Reinhard blinked.

He floated above a landscape that looked similar to the Icy Realm from Odin's dreams. It was an endless white expanse, frozen formations rising like sculptures, snow falling in gentle perpetual curtains.

But something felt different about this place.

He couldn't say what or why, just a subtle feeling of change. As if the fundamental nature beneath the surface appearance had changed.

But then his attention focused downward, finding the source of the disturbance. A shack perched on the bleeding edge of the icy realm. The walls were made out of blue timber, with the roof being slanted, which looked barely capable of keeping out the weather. It was small, isolated, the kind of place someone would build if they wanted to be as far from others.

Around the shack, odd icy creatures moved with curious intent. Wolves made of living frost circled the building, their bodies translucent, internal structures visible like anatomy diagrams.

Deer with antlers of ice grazed on snow that reformed as quickly as they consumed it. Elemental beings, which were vaguely humanoid shapes composed entirely of ice and wind, drifted past.

Squirrels scampered up walls that should have been too smooth to climb. Bears moved between formations, their massive forms surprisingly graceful.

All of them moved toward the shack.

Drawn by something, compelled by curiosity or instinct.

Reinhard then trembled as he felt the sensation build in his chest, an emotion so large it couldn't be contained.

Then it burst forth.

"I want!"

A roar, a growl, and a scream echoed from the shack.

The shack trembled, but if that wasn't enough, the ground, the air, and even reality seemed to be responding to that shout. A massive shockwave swept outward, visible as a ripple in space, expanding in all directions.

But it wasn't just the shack that was affected.

Reinhard's eyes widened as the entire frost realm began to shake.

Ice formations miles away cracked while the mountains that were extremely far away groaned. The sky itself seemed to shudder with the aurora patterns in the sky beginning to fragment and then reforming in new configurations.

The last time he'd witnessed such a thing was when the Towering Black Being and Ymir had unleashed their auras.

The two fundamental forces make reality acknowledge their presence.

And this was a newborn.

An infant expressing hunger, and the world trembled.

For a single instant, the shack became the nexus of all existence. Everything else felt like it was fake, a meaningless background. This place, this moment, and this need were all that seemed to have mattered.

Reality screamed under the strain of contradiction, trying and failing to reconcile what it witnessed.

The walls warped.

They didn't simply expand and shrink in normal fashion. One moment, they were polished timber, smooth and carefully joined.

Next, they were rocky cavern walls, rough and ancient, before then shifting to slippery ice with spikes with smooth surfaces, and then switching to snow found on the highest peaks.

The transformations continued, flickering faster than his eyes could follow. Warm wood turned into cold stone, which was already shifting into pure lava, and then turning into muddy walls, and something new.

Each change was complete and total, as if the walls had always been that material and never anything else.

The roof began bending down, and the structure itself seemed to be pressed down.

But then it shifted to a vortex of swirling constellations, actual stars spinning in patterns that suggested intelligence behind their movement. Then it became a canopy of tangled roots growing from nowhere and extending into impossible spaces.

Around the shack, frost and air clashed.

Ice formed spikes that shot upward like spears before the wind sliced through them, cutting with edges sharper than any blade. The fragments reformed into new shapes, and the wind cut again. The battle happened too fast to follow clearly, just constant motion and the sound of breaking ice and howling gales.

Then the air darkened.

Not the comfortable darkness of night settling after sunset or the ominous shadow of a storm approaching across the horizon. This was light itself recoiling from something it couldn't bear to touch.

The torches around the shack dimmed, and the flowers and fungi growing in the eternal frost lost their glow. Even the ambient light that seemed to emanate from the realm itself withdrew, pulling back like a living thing fleeing danger.

The darkness around seemed to have grown bigger and spread over the ground more. The beasts around flinched before cowering as if the darkness itself was a predator watching them.

Then the chaos vanished.

The shaking stopped, the wind stopped clashing, and the land stopped groaning. And reality stabilized, regaining equilibrium after being pushed to its breaking point.

But the shack remained permanently altered.

The way the roof bent was wrong now, angles that shouldn't exist but did. The walls still flickered occasionally, unable to fully commit to a single material. Shadows inside were too deep, refusing to be dispelled even by direct light.

And the ambient illumination remained dimmer, as if the realm itself had learned caution.

Reinhard blinked.

His perspective shifted without transition. One moment floating above, the next standing inside the shack, his form solid again.

Three wolves slept curled together for warmth.

The two on the right were smaller, their breathing soft and rhythmic, but Reinhard ignored them, his attention drawn inexorably left.

The third wolf was a bit bigger than the other two with black fur like the void between stars, and faint golden marks traced patterns across its body. The patterns seemed to shine before fading, creating a cycle that slightly illuminated the area.

This is Fenrir.

Fenrir slept peacefully, sides rising and falling with each breath. Completely unaware of what his birth had caused, of how reality itself had screamed under the weight of his entrance into existence.

Reinhard moved closer, drawn by something he couldn't name. He knelt beside the sleeping form, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from black fur.

The wolf's eyes opened.

Slowly, drowsily, blinking away sleep. Golden eyes with three pupils that held no malice, no rage, and cunning.

Just naivety and innocence and pure, uncomplicated curiosity.

Fenrir's gaze found Reinhard.

The wolf's head tilted, one ear flopping sideways in a gesture so endearing it seemed impossible this was the creature who'd just made the realm tremble.

Reinhard saw it all in those eyes. The newborn was confused but also curious about the strange presence, as if Fenrir could really see him. Reinhard's lips twitched, but he said nothing as he watched Fenrir blinked cutely.

A tiny pink tongue lolled from his mouth as he panted, breath forming small warm clouds in the cold air. The same air that moments ago had been frozen by the recoil of his creation.

Then Fenrir's attention shifted, and his eyes lit up with pure joy, and he scrambled to his feet. The movement was clumsy, paws tangling briefly before finding footing, and then he rushed forward, small body moving with surprising speed.

He smashed through the cabin wall as if it wasn't there. The wood splintered as Fenrir rushed out into the icy cold and snow.

Reinhard looked through the hole and blinked as two massive arms caught Fenrir mid-leap. A Frost Giantess knelt in the snow outside, her form towering but gentle. Her white hair with gray strands seemed to shift between states. Sometimes it was real hair, thick and flowing, before it became wispy. And then sometimes it transformed into stormy clouds, dark and roiling with lightning.

Her eyes were pale white, like frost covering glass. They softened as Fenrir crashed into her embrace, the harshness in them melting into something tender.

She wore a mantle of stitched pelts from creatures Reinhard didn't recognize. Some looked almost like familiar wolves or bears, but wrong in subtle ways. As if they'd been animals from dreams rather than waking reality.

Reinhard watched as she gently rubbed Fenrir's head. Her massive hand moved with careful precision, each stroke measured to avoid crushing the small wolf even accidentally. She didn't smile as her features weren't shaped for gentle softness, all hard angles and severe beauty.

But there was fierce tenderness in her touch. The way she held Fenrir close, as if to protect him from everything the world might throw at him.

A mother's protective instinct made manifest, a sight that made Reinhard feel uncomfortable with hints of envy sparking but fading.

A low hum rose from the giantess's chest. She wasn't singing or speaking but simply humming through her chest as the vibration traveled into Fenrir's small body. The wolf's eyes began to droop, lulled by the sound. His breathing slowed, deepened, becoming the rhythm of sleep.

And Reinhard felt it.

Warmth spreading through his chest, and safety wrapping around him like a blanket. He could feel the absolute certainty that nothing could harm him while those arms held him close. All of it flowed through the connection he shared with Fenrir's consciousness.

The wolf fell back asleep, small body going limp in his mother's arms. She continued humming, the sound carrying across the frozen landscape.

Then everything froze.

Mid-hum, mid-breath, the entire scene locked in place.

The Frost Giantess with Fenrir in her arms, the damaged shack behind them, and the curious ice creatures scattered around.

All of it captured in perfect stillness.

Then it shattered.

Like glass struck by a hammer, the frozen moment broke into countless fragments. Each piece spun away into darkness, carrying with it some portion of the scene.

Color and light and sensation all dispersed until nothing remained but the void.

…

Reinhard woke with a gasp.

His eyes snapped open, staring at the familiar ceiling of his room. His heart pounded, breath coming fast, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

He lay there for a moment, reorienting himself. He felt the bed beneath him, then he saw the walls around him, and he finally grasped that he was awake.

Then his stomach growled.

Reinhard groaned as he covered his stomach. For some reason, he felt like he hadn't eaten anything in the last three days.

Don't tell me this is a side effect… Ugh.

Reinhard sat up slowly, one hand pressing against his stomach. "I guess I'll go to the cafeteria for a night snack."

But even as he spoke, his mind remained fixed on the dream.

Why Fenrir now?

Why interrupt Odin's story before completion?

He'd been so close to seeing the full creation of the nine realms, to understanding how the new world would function.

"I want to see what he makes and go from there." Reinhard muttered, thinking aloud. "But I'm curious why Fenrir seemed to hate Odin."

The question lingered, making him even more curious.

What could cause such animosity between the two beings?

Reinhard sighed, swinging his legs out of bed. The floor was cold against his bare feet, grounding him further in physical reality.

He grabbed his room key from the nightstand, checked that he was presentable enough for a late-night cafeteria visit, and headed toward the door.

His stomach growled again, more insistent this time.

Right, let's do food first and think later.

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