[new version]
Tired from climbing the endless stairs, Hermes sighed deeply and snapped his fingers once again. In the blink of an eye, both he and Hela were transported to a new place, standing at the edge of a vast, echoing valley.
He stretched leisurely, extending his arms and wings, playing with the void around him. "This journey took longer than I expected… but it seems we have arrived."
Hela could only stare into the immense black expanse, her eyes tracing the infinite void before her. Hermes stood a few steps away, grinning, pride lighting his features, his amusement evident.
"I don't care about your mockery," Hela said, her voice calm but edged with restrained irritation.
Hermes chuckled softly, though weariness eventually pulled him down. He floated gently to the ground, letting his winged sandals bear the weight of flight for him. "You know, Hela, I find myself curious about you," he said, his tone playful, almost intimate.
"Ask," she replied, her voice clipped, steady.
Hela followed his slow, drifting path as he circled the void, her steps measured, deliberate. Yet the question lingered in her mind, unavoidable, simple yet profound. "Why did you choose to defy Odin?" Hermes' question hovered in the air, almost tangible against the darkness.
She sighed softly, the sound echoing faintly. The answer was simple, painfully obvious, yet it carried the weight of her truth.
"Odin's methods of enforcing his will feel antiquated… archaic," she said, voice calm but firm. "We no longer dwell in savage times. Life and death are no longer respected with fairness or naturalness. There is no honor in dying amidst the cowardice of gods."
Hermes listened quietly, intrigued despite himself. He understood the logic superficially: the more lives dishonored, the greater her power. And yet, she looked unhappy. Discontented. A contradiction that piqued his curiosity.
But he did not dwell; it was not his concern.
They wandered in silence, the blackness stretching endlessly, until a soft, tentative voice pierced the void. "Hermes?"
Hermes' good humor returned at once. "It is I," he said warmly. "Good morning, Ina. How are you today?"
Ina, blind though attentive, could sense the presence of footsteps and the faint flapping of wings, familiar and distinct. She had no idea she was about to meet her bride, nor that a marriage awaited her as punishment. Yet curiosity stirred gently in her heart, an instinctive desire to know who might visit her.
She remained seated, bound by heavy chains on her wrists and ankles, her body frail and weak from years of immobility. Only her head could move freely, turning in the direction of the voice. A faint smile touched her lips. "Days pass slowly here," she said, her tone even, calm, yet carrying a subtle longing for connection.
Hermes descended gracefully, settling upon a rock beside her. "You are thin," he observed gently. "Have you been eating?" His gaze lingered on her delicate features: pale skin, faint shadows beneath her eyes, a beauty marred by weakness. Despite her calm smile, a quiet fragility emanated from her.
Ina remained silent, dutifully enduring her punishment. Her compliance was not born of obedience but of resignation; she had never sought rebellion, never wielded power. She was simply a servant of nature, bound to her circumstances.
"No," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "I have fasted for half a century."
Hermes' eyes widened in quiet astonishment. Eternity had a strange way of passing unnoticed, even by the gods. "And… is it over now?"
Hela watched silently, her gaze fixed on the docile, smiling woman before her. Ina's frailty did not diminish her presence; if anything, it heightened the sense of injustice. Why should someone so delicate, so harmless, be trapped in such torment?
"My only entertainment," Ina said, her voice a quiet rhythm against the void, "is keeping myself amused by the constant ticking of the seconds."
Hermes nodded, momentarily forgetting that she could not see. He rose swiftly, moving to stand beside Hela. "Well," he said, voice light, teasing, "you will have company now. Your bride has arrived."
Ina, guided by Hermes' voice, turned her head instinctively toward the sound. Though blind, it was as though she were gazing directly at Hela.
For the first time, Hela met Ina's gray eyes. They were steady, intense, unflinching. Anyone observing might never guess that she could not see. Despite knowing she was unseen, Hela felt a flutter of unease, a nervous tension she could not name.
Ina remained silent, still for a few moments, her expression unreadable. Curiosity, perhaps, shone faintly in her posture. Fingers laced together, she waited, intrigued.
A marriage as punishment was unusual, even for the gods. "Bride?" she murmured.
Hermes, sensing the tension, smiled awkwardly and pretended casual ease. "Hela, Goddess of Death, ruler of Helheim, is with us."
Ina recognized the name immediately, myths long ingrained. She knew of Hela, the goddess who presided over dishonor, the one many pitied, many feared. Yet reality differed: Hela was powerful, sovereign, unyielding. Her domain in Helheim was hers alone.
Ina's gaze softened gradually, a subtle warmth replacing her solemnity. "It's a pleasure," she said. "I am Ina, holder of the secret of eternal life, the keeper of the gates of paradise… or at least I once was."
Hela nodded, approaching carefully. She knelt, hands reaching for the chains that bound Ina. The metal was cold, unyielding, yet faint cracks in the stone beneath suggested possibility.
"Let's loosen these," Hela murmured, her voice low, intimate.
Ina flinched slightly, surprised by the proximity, by the warmth, by the scent of life so near her senses. Sightless for so long, she had grown attuned to subtle signals; yet this was new. This was different. This was intimate.
The chains fell away with a soft clatter. Ina instinctively touched her wrists, feeling freedom for the first time in decades.
"There," Hela said softly. "I've freed your arms. Do you think you can rise?"
Ina's body trembled, weak from years of stillness. "No," she admitted softly. "My legs are too weak. I am sorry."
Hela exhaled, calm, steady, and slid one arm around Ina's waist.
For a heartbeat, she feared rejection, but a soft, grateful smile met her, easing her worry. "Hold onto my neck," Hela whispered. "Hermes, you know what to do."
Ina's arms circled Hela's neck. With ease, Hela lifted her, the weight negligible, natural.
Hermes, watching, allowed himself a brief moment of admiration. The two resembled a young couple, hesitant yet intimate, fragile yet enduring.
Filled with playful good humor, he agreed. "Yes, ma'am."
Hela, resolute, sought to provide at least the barest comfort. If they were to endure their fate together, they deserved a home, a sanctuary, even in this void.
Ina, curious, tilted her head. "What are you speaking of?"
Hela smiled softly. "I asked for a house for us… A place where we can share our burdens, our silences… a home."
Ina nodded, pressing her face against Hela's chest, inhaling the faint, woody scent. Warmth, comfort, safety—the small gestures spoke volumes.
Hermes, pretending not to notice, snapped his fingers. A home appeared, simple yet complete. For the next thousand years, it would be theirs. Nothing would be lacking.
It was, indeed, not a bad fate.