THE RITE OF BLADES

Flames.

That was all she could remember back home. The burning flames of hatred and anger right in her heart. She proved her valor time and time again, she hoped for the last time. Kiran was in her chambers, holding the seal in her hand as she recalled the bloodshed that was left behind for her to clean before coming into this world.

"I'll kill him, father…" she remembered the words she spoke as she held her father – her dying father right in her arms. "Once he's gone… there is no one left to fight."

But instead, she remembered how Tytos smiled before he died. She remembered his words very clearly: There is always someone left to fight. There was a dream that was Vanir. She wanted to go to them – up in Valhalla, but Alfaðör had different plans for this Summoner, for this Vanir child.

It's been a year since Tytos died, how his bound to duty killed him.

Alfonse and Sharena opened Kiran's door to find her seated by the window, holding something in her hand. It was only natural for them to worry, for the people in the order to worry – she's never been like this before. Not until now.

"Kiran?" Sharena called out while Alfonse had the tray of tonight's supper for the Summoner. But to their disappointment – she did not utter a single word; she didn't even turn to them. Alfonse told Sharena that he would stay until Kiran eats something, the Askran princess nodded – hoping that the Summoner would eventually open up to her brother.

Once the prince and the summoner were left alone, Alfonse put down the trey on her table and walked towards her. He never saw her like this – eyes tired from crying, eyes filled with sorrow and grief, and perhaps… even a feeling of helplessness.

Kiran didn't know what to do. No matter how hard she prayed to the gods, she didn't know what to do. She didn't know what guidance she needed, she didn't know what support she could get, she didn't know how these memories were like the ocean floors. Deep and dark, having it swallow her whole into the depths of grief, the depths of death.

"Kiran…" all Alfonse could do was say her name. Kiran turned her head towards the Askran prince. Her eyes alone felt that she gave her heart to him. How Kiran carved it out and handed it to him so that they would understand another. To understand her loss. To carry the weight of her dead heart with him every night until he found his grave.

"You always hoped…" the summoner spoke quietly. Her voice had cracks – but it didn't sound like a crack to him, it sounded like a chasm, "…that I would tell you something… about my home."

"Kiran…" Alfonse placed his hand above hers. "You don't have to say anything now… I'll wait until you're ready."

"Alfonse..." Kiran called his name, having her fingers intertwined with his. "I have seen enough of war… I have seen enough of death… I have lost… so many. I vowed to fight no more… before I came here but war seems to follow me wherever I go. I commanded legions… armies – now I command Heroes. Alfonse…" She cried out his name, "I am tired of fighting."

The summoner found herself in the embrace of the Askran prince. He didn't need to know much to know that her life has never been easy, but as a friend, he was proud of what she has achieved. And in all those years of suffering and loss, Kiran understood that she had to keep her friends very close – for some of them would die way too soon, and any others might betray her.

Alfonse had to make sure that Kiran was on her bed, sleeping soundly and comfortably before he could see himself out. It felt like it's been a thousand years ago – how he fought his way into the temple, pointed Breidablik up to the sky, called forth the legendary great hero called Kiran.

Nothing has been the same since Kiran came back from her… errands. No one knew what she did, where she went off to… what happened to her while she was gone. It worries him.

It scares him.

"Valen." Kiran heard a voice in her dreams. "Valen… good evening," the summoner couldn't see the woman's face as if a light surrounds them. "I must apologize for this intrusion… I'm using a special rite to speak with you while you slumber. Thanks to Embla and Muspell, you've been drawn into another chaos of war. I want to do whatever I can, no matter how small, to help you."

"Who are you?" The summoner asked.

"How rude of me," she giggled. "I haven't introduced myself yet. I am Gunnthrá, eldest princess of Nifl, the Kingdom of Ice. Do you recall my younger sister Fjorm?"

Did she?

"She has a gentle soul, but she… well… she has an unfortunate tendency to agonize over things." Gunnthrá sighed as she continued to speak with Kiran. "My sister is not the reason I wished to speak with you this evening… No, I have some useful information for you. In the west of Askr, there is a shrine for the Rite of Awakening and further west of that is where you will find your birthright."

"My… birthright?" Kiran grew confused. A magic beyond the other realms have always amused her, made her curiosity grow. But this… her experience in the Eternal Sanctum made her presence known to others.

"Yes," the Nifl Princess affirmed. "True Vanir blood runs through your veins. And stories of your victory against Muspell have reached Nifl as well as other realms. My mother spoke highly of you."

Great, another story to live up to the name to. The Kingdom of Ice did ring a ball in her mind. She recalled visiting a world that was filled with ice and snow, but that was a long time ago. "Forgive me, Princess Gunnthrá. But I recall so little of Nifl…"

"But you carry the burden of the ashes Muspell has left you… He had a dream, did he not?" Kiran's eyes widen with disbelief. She knew exactly what Gunnthrá was saying. The Nifl princess asked. "What was the dream?"

Kiran did not hesitate. "Vanir."

The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. That's what exactly the summoner had been doing since she came to Askr, and there was no way in the nine bloody realms that she would simply stop because of mere memories. She grew up with soldiers and learned how to die a long time ago.

That was the trick to it all, to think herself as dead. That she had lived her life. Now, she takes what is left and live it properly.

"And there it is," Alfonse said as he saw a ruined temple not far from them. He learned his lesson – never leave the summoner alone to her errands. "A shrine, further west. It's just as you said it would be, Kiran. And to think that it was here all along, none of us the wiser…" the prince smiled in delight.

"It's uncanny!" The Askran Princess beamed such a joyous smile. "You know just about everything, don't you? Tell me a juicy secret, Kiran!"

"On your guard, everyone." Anna reminded them as she gave out a heavy sigh. "Remember that this information came from a voice in a dream. There's every chance that this is a trap laid by our enemies. Proceed with caution. We're going in."

It was becoming interesting in the halls of the gods.

Freya went on to walk through the shielded golden halls of Valhalla, Alfaðör heard, saw, and manipulates destiny and fate all the same. Even the gods couldn't go against his wishes. For centuries, the once lively halls were emptier and colder than the Realm of the Dead. Even when the gods would come together for occasional feasts – it wasn't the same as before.

And it will never be the same as before.

"Father," Freya found herself kneeling in front of a golden throne behind the transparent curtains. "The seal from the sanctum has been taken – as you said."

"Good." Alfaðör's voice rang through the empty throne room. Not a soul to hear. "Make sure you don't meddle with mortals too much, Freya. We do not want you to be like your namesake."

Maintaining her mortal appearance, the god of love looks up to only see the figure behind the curtains. Alfaðör on the throne of the gods. "I'm sure that Lady Freyja had her… reasons, father. She lives for her purpose as the god of nightmares… as I am created to be the god of love. Her hatred for mortals is… understandable."

"Do you still pain from before, my child?"

"I do," Freya admitted. "I will… never forget it, father… I will never forgive it." Perhaps the god of love was more like her namesake after all… for Freyja was mocked due for her appearance back at court – Freya was beautiful since childhood and was just, favorite of the gods. Even when the Vanir god, her sister Frey spoke of her future – her death, Freya did not care as long as it was the will of destiny as… ironic as it sounds.

She was a god who wanted to deny her sister's destiny of dying mortal, Freya knew how much of a hypocrite she had become. There was more hate than love in her heart after all. Taking her god appearance of hair as pure as silver ores, in the presence of Alfaðör, her father – what more could she lose?

"Mortals are strange creatures… filled with envy, lust, and greed – and yet as gods, beings who can have whatever we wish are still as limited as those mortals." Her thoughts went back to what the Emblian prince had told her when they met, how the god-dragon cursed them. "But the dragons believe that they could challenge us, father. Why did you force Embla to slumber? Why did you not kill her?"

"Do you doubt my judgment, my daughter?"

"No." answered the god. "Even back… during the war, I have not doubt you. Though that's what I am to you, am I not? A hostage still bound by her chains in your golden halls."

"You are my child." Alfaðör corrected the god. "You will always be my child."

She did not question the love he claims he had for her, but naturally, he would always favor Thorr – as he always should. She only needed eyes to see – even as a god, Freya never believed but when she saw the truth, when it's right there in front of her, as real as those golden halls – how could she deny Alfaðör's powers?

And Alfaðör knew that he would punish those who would try to deny him. As he would punish Surtr for his arrogance and stupidity of conquering the worlds Alfaðör created with his own hands.

"I hope that this Summoner would prove useful to you, Alfaðör." A god is real of he's not, in the eyes of mortals. And for them – the dragons were their gods.

"Trust me, Freya. This child of Vanir is all we will need. There could only be one King."

When the four of them entered the deeper parts of the shrine, all they could see was a dark room in which the middle cast a bright blue flame any nothing more. This was opposite from what Kiran had witnessed from the Eternal Sanctum – there was no stone slab, there was no seal – it was just a flame.

The eternal blue flame.

"There's nothing here…" Sharena couldn��t help but feel disappointed.

"There has to be something here," Anna spoke as she continued to look around, touching the walls in hopes that there was some sort of secret entrance. But nothing was there.

Even Alfonse was disappointed, but his gaze went to Kiran who slowly removed her hood walking towards the flame with her hand reached out as if she was in a trance. Removing her glove, she slowly, but surely had her hand enter the blue flames. Alfonse expected her to scream or be burnt before she could even touch it – but she spoke nothing, she felt nothing, her skin was still intact as her hand waved through the flame.

The Askran prince tried to walk closer to Kiran, but even from afar, he could feel the heat of the blue flames. He couldn't go anywhere near her.

"Speak not of this rite," Kiran spoke in a monotone. "Reveal it to none. Never may these runes be transcribed. You are so enjoined as you find here a fragment of the Rite of Awakening for Embla…"

"K-Kiran?" Sharena called out to the Summoner.

Kiran did not reply.

"Kiran!" Anna tried but she still did not respond.

"This is a rite of honing – as a stone sharpens a blade, so do these words."

"Kiran snap out of it!" Alfonse desperately called out to her. But her voice they heard was no longer hers, but a god's. "Tomes, too, are made keener. Even ten-thousand warriors may not equal this power in battle. Yet it shall remain under seal. When the flames, as foretold, lick the land Askr, the seal shall break by the blood of my blood. A child of Vanir can challenge the flames of twilight. A child of Vanir can challenge death's scythe. A child of Vanir challenge dreams and nightmares. A child of Vanir, who would one day, challenge the mighty one."

Being freed from the trance, Kiran took out her hand, looking down on her palm to reveal another seal in her hand which had the sigil of Aesir. This power may come from their enemies… perhaps even from her enemies – but if they use it wisely, it could help them greatly.

"A child of… Vanir…" Alfonse mumbled as his eyes were stuck on Kiran who was carefully examining the seal in her hand. There she saw it… her future.

And how frightening it is.