attempts to create a complex ice structure. It kept collapsing, fundamental flaws in his technique causing failure after failure.

Borr watched for perhaps ten minutes, and then he said. "You're approaching it wrong."

"I've tried every method I can think of-"

"Then think harder." Borr bluntly said. "Or admit you're not capable yet and come back when you are."

The words had stung. But Borr's expression held no mockery and was just an honest assessment.

Odin had stormed off, but he'd returned the next day with a new approach, a refined technique born from anger transformed into determination.

When the structure finally stood stable, Borr let out a whoop of triumph that echoed across the realm.

"I never doubted you, son! Show those frost giants how it's done!"

Reinhard felt the contrast clearly.

Where Bestla was cold riddles and harsh lessons, Borr was a direct challenge followed by warm celebration.

No coddling, no softness during the struggle, but absolute, enthusiastic support once success was achieved.

Odin's father demanded perfection but celebrated achievement. Pushed relentlessly but praised lavishly.

The love was simple, uncomplicated, expressed through challenge and reward in equal measure.

Yet now, understanding what the Towering Black Being had revealed, questions formed.

Was he truly their child? Or had the Universe arranged their meeting, orchestrated their union to produce what it needed? Was Odin a son or a tool? An individual or an answer to cosmic necessity?

The questions spiraled for a bit.

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