Less than three minutes later, Tryg reached his house. Or, at least, what remained of it. Now, not only his home, but the entire neighborhood had been reduced to a mournful collection of ashes and smoking wooden debris.
Tryg leapt off Hildisvíni and quickly approached the remains of his house, still glowing with embers. While the counselor calmed the two Midgardians they had found on the way, Tryg shouted Jorg's name. He hurled away wood after wood, stone after stone, ignoring the splinters piercing his hands and the smoking planks burning his skin.
Damn it, where are you? he thought, hearing his own heartbeat booming in the depths of his ears like drums.
Unfortunately, Tryg did not find a living soul there, nor did he hear a single answer. So he jumped to the next mound of debris and searched, then to another, and another. Time ran mercilessly, he knew, and that was why his movements became more and more reckless, making him stumble and cut himself repeatedly.
"Young man, we have to go!" Hildisvíni said, abandoning the calm he had maintained until then.
"Give me a minute," Tryg shouted, running to the next pile of wood. "Just one more minute—"
"We do not have a minute! Ragnarök has already passed through the walls!"
The counselor was right. The flaming giant had already invaded Gladsheim and was destroying everything in his path. Not only that, but the armies of the realms were leaving Asgard, fleeing toward the portals in the towers. The World Serpent had also suddenly vanished, defeated by the god of thunder in some way.
Because of that, Thor returned to the city of the Aesir. Because of that, the Einherjar abandoned New Midgard and concentrated their forces on the enemies who were still invading the All-Father's home.
The end was truly near.
However, only one thing dominated Tryg's mind at that moment. A tempestuous battle between the two promises he had made to the same woman.
"Go! I'll meet you later."
A deafening roar came from within Hrimthur's Wall. A dark sword, furrowed by incandescent cracks, rose into the sky like a harbinger of the end. Both Tryg and Hildisvíni ground their teeth at the sight of the threatening weapon.
Tryg shook his head and insisted on his desperate search. Hildisvíni, on the other hand, looked at the two refugees with him, then at the breached wall. After that, he stared over his shoulder at Tryg, clenched his jaw for an instant, and spoke, making Tryg's heart skip a beat:
"Remember the promise you made to her."
Tryg faltered for a moment. Part of himself knew the risks and wanted to vanish from there, to feel again the warmth and safety he always felt when embracing his mother. But there was another part of him he could not ignore. One that drove him madly onward. And it was precisely that part he listened to.
Hildisvíni transformed and, after the Midgardians climbed onto his back, left.
Tryg wavered, alone. Listening to the counselor's swift trot, he abandoned the pile of debris he had been searching through and went to another in the middle of the street. Then, as he hurled away his hundredth or thousandth plank of wood, he finally saw him...
Jorg. Lying down. Unconscious. Pale.
"Jorg?" he asked, his voice weak, too low to be heard amid the booms and roars that made the air tremble.
Tryg knelt beside the old man and pushed the last pieces of wood away, quickly at first, but then more and more slowly as the body was revealed. The hair stained with dark, viscous shades. The filthy face, blank and as white as a ghost's. The chest... The motionless chest, pierced by several bloody cuts made by sharp weapons.
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Tryg waited for a cough. A groan. For a grumpy complaint that would typically escape the man's dry lips. But there was nothing.
No...
He stretched his wounded hand toward the old man, hesitant, his trembling mouth forming silent words that could never describe how painful the blade that now seemed to pierce his mortal heart truly was.
Reality disappeared — the war, the wall, the screams, the flames, the gods. There was only the man who had paid him even when he failed to meet his goals. But who had also taught him the value of effort. The importance of a promise. And how powerful words could be.
Dead.
Tears ran down his filthy, exhausted face. He clenched the ragged fabric of his pants, feeling the droplets fall into his lap.
Tryg then rose and, feeling his shoulders weigh as much as a mountain... returned to the street and rushed toward the shore as fast as his pain and exhaustion allowed.
He did not want to leave Jorg's body. He wanted to give him a funeral, a worthy farewell. But, even though he was often an impulsive and foolish boy, Tryg had his priorities.
He had failed to keep one of his promises. But there was no way he would fail to keep the other.
However, in the middle of his run, Tryg suddenly collapsed into the mud, groaning, screaming in pain. His eyes... He shut and squeezed his tearful eyes with his hands, feeling them burn and be stabbed repeatedly by what seemed to be thousands of needles.
"Damn it..." he snarled. What the hell was that? Why did it have to happen now? "Come on... get up..."
The piercing pain endured and showed no sign that it would pass. Even so, Tryg forced himself to stand and lift his eyelids. His vision was blurred... and strange.
He lifted his gaze and saw transparent elves and dragons crossing the skies toward the realm towers, as if they were made of glass and mist. A second later, the same elves and dragons passed again, but these were more colorful, more solid. It was as if the souls of the living were refusing to leave and, because of that, were guiding their bodies toward salvation.
Tryg blinked several times, confused, but the unreal figures did not disappear. Even so, he shook his head and started walking again...
Yet, shortly before taking his first step, he saw... himself. A translucent projection of his own body walking ahead, with its back turned to him, like a shadow that did not follow him. But one that preceded him.
He blinked a few more times as he hurried down the street, watching the figure that seemed to guide him. Tryg shook his head and began to ignore the madness of what he saw and focused on keeping the rhythm of his escape.
The world roared. The worst tremor yet shook the entire realm of the Aesir. Tryg swayed and stumbled and nearly fell, but he continued to run, just like his shadow.
A moment later, a transparent fissure opened in the ground before it — enormous, deep, almost wide enough to swallow an entire house. Tryg saw the shadow jump. And he, instinctively, reacted and copied its movements.
As soon as his feet left the ground, the street split where he had stood, and the real abyss opened beneath him with a devastating crash, spitting stone and dust.
Tryg landed on the other side, staggering. As he began to move again, he stared at his shadow, grateful, and continued following it along the street. More fissures appeared ahead, first as translucent images, then as real tears in the ground, each of them longer, wider, and deeper than the previous one. Tryg avoided them perfectly, throwing himself to the side when his shadow did. Stopping when it stopped. Jumping when it jumped.
For a few impossible seconds, it worked, and Tryg soon had the satisfaction of seeing the boats leaving the shore below.
Then the shadow performed the longest jump yet. Tryg followed it without delay. But still in the air... he saw his shadow fail. His projection did not reach the other edge of the abyss that opened and slammed into its rocky wall.
"No—"
Tryg collided with the rock in a violent impact, hearing his nose crack and stones break around him. His mind wavered, dazed. Time seemed to slow and slow, until seconds became minutes, minutes became hours.
Tryg plummeted. The smell of embers filled his nostrils, coming from above, and an icy wind blew against his back, coming from below. He opened his eyes with difficulty, feeling his head spin, and caught a blurred glimpse of Asgard's starry sky shattering like glass into countless dark, sparkling pieces. It was a terrifying image and, at the same time, a beautiful one.
Tryg slowly lowered his eyelids, and one last tear escaped from the corner of his eye as he fell toward nothingness. His body ached. His heart beat hard. His mind inevitably began to fade.
In that instant, he was certain... that he would never see her again. That he had abandoned her.
And, amid so much guilt, all he could think in that final moment, before fading away...
Was an apology.
I'm sorry, Mother... I couldn't keep my promises...
[End of Part 1: Asgard]