"Glimmering archway of color,

A passage to the frozen north,

Only those who follow the

Golden beast hiding in the woods.

It is not to be slain or skinned,

It is the temptation of it,

For you will be judged by the guide.

There is the land of no sunshine,

Where the cold seeps to even the bone,

With a sky of coursing rivers,

With the colors of a setting sun,

And the white plains covering all

Of which there is to be explored.

The land of high mountains and peaks,

Only rivaled by the giants,

That sweep high and low, broad and tall,

having memories of times past,

When they still roamed the northern lands.

A realm named after the oldest being,

The father of the giant brothers,

Which hold the great rims of the earth,

Echoed for time immemorial,

Heed as you pass to Väinölä."

Passing through Väinölä, by Lorren Elinson.

A famous writer named Arthur Tobelius included the poem in the adventure book World Saga logbook that Ymir and Tuja read to Orel when he was little. It was a collection of stories of old sagas, epics, and classic children's stories depicting wild adventures of destiny, prophecy, glory, and danger for the heroes to overcome in their travels. Among the plethora of stories, the book mentioned seven unique places that have puzzled, intrigued, and fascinated great men who wrote their accounts of visiting them. They were called the seven realms of the world. The most sought yet that have held out their status as myths, the seven realms of the world were scattered from the highest of skies to the deepest of jungles, containing the greatest mysteries, intriguing lore, and exotic beasts. Many have written their descriptions from ancient times, yet there is no record of someone visiting them all. Orel could hear her mother chanting the poem as the landscape opened to his eyes, which only made his eyes water more.

It was as if he had finally grasped the scenery in his dreams that had always been so tantalizingly close. No illustration from the book could compare to the whiteness of the snow and the tall mountain ranges in the distance. No painting or sketch could ever capture the true beauty and perfect shade of white that opened for him. It was an endless field of frost, where snow fell gently to the ground, giant spruce trees covering large patches of land as huge forests and occasional shrubs sprouting over the snow-covered bogs. The sky was dark but illuminated by the constant flow of fox fires and stars beneath them. Small streams cutting the snowfields were crystal clear and stayed unfrozen even in harsh conditions. The wind blew softly, enough to make the countless snowflakes spin as they dropped from the sky. The air was so pure, only with its fresh taste that flowed through the lungs quickly and passed out in a stream of vapor. Though the scenery constantly shifted, the loop felt short and artificial, like a snow globe, yet still mesmerizing.

Orel could only stand in awe at the silent spectacle, not bothered by the cold. Sindri trotted next to him, trying carefully to bring him back to reality. "Are you satisfied with the scenery?"

"It's too beautiful to put into words." Orel couldn't even spare to blink.

"You can stay as long as you want, but I must warn you, it is easy to forget the passing of time here."

Orel e could have watched the lands for hours which felt like minutes, walking on the hardened snow over the vast fields.

A sudden rumbling only stopped him.

"An earthquake?" Orel tried to keep his balance.

"No, look there." Sindri pointed to the mountains with her snout.

A humongous figure rose and climbed over them, steadily moving towards Orel. The movement seemed sluggish until Orel realized how the giant leaped over the extensive forests with each step. With each passing second, the figure became more massive until his shadow eclipsed the valley.

The grey shirt worn on the waist with the sleeves out was made of leather, like the pants, but it was a frightening thought about what colossal animal they belonged to. The man's body was full of tattoos of varying sizes, ranging from bundles of runes to unknown symbols and pictures of animals in red, black, and blue. The feet were enormous, with each toe as large as a house and nothing covering them except the dark hairs as large as steel cables. As he got closer, the ground trembled enough that Orel was hardly staying up until the two large feet stopped at a reasonable distance. The giant leaned to a squat, where large blue eyes like windows looking at the blue sea stared at Orel intently under the messy blonde hair. Each warm breath it blew was enough to raise the snow off the ground, and the braided beard that laid down was more akin to a large haystack.

"This is one of Kaleva's sons, Skismith." Sindri introduced the giant. "He is the maker of the dome that carries the sky."

"Um, I'm Orel." Orel waved.

The face of the giant almost completely blocked Orel's vision. The giant blew a short burst of air from his long nose, stumbling Orel.

"A human, here?" Skismith spoke with the power of a concert speaker set. "Sindri, what is the meaning of this?"

"He was worthy," Sindri said.

"It has been long since I last saw a human enter our realm."

"Really? What kind of people were they?" Orel asked.

"I cannot remember clearly. It was two that came here, a man and a lady. Brother Väindålve was there too." Skismith stroke his enormous beard, which rustled like a forest in a storm. "Sindri, do you remember?"

"It must have been that woman and man you are talking about. They were from a foreign land, but I cannot recall what it was called."

"I would need to ask, brother. He is much wiser than I, but he has no strength left in his fingers even to play a tune."

"Then let's not bother him." Orel shook his head.

"No, no, no. He would enjoy being able to tell stories to new ears." Skismith nodded.

"Well, if you insist."

"Come, climb in my hand. I will take you there."

"To the mountain?" Orel looked into the distance.

"Where else?" Skismith asked. "Sindri, are you coming?"

"I will get there by my own means." Sindri jumped into the air.

The trip was bumpy but surprisingly fast. Orel watched the landscape speed past him and Sindri running in the air under her fox fire. Skismith leaped into the mountains that not even he could climb without worry.

"Here, see that smoke coming from there?" Skismith pointed at the tip of the mountain while grabbing hold of the side. "That is my workshop."

"Wow."

"But we aren't going there now."

Orel's vision turned down to the white snow covering the mountains. The whiteness of it was far purer than he had ever seen.

"Could I take some snow with me?" He pointed down.

The giant laughed with thunderous magnitude. It was almost louder than his steps. He had to stop himself before Orel fell from his hand.

"Ah- Take as much as you desire. There is no end to snow here." Skismith lowered his hand to the ground.

Orel scooped a small amount of snow into a jar he had with him in his backpack. It rested well inside the pot, though freezing it solid. Even through gloves, the cold was piercing like needles.

While doing so, Orel's hat fell off and revealed the locks of golden hair.

"That blonde hair, where are you from?" Skismith noticed.

"What? I'm from the Gulf of Tanlen, a bit southwest of Alanland."Orel put on his hat.

"Golden hair is a sign of divine heritage. See?" Skismith shook his thick blonde hair, making it crack the air like a whip.

"Well, my dad has blonde hair. Also, grandpa and, well, Deras is bald."

"Hmm, truly, I do not sense any divinity from you. Perhaps humanity is closer to us than I previously thought."

"Giants are considered wise in many aspects because of the knowledge they have gathered in their immortal lives," Sindri explained while standing in the air. "That is when they still roamed the lands."

"You are lucky, Sindri. We do not get the chance to visit outside." Skismith sighed.

"It comes with its risks, mind you."

"Well, be better keep going. Hop on." Smismith said.

"Wait!" Orel reached into his pockets. "Can I take a picture?"

"Of course," Sindri said.

Orel turned his phone sideways and opened the camera, but something was wrong. "It's broken?" He could only see static.

"Sindri, did you want to fool the traveler?" Skismith smirked.

"I only amused myself." Sindri smiled. "You see, Orel. This place is nowhere on any map or any place in the world. The barrier between our worlds collides in only a few locations."

"That doesn't really explain why I can't take a picture."

"Let's just say that you can see us because we allowed it."

"Are there other ways to get here?"

"Very few have crossed the bridge, but there are other means. A passing ship may catch a glimpse of us, but a stormy sea protects us that few are able and willing to pass."

Orel looked a bit confused as he turned his head to Skismith. "But why are you here? Why aren't you with us like Sindri?"

"Not long ago, people of the Messiah came to talk about their lord. Those priests said their savior came and liberated the humans from us while we had fled to this island, never to return," Skismith explained with heavy breaths." Their beliefs changed us. Us giants became demons, trolls, while the fox changed from guides to treasure."

"But people still believe in you." Orel couldn't understand.

"Some of us, yes. But many of us have become history, dead. We are no longer living amongst the people, but old stories to be forgotten. Thus we grow weak. The giants are but a memory, dying out like ancient Väindålve."

"Can't you do anything about it? You don't want to die here alone, do you?"

"We cannot make people believe in us; it is their free will."

"But they are bringing you back to consciousness. I saw a statue of you."

"That is exactly the point. In their eyes, we are stories. Fiction, false. Children's stories do not come alive, nor do dead gods." Sindri said.

"Then, is there any hope for you?"

Skishmith sighed deeply. "The twelve sons of Väinö, myself included, have not been with the world since the age of gods. Perhaps it would be best that it stays that way. It does not matter where we are or who we become in the eyes of man. Time passes differently for immortals, both slow and fast. Mere humans seem to vanish in the blink of an eye, yet the world barely changes. If it is our fate to become history, so be it. Soon all of us will slumber along the mountains, ever to open our eyes."

Orel couldn't help but feel sorry for the creatures doomed to a slow death of indifference. He hadn't thought about what it is like to become forgotten, reduced to a mention on a book page. It suddenly, yet faintly hit him home. Orel pondered how long it would take for him to be reduced to memory and, at last, forgotten.

The three lowered to the base of the mountain in silence, where a massive hole opened into the mountain, lit by torches made of entire pine trees.

"Here it is." Skismith walked in.

After walking through the deep cold tunnel, Orel spotted something on the ground. At first, he thought it was a grey rug, but then as they continued walking, he realized it was a long, twirly beard, and at the end of it was Väindålve. Sleeping in a large bed of trees, the giant took deep, dry breaths as if each moment would be his last. His decorated clothes had become but tattered cloths, piling waste and dirt on them for time immemorial.

"Brother, I come with a guest," Skismith announced, laying Orel on the ground.

Slowly and with great effort, Väindålve opened his drooping, near-blind eyes. "Who is it?" He asked with a wheezing voice.

"My name is Orel." Orel stepped forth.

"A human boy? Glad to see a new soul before death." Väindålve turned on his side. "Sindri, are you here?"

"Yes," Sindri walked closer.

"You have done a great deed." Väindålve nodded.

"I merely acted out the role I was given." Sindri bowed her head.

"Then, boy, how do you feel seeing a dying god? You might very well be the last mortal to ever lay their eyes upon me."

"I feel sad." Orel dropped his chin.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"It's wrong that you have to die."

"Everyone dies eventually, boy. Sindri and Skismith must have already explained it. It is the will of the people, and even as gods, we must bend to the passing of time."

"You die when you are forgotten, right?" Orel looked up.

"When the last thoughts of us cease, that is our final death." Väindålve nodded.

"Then, even if it isn't much, I promise to remember you."

A pinch of a smile raised on Väindålve's face.

"Those words warm this old heart of mine. May you travel on pleasant tailwinds, and if you meet harsh headwinds, may you find shelter from the people you hold dear." Väindålve chanted.

"Be thankful, Orel. Rarely does a giant give their blessings for mortals," Sindri said.

"We have a similar saying for goodbyes," Orel remembered.

"Then, remember to tell it to others and keep us in memory," Väindålve said.

"If you two are going to talk for any longer, Skismith, you should change your form," Sindri suggested. "You do not need to bother yourself, Väindålve."

"I'm not in a hurry," Orel said.

"Then, I should probably do that. "Skismith stretched.

Orel watched as Skismith swiftly shrunk until he was the size of a regular human, yet still quite tall for one. He was not surprised anymore by such feats, but it felt different from talking to him when he was enormous.

Some time passed as their conversation dragged on, with each telling their stories. Though Skismith had longer stories from the age of gods, he listened and laughed eagerly at Orel's adventures of recent times. Väindålve mainly was quiet but slipped in when he had a kernel of knowledge to share. Sindri paid not much mind, instead resting on the beard.

After enough sleep, She yawned and turned to Orel. "It may be high time for you to return. Your friends are still waiting."

"I will not keep you here longer than you please," Väindålve said.

"I need to return to my forge as well." Skismith stood up and returned to his original size.

"Goodbye, Väindålve, Skismith!" Orel walked out of the cave with Sindri.

"Farewell, Orel Eislandr!" Skismith waved for both of them.

"Ah, such a pleasant visit." Väindålve's eyes drew shut. "I could very well slip into eternal slumber."

"Please do not jest like that, brother." Skismith laughed with worry.

Orel and Sindri walked out of the cave, both pleased, though for different reasons.

"How long have I been here?" Orel asked.

"The night is coming to an end," Sindri answered, stretching her limbs.

"Could you drop me near them, my friends?"

"I will do my best for a final request." Sindri stepped in the air.

Orel could see the morning sun as they walked back to his realm on the bridge. They passed back to the ground, where Orel was surprised by his surroundings. He recognized a sizeable white building as a hospital from the heart crest. He found himself next to the building in a nearby park.

"Is that a hospital?" He asked. "Sindri, what's this about?"

As Orel turned, he realized Sindri was gone.

"It must not have been a mistake," he thought and walked inside.