Chapter 11 – The Weight of Names
The night was quiet.
Ymir lay awake on the straw bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. The village outside had settled into stillness, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of voices from a late-night gathering.
She wasn't used to silence like this. The Paths had been a place of whispers—memories bleeding together, the echoes of past and future intertwining. Even in life, she had never known true peace.
But here… there was only the sound of her own breathing.
Ember sat cross-legged in the air near the window, his gaze fixed outside. He had been unusually quiet.
Ymir shifted slightly. "You're watching them."
Ember didn't turn. "They interest me."
Ymir studied him. "You don't usually care about humans."
He let out a soft chuckle. "Maybe I'm just curious. You, on the other hand…" He finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Are you going to stay here?"
She frowned. "I haven't decided."
Ember tilted his head. "Strange, isn't it?"
"What?"
"That you actually can decide." His golden eyes held something she couldn't quite name. "No king to command you. No war to bind you. No chains."
Ymir looked down at her hands. The scars that lined her skin had faded over time, but she could still feel them. Chains might no longer be visible, but she wasn't sure if they had ever truly disappeared.
She exhaled. "Even if I stay, what then?"
Ember smirked. "You could finally tell that kid a story. Might be nice to be remembered for something other than war."
Ymir rolled her eyes but said nothing.
The thought lingered, though.
She had been many things—a warrior, a slave, a mother, a phantom watching over the Paths. But a storyteller?
She had never thought about how others might remember her, if they even would.
The idea of being just Ymir, without the weight of history pressing down on her, was almost too foreign to grasp.
Ember stretched his arms, then floated closer. "I think you're afraid."
She looked at him sharply. "Of what?"
"Of existing without a purpose."
Ymir stiffened.
Ember grinned. "Hit a nerve, did I?"
She turned away. "You talk too much."
He laughed softly but didn't push further.
Outside, the village remained peaceful, unaware that a legend from the past now wandered among them.
For now, that was enough.
—
The next morning, Lifa returned.
She knocked twice before pushing the door open, her face bright with excitement. "You promised a story."
Ymir sighed, rubbing her temple. "I didn't promise."
Lifa grinned. "You didn't say no, either."
Ember chuckled from the corner. "I like this kid."
Ymir glanced at him before looking back at Lifa. The girl sat cross-legged on the floor, her expectant gaze unwavering.
Ymir hesitated. She had never told a story before—not like this.
And yet, as she looked at Lifa, something inside her stirred.
She had spent centuries trapped in the past. Maybe it was time to start speaking of it.
"…Alright."
Lifa beamed.
And so, Ymir began.