One evening, Walter Tye had retired to his shop, meditating behind his counter in human form. He had sent Laufey’s ghost away and even asked Hagen not to bother him unless Medraut attacked.

The alchemist thought best in isolation, and the constant noise annoyed him.

Outside, the windows had turned icy. Temperatures dropped at an alarming rate, snow was falling on the street, and days were shortening. Lady Yseult said these events heralded the Fimbulvetr, the three-years long winter preceding Ragnarok.

Except they wouldn’t have a year, nor even half of one.

And so, pressed for time, Tye currently researched how to answer a very important question: could a soul truly be destroyed by Earthlanders’ weapons?

He had theorized that they couldn’t, instead being processed back into the World Tree Yggdrasil for the remainder of the cycle. In that case, he worked on creating a spell capable of isolating a single soul from the waters of life and returning it to a vessel. If the soul still existed.

The necromancer had absolutely no way to check until after he tried.

Part of his reasons for working on this project was to return Hel’s victims to the world of the living, from his followers to Cywyllog; but mostly Tye wanted to find a way to return to life, should he suffer the same fate. Caution and preparation had allowed him to escape Helheim once; even if Medraut succeeded in starting Ragnarok, he would outlive the world.

Or maybe he simply didn’t want to face the possibility that a soul could be extinguished.

This thought terrified Walter Tye on a primal level. Having returned from the afterlife, he always thought he could have another chance at life, even if slain; it might take centuries or millennia, but the idea of permanent death…

How did it feel? An absolute void without light? An absence of all thoughts, like some survivor of brain injuries? Or utter nothingness?

The thought of his mind and knowledge disappearing with him made Tye tremble. It brought him back to his parents’ death when he had asked himself the same questions. Back then he had never seen anyone coming back from the dead, so how could everyone be sure Valhalla or Hel even existed?

The idea of oblivion did have a ‘good’ side; namely, that Hel could potentially be destroyed forever and erased. In the end, it all came down to this cycle, and how it functioned. Would destroying Hel collapse it completely, or would the World Tree assign her role to someone else? Was the Yggdrasil System sentient, or simply obeying programming older than its existence? Would destroying the Yggdrasil System end the cycle, but at the cost of destroying the Nine Realms?

So many questions and Tye couldn’t answer them all. And those he thought had the answers had often their own agenda. Just the thought of his reunion with Asclepius, and how much he molded Tye in his image, made the Calamity ill.

The sound of footsteps from above made him tense. “Annie?” he asked, a woman stepped from the stairs to his apartments.

His mind-reading identified her before she even entered his line of sight.

“Walter,” said Gwenhyfar of Avalon.

The necromancer froze, as the princess climbed down the stairs, Annie shadowing her. He prepared to vaporize Gwenhyfar on the spot, but his old rival made no attempt to attack; she wore no weapons, and in fact, seemed pale and sick.

How could she even be there? Annie shouldn’t be able to cast [Naglfar]!

Tye glanced at his apprentice. “How?”

“I used one of the slime machines you kept in storage,” Annie admitted, grinning in pride. “If it could assemble matter into a living being, why not a human being? Took me many tries, but I managed to create a homunculus vessel, transferred the soul inside, and it worked!”

“It feels strange,” Gwenhyfar said, raising her hand. “I often can't feel my fingers, like phantom limbs. But I suppose this is a first step.”

One of the Pale Serpents’ masters had done something similar, but for Annie to replicate the feat within days… truly her magical talent had been wasted at the Academy.

Gwen suddenly collapsed to her knees, making Tye doubt of the procedure.

“Gwen?!” Annie was immediately at the princess’ side, but had to take a step back as purple flames swallowed Avalon’s heir. Within seconds, Gwenhyfar’s body changed to resemble her appearance in Hel’s dungeon; she ‘grew’ black adamantine armor over most of her body, while her left eye transformed into a bloody hole soon covered by an eyepatch. Her skin turned pale, losing the luster of life.

“Hel’s magic has taken hold on your soul. It will always revert your vessel to her chosen state, no matter how much you resist,” Tye observed, as the princess got back up with a dark look on her face. “Believe me when I say I sympathize.”

“We both know that is a lie,” she replied.

It would have been petty to admit it, but the princess’ woes gave Tye some measure of joy. “My [Necromancer’s Stone] should temper Hel’s influence,” he said graciously. “I could remove the shackles she put on you; although if you want to return to your original state, I will need to run a ritual similar to the one you tried to stop.”

“No.” Gwenhyfar shook her head. “No. Too much destruction already. You already turned Avalon into a graveyard.”

“Because you forced my hand—”

“Enough!” Annie cut in, exasperated. “Five minutes and you are already at each other’s throat!”

The two nemeses remained silent, glaring at one another with seething resentment. Old grudges died hard.

“You’re going to sit at the table and have a talk,” Annie said stubbornly.

“Talk? With her?” Tye mused. “I already tried.”

“After you murdered a classmate before my eyes,” Gwen replied icily. “I am only here because Annie made me swear before raising me.”

“Annie, she tried to kill me, destroy everything I built,” Tye told his apprentice. “If the gods she worshiped couldn’t make her bend, what can I do?”

“This is not about your past grudges,” Annie said, neutral. “This is about the world. Gods damn it, Ragnarok might start in weeks! You both want to save Midgard, no?”

“Yes,” Gwenhyfar replied firmly.

“Yes,” Tye replied, although less firmly. The princess immediately caught on, looking at him suspiciously.

“Then we all have to get along,” Annie said. “Just… just have a talk.”

Tye probed Gwenhyfar’s thoughts deeper—having no compulsion against doing so unlike Annie or Yseult—and much to his surprise, while she loathed him for the doom the Pale Serpents brought on her family… she had agreed to have a talk without ulterior motives.

Yet.

“Do you play Boards & Conquest?” the necromancer proposed.

“The seventh edition,” Gwen replied, which made Tye’s eyes narrow. The eighth was his favorite.

The talks hadn’t even begun, that they were starting on the wrong foot.

In the end, the princess quickly caught up with the Eighth Edition and proved herself the nastiest player Tye had ever encountered.

“You have played it before,” Tye accused her, as she trapped his troops between her original army and reinforcements. Annie had left them alone to discuss, moving back upstairs to study his notes on Necromancy.

“I said I mostly play the Seventh,” the princess replied, moving a knight to take his fire giant bombardier from behind. “Not that I never tried the Eighth.”

“Mmm. A clever misdirection.” His dark elf artillery at the back bombed her archers, while her forces were distracted. In total, she lost six out of twelve. “It might have worked better against someone who can’t read minds.”

“You cheat,” she said, her mind flashing with various plans to try and obscure her thoughts.

“I play to win,” Tye replied, having no problem figuring out her true agenda and easily crushing her counterattack.

“Holding my own against someone knowing my every plan in advance is a victory in itself,” the princess replied, before making a move that made no sense; she removed her archers, sacrificing them while pushing her knights forward.

This made Tye frown. “You believe that making random moves will unbalance me?”

“Since you can see any plan I make, I believe I can create opportunities and seize them as they come.”

“Like when you told me about Medraut after I faked my death?” Tye joined his hands. “Now that I can read your mind, I am astonished the Royal family produced such a cunning creature. You saw my true self from day one.”

“I grew up surrounded by sycophants, making it difficult to distinguish those I could trust, those who wanted something from me, and those who wished me harm,” Gwenhyfar replied. “Over time, I developed a sixth sense to judge people’s true character. The day I saw you in that shop, the way you looked at me… it felt like you were a sea serpent peeking out of the water. Something cold and alien trying to blend in.”

“I do appreciate the company of some people, but I never fully felt the raw passions of the human race,” Tye admitted. “Greed, love, sorrow… I can see why Medraut would be angry at the world, intellectually, but I still don’t understand why he would lose sight of our goal.”

“You are not rational either,” Gwenhyfar replied. “You tried to have me killed by Morgane even after you outplayed me.”

“Like you didn’t try to kill me first by breaking into my home uninvited.”

“By investigating the trail of unexplained murders you left behind.” Gwen glared at the necromancer. “I am not innocent, but I have never killed someone for the crime of being where they shouldn’t. Do you remember how we met? Our very first meeting?”

“How could I forget?” Everything in his quiet life went wrong afterward.

“Why did you do it? Knowing who I was?”

“I heard the knight shout Your Highness, but I didn’t pay attention.” Tye shrugged. “I wanted the knight dead for an unrelated matter, and killing all witnesses had worked for me so far. I figured you were probably some minor noble I could eliminate without much repercussion.”

Gwenhyfar looked at him without a word, although he could read her attempts to analyze him. “No reaction,” she said. “No facial microexpression, no twitch of the fingers, no change in your tone. It’s not all undeath. You can casually remember murdering two people and feel completely calm. That’s what I find most frightening about you.”

“Once I discovered a resurrection spell, I could always undo my crimes.”

“This defense is simply retroactive justification,” Gwen said flatly. “You only tried diplomacy after you failed to kill me half a dozen times, and I suspect you sabotaged the Jotunheim Convergence to protect yourself. A man using death and violence as the first solution to every problem is not someone I can call sane.”

“I had to think about the future,” Tye replied calmly. “You have gone to Helheim, and seen the monstrous system that feeds it. For the sake of undoing such injustice, everything is permitted.”

“The future shouldn’t make you blind to the present.” She looked at him dead in the eyes. “You didn’t even know Your Highness is reserved for the royal bloodline?”

“What was the use of knowing how to distinguish one noble from another?” Tye replied, considering nobility an outdated institution. “It was a waste of time, and I always avoided your kind like the plague after the Black Citadel’s destruction.”

“You killed my classmate, and if you had your way, you would have killed everyone in that tunnel. You wouldn’t have spared us a single thought.” The princess shook her head in disgust. “In the end, it’s all about you, Walter; your vision trumps everything else. You don’t see people, you see tools and obstacles. With a few exceptions like Annie or Yseult, I will concede.”

“Like you are the one to talk. Only you can reform Avalon? That was what you kept telling yourself. Not your brother, not your half-sister. Only you.” The princess looked away. “Although even it costs me to admit it… you were the only noble with any chance whatsoever to reform Avalon into a country I could have called halfway progressive.”

“Being right in the end doesn’t excuse all the errors made on the way,” she replied, focusing back on the game. “Maybe I should have tried harder to speak with Arthur.”

“But you didn’t. Because it never was about Avalon.” Tye joined his hands, moving pieces on the board towards the princess’ command center with telekinesis. “It was about you, Gwenhwyfar. About your ambitions, your glory.”

“You are wrong,” she lied to herself.

“I can read your innermost thoughts,” Tye said. “When I dig, I find no altruism. You have been surrounded by so many false people, that you wanted to be truly loved… or rather, to deserve being loved. To do something that would make people respect you unconditionally.”

“I wanted to help reform the realm,” Gwenhyfar insisted, struggling to maintain a defense with her knights. The accusations had imbalanced her.

“Perhaps chafing under your kingdom’s traditions made you develop empathy for commoners, thralls, and bastards,” Tye said. “But in the end, you would never have accepted Arthur to be the one putting forward your social reforms. You had to be the one, to earn the glory.”

The princess’ silence stretched on, her gaze turning into an icy glare.

“In spite of this ‘sixth sense’ you were blind to Lancelot or Morgane’s treachery,” Tye continued. “And Morgane wasn’t even subtle about it. I’m sure a part of you knew what they were, but you chose to see what you wanted to see. The gallant knight with a crush on you, the selfish sister that deep down wanted you to love her back. Like you latched onto Annie because she admired you unconditionally, but you used your Earthlander friend until he outlived his usefulness.”

“You know nothing,” she said, her voice full of venom.

“No. That is how you feel about him, and those who fought with you in these tunnels. Nothing.” While Tye had stormed Helheim itself to rescue his servants. “You never mentioned wishing to save this Takeru, yet he fought at your side more often than your own brother. He even died taking a hit for you, if my information is correct. You accuse me about not caring about strangers, but you care more about people you don’t know than those who had your back.”

“You do not have the moral high ground there,” Gwenhwyfar accused him. “If Annie had stood between you and your Great Work, you would have killed her without remorse. Maybe you would have lamented it, called it a ‘necessary sacrifice’, but you would still have killed her.”

“If you needed to kill your brother Arthur to prevent Ragnarok, one life to save millions,” the necromancer said. “Wouldn’t you have done so?”

Gwenhyfar froze, a knight figure in her hand. “I don’t know,” she admitted, putting the knight on the board. She hadn’t hesitated to sacrifice Takeru though, and the thought gnawed at her.

“And that is why you could never defeat me,” Tye stated. “Victory demands total commitment to one’s goal. If you let your personal feelings and principles interfere with the greater good, you have already lost. While I was ready to sacrifice my peaceful life, my very humanity, to prevail.”

“Yet, have you ever been free, Walter?” she replied. “I choose to deny the gods and stand by my principles, to swim against fate, but from what I see, all your actions only led you further into destiny’s arms. When one understands the one goal you will sacrifice anything to fulfill, it becomes easy to push you in a given direction.”

“You imply I am some deity’s pawn?” Tye rasped angrily, losing his focus. She had hit a nerve.

“I believe Loki, Hel, and Yggdrasil played you and forced history back on track,” Gwenhyfar said. “They knew you would do anything to survive, like that dragon Nidhogg you are the reincarnation of. Your absolute focus on your goal, at the exclusion of everything else, made you blind to the strings pulling you towards Ragnarok.”

Tye’s mind wandered off, the princess’ gaze becoming untenable.

What was the necromancer supposed to believe? That his master, like all the others, had tried to set him on a specific path before he was even born? That what Medraut had said was true? He felt he had set Asclepius on a pedestal, only to realize it had only blinded him to his true character.

The Great Work… immortality for all mortal beings… was that truly that world of ashes and undeath Asclepius envisioned? Was Ragnarok truly the easiest option to free mankind from this cycle, letting the old world die and rebuilding a better one over the ruins, like Lyonesse grew over Nastrond?

So many forces and voices told Walter Tye it was inevitable, his purpose even. But deep down, he had no wish to fulfill it.

“I am preventing Ragnarok,” the necromancer pointed out. Right now, he was the only thing standing between the root and Medraut.

“Your very existence hastens it,” the princess pointed out.

“The more undead around, the more the prophecies will be corrupted. Eventually, they will be destroyed.”

“Is that a good thing? Vampires, Ankous, ghouls, they all feed on the life of others. Is being a walking corpse truly an enjoyable existence?”

“Better than death and Helheim,” Tye replied. “I created vampires who could walk under the sun; I found a solution to my own hunger while an Ankou; I created an elixir of eternal youth. If given time, I could improve the undead condition. Make vampires without the need to feed, zombies indistinguishable from the living. I only need time.”

“You can solve all the world’s problems if given time?” Gwenhyfar replied with heavy sarcasm.

“Someone has to try,” Tye replied confidently.

“I have noticed that your plans always involve others making sacrifices, while you justify not making any.” She looked at him strangely, as if coming to a sudden realization. “That’s why you keep Yseult and Annie around. You lack a conscience, so you outsourced it.”

Tye had no answer to this.

As they argued, the board had slowly evolved into a tight deadlock, no side able to gain an inch. The necromancer couldn’t help but sneer in disappointment. “It looks like a stalemate.”

It was as if the universe kept telling him he would never get rid of her.

“I would have suggested a rematch,” she said. “But the game can be played with three sides.”

“Medraut,” Tye replied. “You told Hel herself being the lesser evil didn’t make you good.”

“No,” Gwenhyfar said. “Truth is, I cannot support your endgame.”

“I don’t understand why you would deny immortality for all of mankind. You have seen the afterlife, and how little the gods think of us.”

“Immortality is no reward if life isn’t worth living,” the princess replied. “You’ve seen how Hel turned out.”

“We can erase the memories of those who find eternity a burden.”

“Still, do you want to make people live forever in a world trapped in eternal winter, full of hungry undead, worms, and carrion eaters?”

“We have magic,” Tye replied. “We will solve these problems as they come.”

“There is already a solution at hand, that will spare us centuries of suffering until you find an alternative.”

The necromancer’s cold gaze turned into a glare. “You want me to die that much?”

“The truth is, you have made immortality possible, and for that you deserve credit.” The princess looked straight into his eyes. “But the work is done. If you die, people will still be immortal, but Ragnarok will be prevented. You sustain this cycle as much as Loki, Hel, and their kind.”

“Immortality for all includes me,” Tye pointed out. “I suffered great torments to create the elixir and [Naglfar]. Shouldn’t I enjoy the fruits of my labor too?”

“You see, this is the real problem we have,” Gwenhyfar said. “I am not against immortality for all. Like you, I have seen the gods for what they are and I want mankind to be free. But your very existence brings destruction and chaos to the Nine Realms. If even half of what Hel says is true, your continued survival will eventually destroy the World Tree, Midgard, and all that we know.”

“There will be no Ragnarok if we destroy the gods and Calamities,” Tye said. “We have the means to.”

“If we destroy all Calamities, one will still remain. You.”

“I can always find another world to settle in,” Tye pointed out. “The universe is vast, and I still have so much to learn.”

“Can we even leave the Nine Realms? Earthlanders can get in, but none of the gods managed to escape to their homeworld.” Gwenhyfar shook her head. “Right now there is only one workable solution at hand.”

“You want me to submit to the Earthlanders’ weapons?” the necromancer rasped, “Because you lack imagination?”

“I will even die with you, if that’s what it takes,” the princess said. “You said it yourself, victory necessitates total dedication. If that brings you joy and satisfaction, I will follow you into the darkness. If you truly value immortality and freedom for mankind, if that is your true goal, then you shouldn’t fear making the ultimate sacrifice.”

Death.

If he accepted death after preventing Ragnarok and eliminating the Calamities, then yes, the Great Work would be secured. Mankind could live forever without fearing universal annihilation.

But that meant accepting death. Submitting to that pitiful end, accept this flaw in the universe and never try to repair it.

“You tire me.”

Tye’s face turned into a shadow of bitterness, as he dropped his guard. His feelings came pouring out like water, with no dam to stop them.

“You, Hel, Odin, Loki… even Asclepius. You all try to push me into fulfilling your petty desires when all I ever wanted was to cure death and live a quiet life.” He glanced at the frozen window, disgusted. “The Calamities who destroyed my home… the lich who molded me into fulfilling a destiny older than the world… that insane goddess who mistakes love for cruelty… you, who keep trying to kill me to fulfill your heroic fantasies… If you had just left me alone, I would have been happy. Instead, you have tormented me since before I was even born.”

The princess listened without a word, a brief expression of compassion passing on her face. “I’m sorry.”

She sounded like she meant it.

“There is only one thing, one dream that I know is mine, and no one else’s.” Tye’s eyes flashed red. “I will never die. I will find another way, but not yours.”

“And if there is none?” Gwenhyfar replied with the same tone.

“I will find one, even if it takes ten more centuries of torment. As long as there is life, there is hope.”

Life should not be a crime.

A sad smile appeared at the edge of Gwenhyfar’s lips. “I still have these levels.”

“[Paladin of Tyr]?” he asked, the princess nodding. “They care nothing for us.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “I don’t have faith in Tyr. I have faith in law and justice. The afterlife system is wrong, and I will work to change it. If you had admitted your wrongs, if you were sorry for murdering Morgane, Lamor, and so many others... if you had regretted not sabotaging Lyonesse against Convergences… if I had seen a single crack in that frozen lake you call a heart, we could have been allies.”

Everything after an if didn’t matter.

“But you feel no remorse for the atrocities you committed,” Gwenhyfar said. “Which means you will commit more in the future. As I told Hel… no matter what tragedy drove you to this point, being the lesser evil doesn’t make you good, Walter.”

The two nemeses faced one another, one on each end of the board. The distance between them was an invisible barrier, which none of them could cross.

“I wish to prevent Ragnarok and save my brother from Hel’s grasp,” Gwenhyfar said, before adding, “and Takeru. So if you let me go, I will rally Avalon’s remaining forces and assist you in defending the root. Whatever the cost, Medraut will never reach it.”

“But afterward, if we prevail, we will go back to business as usual.”

“Seems so,” the princess replied. Their conflict would only end when one utterly destroyed the other. “But we would have made a terrific team.”

“We would have,” Tye conceded. “But I will kill you still.”

“You will try.”

The necromancer chuckled. “A rematch then, Your Highness?”

“Rematch.”