The Last Flame Of The Fallen

The stars had died. The gods had bled.

Their bones lay cracked where Titans tread.

The Bifrost snapped like rusted steel,

And time itself forgot to feel.

The Nine were ash. The myths were tombs.

The skies collapsed in thundered booms.

Yet I—

I crawled through death’s embrace,

With soot and blood upon my face.

⚡️

The axe lay heavy in my grip,

Its haft was carved from Mimir’s crypt.

I drank the winds of war and pain,

My footsteps blackened hill and plain.

The frost had burned, the fire froze—

The serpent stirred from deep repose.

Midgard’s coil, Jörmungandr wide,

Rose from oceans turned to tide.

He hissed like continents in strain,

His breath was salt and acid rain.

His eyes were suns devoured by rot,

A thousand ships would be forgot.

But I,

I screamed the scream of men undone,

And charged beneath that drowning sun.

My blade, a spark of solar flame,

Carved through his throat and cursed his name.

⚡️

He thrashed, he thundered, broke the shore—

His tail split time, his blood was war.

But down he fell, his final hiss,

A funeral for all that is.

Yet silence fled before the sound—

A howl that shook the sky and ground.

The son of chaos, beast of black,

Came thundering down the starless track.

Fenrir, wolf of godless night,

With flame for fur and death for bite.

His jaws could shatter fate’s own thread,

And in his maw, the dead stayed dead.

We clashed—

Steel to fang and soul to wrath,

Each step we carved a bloody path.

He bit through shield and seared my skin,

But still I drove the fire in.

⚡️

I cracked his fang from iron jaw,

And tore him down by ancient law.

I bound his heart in chains of flame,

And marked his grave with Odin’s name.

Now broken-limbed and battle-blind,

I stumbled on through shattered mind.

The air was thick with smoke and sin—

And then,

The World Tree called me in.

Yggdrasil—half root, half wire,

Its limbs ablaze, its veins of fire.

A galaxy of coded runes,

A heart that pulsed with dying moons.

Its bark was ash, its leaves were thought,

Each breath it drew was dearly bought.

And in its core, both lost and known,

The whisper spoke from godly throne:

⚡️

“Ulf,” it said, in thundered breath,

“You wear the crown of afterdeath.

The gods are gone. The flame is you.

Reboot the world. Begin it true.”

And I—

I pressed my hand into its skin,

Felt every war that burned within.

My fingers gripped the spark of stars—

I saw the past. I touched our scars.

I smelled the smoke of distant kin,

The cries of those who’d never win.

I felt my spine begin to break,

As if the world had tried to wake.

But through the ache, I found the key—

And turned it in eternity.

And there—

Where once the world did fall,

I rose,

And rewrote gods and all.

⚡️

Now let them say the flame is dead.

Let cowards sleep in solar dread.

But I have walked through time and bone,

And carved my name in Yggdrasil’s stone.

The war is won, the sky is bare—

But I still breathe that burning air.

The universe has been reset.

But I

remember

what we forget.