Jörmungandr's head was spinning, and if it weren't for Fenrir grabbing him while cursing as he stumbled, he might have fainted for the third time this day.
"You have GOT to stop doing that! Once more and I swear to our father, I'm leaving you to the worms!" exclaimed Fenrir, but his actions of concern clearly contrasted his rather furious tone.
Still, the concern failed to register as Jörmungandr felt a strange numbness running through his veins, sporadic thoughts and fleeting emotions he knew not the name to piling down on his body, tugging at him to sleep, to run away into the unconscious. That's how he had always delt with them.
'Sleep.'
"'What is this monster?!'"
'Sleep.'
"'He has no sense of morality.'"
'Sleep.'
"'He really is a monster...'"
'Sleep.'
"'...What do you want me to do?'"
'Sleep.'
"Wake up."
Golden irises and a grim face stared down at Jörmungandr's face, noting the trembling of the limbs, the shortness of breath, the blank look in his eyes. Slowly, the focus in Jörmungandr's eyes returned to Anubis, something tired and worn asking for answers.
"This is reality. It is harsh; it is cold; dreamers seldom have a place here. But this is life—so wake up, and face this." The old god smiled, a grin too weary and too caring for the child's face he wore. "You won't experience this anywhere else, right?"
Offering his hand, the sly jackal beamed at the serpent.
"C'mon, we have gods to face, don't we?"
Jörmungandr's experience, though expanded, was still limited in terms of selfless interaction. Sure, the trio and little Ime were very kind to him, but there was a barrier of existence that thrived within them; their connection was more so that of dependents that shared some of his abilities rather than actual family ties. Hela and Fenrir of course cared for him—but Hela was deeply ambiguous, with the deal Jörmungandr had seen her make within Asta's memories, and Fenrir was sometimes closed off, as if he were keeping information to himself as he cared for and prioritized the duty to his pack and Patronage rather than Jörmungandr, as any good leader would do.
Asta was... complicated, and the hag was incredibly violent; Aspen was kind, but had little connection to deal with him.
Loki was nonexistent.
So it was a very strange feeling, to be so attentively watched and almost cared for over. Jörmungandr figured there was no doubt some price he would have to pay at the end of his and Anubis's overlapping of interests, and he often waited as if holding his breath, scared that if he were to relax, the balance would shift and the jackal god would ask for something he would be unable to provide and appease.
Even so, the tired serpent reached for the outstretched hand of the jackal, feeling yet another piece of debt fall into place at his shoulders, dragging him closer and closer to reality and causality.
As the gods departed towards the final stretch of their journey, Jörmungandr could not help but hope to himself that this accumulating debt would not be so impossible to pay back.
———
Ain kept a close eye on the problematic priestess girl, whose name she learned to be Asta. Her Patron's grim expression as Asta had run away was enough of a clue to figure out her theory of something being wrong with her was correct, and as she peered into the girl hoping to divine her soul, she felt a nauseating, unsettling feeling engross her body. Pulling away from the feeling, she recognized the feeling of a curse, however, she could not sense a link to the enactor of such a curse.
In her experience with Anubis over the centuries, she had learned that curses carry with them a line that connects victim to enactor, a bind that fuels the curse and identifies the enactor of the curse. However, this one was strange—it was almost as if the line attached to the curse was both everywhere and nowhere; omnipresent and yet entirely nonexistent.
It failed to make sense, and her twisting gut feeling towards something looming over the horizon only grew as Ain, Aspen and Asta, who where in front, and their respective Patrons who followed close behind them approached the looming structure affixed upon a hill so tall, it could qualify as a mountain if it had been stretched just a tad further.
"I do not like the look of this..." she muttered to herself, following closely behind Asta who stared up at the mound of earth with awe.
"Tell me about it," the problematic priestess replied absently, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms, as if to warm herself out of her initial panic. "Still," a smile bloomed across her face, eyes gleaming and hair swaying as the wind surrounding them increased with proximity to the hill, "it's kinda exciting, isn't it? Like an adventure..."
Raising her eyebrow at the younger priestess, Ain inquired, "Are you not afraid?"
Asta stilled a little.
"I mean... sure, I am. Maybe the strange fantasy of this world hasn't registered for me fully yet; maybe the fact that I can die again hasn't hit me yet. But honestly? I don't wanna think about my mortality and fears right now—I'm sick of it all. Being positive, or at least acting positive, is the most calming thing for me to do at the moment."
'So, you don't want to think about your Patron right now; got it.'
Outwardly, Ain sighed before recommending her junior, "It's not bad to have a healthy amount of fear for death. It's not wrong to have fear—you can only be brave through fear. Being 'fearless' is just another word for idiocy."
"Well... that's the thing—I'm not really scared of dying, per say. Or, well, I am, sure, who isn't? But... going back to that house... to that world, my world, and all the circumstances and pain surrounding it... that scares me more. Personally, death by gods sounds more enjoyable compared to living through my childhood again."
"...A fair point. I myself would prefer death from the divine rather than to return to my past, so I understand your process."
"...Yeah."
A companionable silence settled between the two of them, an understanding that was previously absent established.
———
By that time, the god and monsters had arrived, and Asta slightly tensed up, energy resonating and crackling between her Patron and herself at his approach; it was like vibrations through her bones, the raise of hairs on the back of her neck, a hum in her skin, and lightning through her veins.
It was a nauseating combination between fear and comfort, and she felt dizzy even without looking at him, a migraine building as her body ran haywire. All at once, her Patron stopped; shivers passed through as the weight of his gaze—yellow and clear, seared into her minds eye—settled on her, before being diverted away. The soft rustle of grass and a lessening nausea washed over her, and suddenly, it felt like she could breathe.
"Alright, let's advance!" declared Anubis as he strode to the hill, figure vanishing as he passed through an indiscernible wall in existence, the image of the hill rippling before settling again.
It was only after Asta passed through did it fully register that her Patron had expanded the distance between them, as a means of allowing her comfort.
By then it was too late to think emotionally: when she opened her eyes, she was surrounded by concourses of the divine, and her breathe was stolen for a different reason.