Return of the First God

They left Alfgard at the edge of that same night cycle, escorted by the group of warriors.

While the skies of the Wastes were locked in an eternal night, at the moment of their departure, it seemed as if the skies were at their darkest.

Ragnar walked at the head of the group, his cloak pressed flat by the wind.

He had his axe on the right side of his belt, and his water canteen on the other. 

Behind him were the rest of the warriors chosen to enter the chains with him.

Bjorn, Ola, Erik, Ulf, and Astrid.

And behind them, the one hundred elite who had sworn to escort them to the base of the chain.

No songs were sung as they walked. 

No drums were played. 

The Forsaken knew better than to make noise so far out from the city.

Especially when they couldn't be sure if a monster could be nearby, listening for movement.

The path from Alfgard to the chain was long.

No roads marked their way, but they knew where to go. 

After all, the city hadn't been built that far from the chains.

It was far enough to be out of sight, separated by the darkness of the wastes, but close enough that monsters could escape into the Wastes and wander near their city.

The journey took a total of three night cycles.

They first passed through the Salt Fields, a place where the ground cracked underfoot and left a sting on the tongue. 

It was also the only reason why their food always tastes good.

This was their only source of salt, and one of the reasons why their city was close to the chains of ascension.

Then, they passed through Black Hollow.

A collapsed trench filled with broken armor and half buried weapons.

The remnants of those who had once journeyed out to stop a pack of monsters from reaching the city.

They never returned. 

Somewhere beneath that pit, bones still screamed, if one listened too closely.

At night, the warriors took turns keeping watch. 

No one complained. 

Sleep came in snatches. Conversation, even less. 

There was an unspoken understanding among them.

The closer they came to the chains, the more wrong the world began to feel.

Ragnar felt it too. 

The air grew heavier. 

The wind howled, causing their cloaks to flap loudly.

His divinity buzzed faintly inside of him, like it was trying to warn him of something it couldn't explain. 

But he never stopped walking.

None of them did.

Finally, on the dawn of the third night cycle, they saw it.

The Chain.

It rose from a large crater of blackened ground, and filled with smoke.

It stood impossibly wide, wider than any building in Alfgard. 

Its surface was rough and dark, like metal that had been left too long in the cold. 

And it went up forever, disappearing into the darkness no one could see.

As they walked closer to it, details became clearer to see.

Hewn out at its base was a tall gate, as tall as four grown men, and as wide as three.

Inscribed on its arch were names.

Names of what?

No one knew.

If they ever did, the memory had been lost.

Either way, they couldn't read the words. 

After all, what use was learning to read when one needed to survive.

That was one of the reasons why Ragnar had felt as if he had always been born with his divinity.

Even though he couldn't read anything else, he could read the words on his status and notification screens very clearly.

Ragnar stared at the chains for a long time, then turned back to the people behind him.

The five were closest to him, their eyes on the dark opening of the chains.

Ulf had a smile on his face as if he couldn't wait, but the rest had solemn expressions.

Beyond them, the hundred warriors stood with hope in their eyes.

They were witnessing first hand, the first step in the liberation of their people.

Luckily, they hadn't encountered any monsters on the journey here, but they knew that Ragnar and the chosen five wouldn't be that lucky.

After all, the chain was the home of the monsters.

Ragnar focused on the faces of the warriors.

He looked at each of them.

Young, old, wounded, scarred. 

They had chosen to escort him, knowing they would not go further. Knowing they might not even make it back alive.

He raised his voice, and the sound carried across the quiet crowd.

"You've given me everything."

"You gave me your food when I was young." 

"You gave me your stories when I was afraid."

"You gave me your strength when I had none."

"And now, you give me your protection… so I can climb where none of us were ever meant to go."

He paused.

Not a single warrior moved.

"I won't say I deserve your loyalty."

"But I will say this." 

"I will not waste it."

"I will climb."

"I will tear open the sky."

"And I will make them remember the Forsaken."

And without another word, he turned and walked towards the open chasm of darkness.

The five followed.

Ola, Bjorn, Astrid, Ulf, Erik.

Behind them, the hundred dropped to one knee.

Silent.

Reverent.

They watched as the six stepped into the mouth of the chain.

And the darkness swallowed them whole.

It felt like they were passing through thick mist, but after a few more steps, the darkness returned to normal.

Then suddenly, fire bloomed to life along the walls.

Torches flared, one by one, illuminating the space.

The group blinked furiously, their eyes adjusting the sudden change.

They looked around to see that they were standing in a large and empty hall.

Behind them was a patch of darkness that even the light couldn't chase away.

That was the entrance.

In the distance was another door, leading deeper into the chains.

Just as planned, Bjorn took control, stepping forward.

"Stay alert. Follow me."

And so, they moved.

They made their way to the end of the hall, their bare feet silent against the stone floor of the hall.

When they finally got to the door, Bjorn pressed his hand to it.

It opened without a sound.

Behind it was a corridor, also illuminated by torches.

They walked it in silence, until it ended at a wide, curved staircase spiraling upward.

And so, they climbed.

At the top, they reached a door.

Without prompting, it creaked open.

They stepped inside.

The moment they were all inside, the door slammed shut behind them.

Thud!

The sound echoed through the darkness like a drumbeat.

Then came the fire.

It raced along the walls, licking into life, until the entire room was filled with light.

It was huge.

A dome shaped room with rough walls that looked like it had been carved from dark stone.

And along the walls at perfect intervals stood giant statues.

They were all hooded, with cloaks also made of stone, their heads bowed.

There were twelve of them, surrounding the chamber.

And then…

Creak!

A grinding noise filled the air.

The sound of stone moving.

The sound of something waking.

The statues' heads jerked up.

Their eyes snapped open.

Twelve pairs of glowing green orbs blazed to life.

Sickly. Bright. Watching.

And none of them blinked.