The bloodline of that pair took deep root in the vast lands of Midgard, giving rise to thirty-two great kingdoms. Life flourished in peace and prosperity—until that tranquility was shattered by the death of the god Magni. It was not merely the passing of a deity; it was an ominous warning that a second Ragnarok might be at hand. The gods were fracturing, and their retaliations grew increasingly violent.
Fearing the impending cataclysm, King Arkhad of the Kingdom of Amirfar, one of the oldest realms, issued a royal summons to the other thirty-one kings. They were to gather at Arcanum Citadel, a majestic stone fortress perched upon a high mountain peak, to deliberate and seek a consensus on how to face the catastrophe looming on the horizon.
Cold winds howled over the summit as the carriages of the various delegations arrived. Amidst the colorful banners of many nations, the somber procession of the Kingdom of Ellasia made its entrance.
The moment the carriage door opened, an aura of sheer pressure radiated outward. King Valen stepped onto the stone floor with a steady stride, a handsome young man in a charcoal-gray uniform accented by fine leather armor. His sharp, profound gaze—far more mature than his years suggested—immediately drew every eye in the courtyard.
Valen's presence was of paramount importance. Not only did Ellasia share a sprawling border with Amirfar, but he also bore a fearsome reputation. After the former King Fred was assassinated by his eldest son in a bid for the throne, Valen had reclaimed power with such swiftness and decisiveness that he was hailed across the lands as the most brilliant young king of the era.
Upon Valen's arrival, there was no longer a need to wait for the remaining monarchs. The council in the Great Hall of Arcanum Citadel commenced immediately.
As King Valen stepped into the chamber, a wave of surprise washed over him. He noticed that King Arkhad, the host and ruler of the oldest kingdom, had chosen to sit in the first seat on the left, rather than at the head of the table—the seat traditionally reserved for the presiding leader.
Instead, that seat was occupied by a petite young woman with radiant golden hair and a bright, welcoming face. Valen did not know who she was, but he couldn't help but think: while the world praised him as a young king, this girl appeared many years his junior.
"Please, be seated, King Valen," her cheerful voice rang out from the head of the table. She gestured toward the empty seat on the right, directly opposite King Arkhad.
Despite his confusion, Valen maintained his composure with the poise of a seasoned sovereign. He sat down formally in the designated spot, aware of the other kings watching them intently.
"You must be wondering... who I am to dare sit in this seat?" the girl said, as if reading Valen's mind with perfect clarity. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she noted the king's struggle to mask his emotions.
"Indeed... and who might you be?" Valen asked boldly, his eyes meeting hers.
"My name is Málóei... and at this moment, I am the Supreme Leader of the Kingdom of Iceland." She introduced herself with a friendly smile, but the title carried immense weight.
"The Kingdom of Iceland... of the god Modi..." Valen echoed, unable to hide his astonishment. It was common knowledge throughout Midgard that the supreme leader of that sacred land could be none other than the powerful god Modi himself.
"Correct... and I am his daughter." Her smile remained, but her emerald eyes burned with a new, resolute fire. "Even now, my father, Lord Modi, has led the dwarven legions into the realm of Alfheim to launch a campaign of vengeance for Lord Magni."
Valen was perhaps the only one in the room truly blindsided; the other kings had been privy to these developments. Nevertheless, he gathered his wits and probed further. "If Lord Modi has already invaded Alfheim... then what is expected of us, the mortal realms?"
"Nothing at all. I want you to return to your kingdoms and live in peace."
The unexpected answer made Valen raise an eyebrow in disbelief. The petite woman leaned back against the head chair with a relaxed air beyond her years before emphasizing:
"Only one thing... do not swear fealty to the god Vidar. That is all I ask."
Valen fell silent for a moment, seeking clarity. In this age of Midgard, faith was the foundation of every kingdom. "Most of us revere the god Baldur as the supreme deity. Is this... forbidden?"
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"No," Málóei replied curtly, a faint smile playing on her lips, though her eyes remained mysterious.
She rose to her full height. Though small in stature, her presence seemed to expand, pressing down upon the stone hall with an undeniable weight. She surveyed the gathered kings before speaking in a resonant voice.
"Since the key figures from all corners of the world are gathered here, there is someone else I would like to introduce to you all..." She paused for a beat before calling out, "Farran!"
At her call, the wooden doors of the council chamber swung open. A young man with brownish-gold hair entered. He walked soundlessly, coming to a halt beside Málóei with a calm, steady demeanor.
The eyes of the kings, especially Valen's, fixed solely on Farran.
Málóei scanned the room once more before addressing the most critical point of the meeting. "From this day forward, if you face any trouble or problems too great to solve, bring them to Farran."
"He is but a man, not a god," Valen stood firm, representing the skepticism of the other monarchs. "How can he resolve problems that even we, the kings, cannot?"
"Farran is the last disciple of the god Magni," Málóei said, her words elevating Farran to the status of a hero. To those watching, however, he still looked like a youth similar in age to her. "He is human, yet he is unlike any of you."
"And how is he different?" Valen felt a sting of insult. Though not a disciple of the gods, he did not consider himself inferior to any man in Midgard, let alone the unproven youth before him.
"Young man, to say more would be unseemly..." Málóei slipped, calling Valen 'young man' as if she were an elder. She paused a beat to regain her composure, then scanned the room once more. "Let us put it this way: if you do not trust the word of the daughter of Modi... why don't you propose a condition, or a Quest, to prove his worth?"
The kings, caught off guard by the sudden challenge, struggled to think of a suitable task.
Málóei turned back to Valen. "Tell me, your traitorous brother—he fled to hide in the realm of Alfheim, did he not? How about this for a quest: let Farran bring him back to face your justice."
The mere mention of Alfheim carried a haunting magic. A mission to retrieve Prince Torvin, the patricide protected by High Elves, was a journey fraught with extreme peril. Yet, the offer was undeniably beneficial to Valen.
"Exquisite... if he can truly do it," Valen said, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage, but his eyes lit with a new spark of hope. "I, King Valen, will doubt him no longer."
"Then it is settled. Farran, you have heard your mission," Málóei said with a satisfied smile before turning to the youth. "Go now and wait for me in my quarters. Once I have finished deliberating with the kings, I shall meet you there."
At her command, Farran bowed elegantly. He placed his right hand over his chest and bowed to the Supreme Leader of Iceland, then stepped back and repeated the gesture to all the kings of Midgard. Under the weight of their questioning glares and newfound hope, he exited the chamber in silence.
Though Málóei claimed the council would continue, in truth, there was nothing left to discuss. All had agreed to the simple, absolute condition: live in peace and do not side with Vidar. With the foundation set, the meeting concluded much sooner than expected.
Thus, Farran did not have to wait long in solitude.
When Málóei finally entered the private quarters, she found not only the last disciple of the Wanderer God waiting for her, but two other women as well. One was a female warrior in a practical uniform, her brown hair pulled back tightly. The second woman was the most startling: she was petite with radiant golden hair, a mirror image—a twin—of Málóei herself.
It was the warrior who spoke first, her voice filled with respect tempered by familiarity. "Great-Grandfather... are you exhausted?"
"No matter. I am well, Fiona." The voice that came from Málóei was entirely different from the one in the council hall; it was now the voice of an old man.
In an instant, Málóei's form shifted and warped, transforming into an elderly wizard with a long beard that reached his chest. He was Galdur, Fiona's great-grandfather.
"No one realized you were masquerading as me, did they?" the petite girl—the real Málóei—voiced her deepest concern.
"Not a soul," Galdur replied. Even so, he recalled the moment during the meeting when he had slipped and called King Valen 'young man'—a habit of an old man addressing the youth. He had smoothed it over with a gentle, disarming smile. "They see only what they wish to see, and I simply gave them what they wanted." He moved to sit beside his great-granddaughter with a relaxed air.
Galdur locked eyes with the real Málóei for a moment before turning to the young man sitting quietly in the corner. "The plan to stop these kings from defecting to the High Elves has succeeded... but from here on, the true journey to Alfheim begins, Farran."
Farran did not answer immediately. He stood and walked over to Málóei, gently taking her hand. His eyes held a look of understanding and comfort.
"You have done well until now... The Kingdom of Iceland will endure, and its future rests in your hands."
Farran's words were like cool water to the soul of the girl burdened with a fate she never chose. In truth, Málóei was the daughter of the god Modi and a dwarven woman from the village of Mj?llnirshús. After Magni's death, her father, Lord Modi, had spiraled into a madness he could not control. He had abandoned his throne and marched toward the borders without a single plan for his realm.
In those darkest hours, Farran had returned to the village. Remembering Málóei, and following Galdur's counsel, he had pushed this half-dwarf girl to take the crown of Iceland legitimately, providing a much-needed beacon of hope for the people.
Málóei squeezed Farran's hand tightly. The fear in her emerald eyes slowly faded, replaced by the resolve he had ignited within her.
"Thank you, Farran... I will protect our kingdom, no matter what."
"I believe in you, Málóei," Farran said, looking into the eyes of the girl who would become the leader of his homeland.
Fiona, who had been observing in silence, finally interrupted with a worried tone. "But this journey into Alfheim... can we really find Prince Torvin?" The warrior was anxious; they were headed into an unknown land filled with the most dangerous High Elves.
"That villain Torvin... he lured my master to his death," Farran's eyes turned cold at the thought of the traitor. "Whether he flees to the ends of the earth or hides under the protection of any god, I will hunt him down to settle the score."
As the grand council of thirty-two kings concluded two days later, Málóei returned to Mj?llnirshús to rule Iceland. Meanwhile, the group consisting of Farran, Fiona, and Galdur set their sights on Alfheim, determined to see their mission through to the end.