"Every god eats. Every god is eaten."
Part One: The Invitation of Ashes
The raven arrived at dusk.
Its wings carried whispers, its claws clutched a scroll of skin—not parchment, but flayed from the bark of Yggdrasil's shadow.
The message was simple:
"All who claim power must come.The feast is set. The bones await.From the son of no god and all gods alike.—Eirik."
Gunnlöð read the words aloud in her sanctuary, her voice trembling—not from fear, but from the realization that the boy had stepped beyond the path she had lit.
He was no longer walking.
He was leading.
Across the realms, the message arrived to gods and monsters alike:
Odin, cloaked in silence, heard it and cursed his own foresight.
Thor sharpened his hammer with lightning.
Freya wept into her mirrors.
And deep beneath Niflheim, Hel smiled… and stood.
Part Two: The Table is Set
At the edge of Vigrid, the field of the last war, Eirik built a long table.
He carved it from the bones of dead giants and laid a tablecloth woven from fate threads stolen from the Norns. At the center, a fire burned—not with flame, but with memories: visions of what had been, could be, and should never be.
Beside him stood Angrboda, cloaked in wolfskins, her eyes twin stars of rage and prophecy.
And Gunnlöð, radiant in sorrow, her wings dimmed but not broken.
Vína poured mead into nine silver chalices—one for each realm.
"This is madness," Gunnlöð whispered.
"No," Eirik said. "This is reckoning."
By twilight, the gods began to arrive.
Thor came first, alone and unarmored, lightning walking at his side.
Then Frigg, with Baldr—his golden hair dulled by unease.
Tyr followed, and Heimdall, and Sif.
Even Loki arrived, dressed in contradictions, walking with a grin that didn't touch his eyes.
And last… Odin.
The Allfather.
Blind in one eye, heavy with the weight of every mistake he'd ever buried.
Part Three: The Feast Begins
They did not eat meat.They ate truths.
Eirik stood at the head of the table and spoke not as a boy, not even as a god, but as something new.
"You have all built thrones from the bones of others," he said. "And called it order."
No one answered.
"You feared the prophecy. You feared Loki. You feared me. But what you fear most is change."
"Change brings war," Odin said coldly.
"No," Eirik replied. "Fear brings war. Change brings choice."
He lifted a chalice. "Tonight, you drink from mead mixed with god-blood, serpent-venom, and the tears of monsters. You drink to see yourselves. And then… to choose."
They drank.
And visions swept through them.
Thor saw his hammer shatter across Eirik's chest… and fall into his hands, reforged.
Frigg saw a future where she ruled alone—no husband, no Odin, no crown, just silence.
Loki saw himself holding the world together—not as a trickster, but as a reluctant king.
Hel saw herself walking in the sun.
Odin saw nothing—and screamed.
Part Four: The Breaking of the Crown
Odin rose, madness clawing at his bones.
"You speak of choice, but you poison us with it!" he roared.
Eirik didn't flinch.
"You poisoned yourselves," he said. "When you made thrones more sacred than people. When you carved laws into the bones of your enemies."
Thor stood, his hammer crackling. "If you threaten the realms—"
"I offer them freedom," Eirik said. "From the cycle. From prophecy. From gods who refuse to change."
"You would destroy everything we've built!"
"No," Gunnlöð said softly, rising beside her son.
"He would build something better."
Suddenly, the table cracked down the middle.The mead turned black.The bones howled.
The Crown of the Nine—the sacred relic Odin wore upon his spirit—shattered.
Not with violence.
But with rejection.
The power of the realms no longer answered to him.
It pulsed through the fire… and into Eirik.
Part Five: The Betrayal of Blood
Loki watched with quiet horror.
This wasn't the plan. Eirik was supposed to bend, to learn, to become another chess piece.
But the boy was rewriting the board.
As chaos roared inside him, Loki made a choice.
He stood. Raised his blade.
And plunged it toward Eirik's back.
But the blade stopped inches away.
Held by Angrboda.
Her hand wrapped around it like iron.
"You'll kill your own son?" she hissed.
"He's not mine," Loki growled.
"You made him possible."
"Then I'll unmake him."
"You're not a god anymore, Loki," she said, eyes glowing. "You're just a memory trying to forget."
She threw him down, and the fire swallowed the knife.
No one spoke.
Loki vanished in smoke and shame.
Eirik turned.
And for the first time, his voice held the weight of command:
"This feast is over."
Part Six: The Reforging
As the guests vanished—some in fear, some in awe—Eirik stood before the shattered table.
From its bones, he raised a new symbol.
Not a crown.
But a branch.
One from the root of Yggdrasil.
A sign of connection, not conquest.
He turned to Gunnlöð, to Angrboda, to Vína.
"I will not rule as they did. I will not bind fate."
"What will you do then?" Gunnlöð asked.
"I'll give the world a choice," Eirik whispered.
"To follow fear… or to follow fire."
The stars above dimmed.
And across the realms, people felt it:
A new story was rising.
One not written by gods.
But by those brave enough to challenge them.