Vanaheimr, deep in a secluded side corridor.
It was more like a well-kept dwelling than a place of captivity.
The wise giant Mímir, an ancient being renowned for the infinite knowledge within his head, sat peacefully within.
As a hostage, he was not treated harshly; on the contrary, due to his wisdom, the Vanir gods, especially the God-King 'Narcissus', treated him with respect.
Hermes, as a curious guest, often appeared here.
He had brought wine from Olympus, and thanks to his irresistible communication skills and seemingly innocent questions, he had struck up a good conversation with Mímir.
"Your Excellency Mímir, your understanding of fate is truly astonishing,"
Hermes filled the giant's cup with fragrant mead, his voice full of admiration.
"Especially regarding that... well, the prophecy of 'Ragnarök'. So precise, as if everything has already been written."
Mímir drank the mead, its mellow flavor making him sigh with satisfaction.
He had a good impression of this quick-witted and clever god.
Under Hermes's deliberate guidance, he became increasingly animated.
"Yes, young god. Ragnarök is not simple destruction; it is a great reckoning, the inevitability of cause and effect."
Mímir's huge head swayed slightly, his voice low as an echo in a mountain stream.
"Its triggering requires many 'keys'."
He spoke as if revealing a treasure:
"Baldr, the god of light, must be born when the Æsir reach their peak and the gods pour out all their blessings; his very existence is a symbol of Ásgarðr's glory. And his death, especially by the 'unintentional' hand of the closest, and his inability to return from Hel, will be the first death knell."
"Then, with the sun and moon devoured, the Fimbulwinter will shroud the world, heralding the complete collapse of order."
"The fire giants of Múspellsheimr, they will use the nails of the dead to build the giant ship 'Naglfar', riding the wind and waves to descend upon Ásgarðr."
"And the venomous dragon Níðhöggr, entrenched at the root of the World Tree, when it gnaws through the main root, the source of magic will dry up, and the power of the gods will greatly weaken..."
Mímir narrated, with the weight of a sage's fate and the hope of finding a way to circumvent it.
"If you can detect these signs in advance, perhaps..."
Hermes maintained an attentive listening expression, his heart full of cold calculation.
Circumvent?
No, dear Mímir, you and the Æsir are thinking about how to delay, how to survive.
But I... I think the opposite.
His thoughts raced:
The Father God bore the world on his back, and Hades ran efficiently, but the burden remained.
If the end of this doomed world could be accelerated, harvesting its ruins and integrating its origin into Chaos, the pressure on the Father God would be greatly reduced, and the Greek world could recover faster and even become stronger.
Baldr needs the Æsir's prosperity to be born?
In other words, the Æsir gods aren't 'prosperous' enough?
So wouldn't helping them to 'prosper' lead to Baldr's birth and the start of Ragnarök?
A cunning and dangerous light flashed in his clever eyes.
"This is truly... an exquisite design of fate," Hermes expressed sincere admiration, as if completely awed by this grand prophecy.
"Thank you for your guidance, Your Excellency Mímir. This has deepened my understanding of the world."
He raised his glass and toasted the wise giant, his smile impeccably sincere.
After a brief conversation, Hermes politely took his leave and departed from Mímir's dwelling.
Walking through the vibrant courtyards of Vanaheimr, Hermes walked quickly.
He needed to find an entry point, a way to 'help' Ásgarðr 'prosper' without a trace.
Hermes's thoughts were as fast as his flight, and dangerous, subtle ideas formed in his mind.
He thought of Loki, the humiliated trickster god with his sewn-up mouth.
Anger and grievance are the best sources of fuel.
More importantly, Loki's offspring—the wolf Fenrir, the Midgard Serpent Jörmungandr, and Hel, the goddess of death—are the prophetic fangs that will tear apart the old world.
"A resentful father, plus a group of children destined for doom... What a perfect combination." The corner of Hermes's mouth curled into a cold smile.
His first target was the giant ship 'Naglfar', built from the nails of the dead.
Do the fire giants of Múspellsheimr need it?
Why wait for them to build it? Why couldn't they 'borrow' a ready-made artifact for their use?
He remembered the divine ship Skíðblaðnir, built by the dwarves—capable of self-navigation, folding for storage, and possessing powerful laws of space and navigation.
This would be an excellent gift for the fire giants raiding Ásgarðr!
How to get this ship 'reasonably' into the hands of the fire giants?
An 'accidental' trade? A 'careless' loss of custody? Or through some 'intermediary'?
Hermes's gaze fell towards Ásgarðr, and a plan began to form in his mind.
Next—devouring the sun and moon.
The prophecy said that the wolves Sköll and Hati would accomplish this feat, but Hermes couldn't wait that long and didn't believe in the efficiency of two wolves.
"Why rely on beasts?" he thought to himself, his eyes shining like an adventurer's.
"Wouldn't it be faster for me to take them myself?"
As the god of messengers, crossing boundaries is his instinct.
Stealing the sun and moon?
Simple.
This would be the ultimate challenge of speed and stealth, and Hermes felt a thrill of excitement at the thought.
Finally, there was the root of the World Tree—the venomous dragon Níðhöggr, gnawing for countless years, but slowly progressing.
"The old dragon's mouth and teeth aren't very good..." Hermes rubbed his chin, his thoughts darting in unconventional directions.
He thought of Niflheim—the land of ice, shrouded in ice and mist year-round.
Extreme cold can make matter brittle. If you could bring something extremely hot to the tree root that Níðhöggr is gnawing, you could use the cold of Niflheim and the high temperature of flame to create a violent alternating... hot and cold.
One cold, one hot—regardless of the material's hardness, this also creates stress, making it easy to crack.
It's like heating a rock with fire and then pouring ice water on it; the rock cracks.
No matter how magical the roots of the World Tree are, I'm afraid they cannot escape the erosion of this physical law.
This would greatly accelerate Níðhöggr's work efficiency, allowing it to gnaw through the root that holds everything together as quickly as possible.
Hermes stopped and stood beside a magical plant emitting fluorescence in Vanaheimr, that same 'innocent' smile on his face.
He needed allies, needed pawns; he had to use all available resources.
"Well, first..." he whispered to himself, and his figure began to blur, as if merging with the wind.
"Time to see our friend with the sewn-up mouth. 'Perfect' sympathy and a plan to help him 'vent his anger' should be exchanged for a lot of useful information and 'cooperation'."
Like an invisible thought, he quietly left Vanaheimr, heading for Ásgarðr, towards Loki's hiding place.
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