Chapter Text
The train had arrived, and it was only a matter of time. The world was going to end within a week, and Lyfrassir Edda didn’t want to be there when it did. They stood up, wide-eyed, and switched off the recording.
They were running out of time. They were running out of time, and nobody would believe them if they tried to warn them. Not that it stopped them from trying, of course–as soon as the recording was finished, they sent it to every one of their colleagues, then every name in their depressingly short contact list, and finally the official address for every government association and news station they could find.
They shoved their hands into their pockets to try and calm their shaking and left the building. They were the last to leave, and they didn’t bother locking the door as they left. No point when their world would be destroyed in a day at most. The ship they’d chartered would be ready in an hour. They could only hope it wouldn’t already be too late by then.
Lyfrassir had ordered enough supplies to last the four-day trip to Hodmimmis, and then some. It was prohibitively expensive, of course, but that didn’t matter much, not anymore. They looked at the Midgardian sky for one final time.
It was a beautiful day.
Early spring, and unseasonably warm for it, too. The sky was a pale, clear blue, with two of the planet’s moons still visible overhead. If there was any day, Lyfrassir decided, for the world to end, this would be it. They checked their phone again. Two calls to their twin sister, both gone to voicemail. No response, and no time left to get to her in person. They could only hope she’d get out in time. Could only hope she’d believe them. They were debating calling again when they felt a single snowflake fall onto their arm, melting away in a split second. They stared at it for a moment. It was too late in the year for snow, far too warm, and it was only getting warmer, even as the snow came down faster and faster, blanketing the newly-sprouted flowers. The sharp smell of ozone pierced the air, and Lyfrassir looked up, shielding their eyes from the starlight with a hand, to see the sky melting away.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast.
They’d thought they had more time.
They were left with minutes, if that, to get on a ship out of here that wasn’t supposed to be ready for another hour. No matter, it was their only shot. Almost everyone at the hangar bay was outside, staring puzzledly at the sky as it came apart before them. Lyf’s ship (barely more than a shuttle, but it was the best they could do) was waiting when they got there, thank god. It would be one hell of a bumpy ride, but the ground still remained intact enough to launch from, and for that, they were grateful.
They hefted their bags onto the floor, and buckled themself in while the systems booted up. When they spared a final glance at their home world, the ground was bathed in a sickly light, the color of which they could not describe beyond painful. But the thrusters engaged nonetheless, and Lyfrassir squeezed their eyes shut as their craft crossed into low orbit.
It was even more dizzying without Midgard’s atmosphere acting as a meagre shield. Lyfrassir pressed their face into the seat in a vain attempt to block out the light, the colors that screamed in their ears like a song started long ago. They kicked the thrusters in full, praying it would be enough to get them out in time. Bathed in impossible light, they had no way of knowing if it was tears or blood running down their face and soaking into their collar.
And then–there is no better way to say it other than that the colors came and attacked the vessel. For a dizzying few minutes (minutes that felt like years, or was it only centuries that felt like minutes?) Lyfrassir was certain they were too late. That they were dying, or worse. They pressed what was left of their hands over what they thought was their eyes and begged for it to stop, leave them alone, let them rest somewhere quiet and dark and far away from the roiling nuclear chaos of what was once their home-world.
There was no moment they could point to as the one where they passed out, nor any singular moment where they could confidently say they woke up. But after drifting somewhere between dreams that felt too real and reality that felt like dreams, Lyfrassir became aware that they were alive. They had made it out, if not fully unscathed.
Lyfrassir rubbed their head, the movement sending a wave of nausea through them. They had awoken curled into a ball in the pilot’s seat with an awful headache. A cursory glance saw the smears of blood on the seat, though they couldn’t say where they were bleeding from. With the way their whole body ached, it was anyone’s guess. Their first action upon waking up was throwing up the contents of their stomach into a paper bag. The second was curling up on the floor and falling asleep again.
Thay had no way to know exactly how long they were asleep. Not when their ship’s clock hadn’t kept the proper time since they flew it through the bifrost’s epicenter, not when dreams seemed to bleed into reality like ink through thin paper. They did know, however, that it was long enough for them to get extremely dehydrated. They gathered themself up and spent a few minutes trying to figure out how the on-board water recycler worked. When they finally managed to get it working, they realized how damn bad it hurt to swallow. Some product of screaming for–however long it had been, most likely. Just one more thing they’d think about later. Once they were somewhere safe. Once the shock and adrenaline had worn off and they could start to think about what life after their whole system was wiped off the map meant.
God, they were tired. Sleeping for what was probably days hadn’t helped that fact. They were still exhausted, still in pain, still smudging drying blood onto the metal floor of the cockpit.
Hodmimmis was about a day’s travel away, according to the ship’s systems. This fact would have been reassuring to Lyfrassir if it hadn’t meant they hadn’t eaten in three. They didn’t feel hungry, but they knew that half a week without food probably wasn’t doing them any favors. They stumbled into the kitchenette and grabbed the thing that looked like it took the least amount of effort.
Shitty liquor and an instant muffin. Breakfast of champions.
Just keep going. If you think about everybody you left behind to be destroyed in the Bifrost you’ll never pull yourself together again.
Lyfrassir rubbed their head. They must have hit it at some point, if the dried blood crusting into their hair was any indication. They barely noticed. Everything hurt, every stimulus feeling turned up to eleven after their flight through the Bifrost.
Another wave of nausea hit them. They were this sick, this broken after only minutes in that thing. And their entire system was doomed to that for eternity, now. If they had figured it out earlier, if they had warned them sooner, maybe–maybe they could have–
Lyfrassir took a shaky breath, rubbing their eyes. They couldn’t think about that right now. If they let themself melt into a puddle of self-pity now, they’d be letting more people die. They were going to stop on Hodmimmis, tell them to evacuate before the fallout of the Bifrost destroyed them too, refuel and keep running. Doesn’t matter they’ve barely ever been off-world, let alone a whole other star system. Doesn’t matter there’s no reason why anyone on Hodmimmis would believe a shell-shocked, drunk Midgardian telling them that the entire Yggdrasil system was just gone. This was the only thing they could do now. The only thing left to do.
Lyfrassir stood up. They were still a day from the mining colony, and they could at least do something useful with it. They made their way to the small onboard bathroom to shower and change into clothes that weren’t covered in their own sweat and blood.
It was only when they were standing in front of the mirror that they noticed their hair. They had been prematurely greying before everything went to shit, but they were certain it hadn’t been fully white. Their eyes were solid white too, and they wondered for a moment if that was the reason why they’d hurt so badly when they woke up.
Lyfrassir ran a hand tentatively through their hair. In a long-ago art class, they remembered being told that white wasn’t a true color. That it was either the absence of any colored pigment or the presence of every color of light. Was this a presence or an absence? Did the impossibly swirling colors take some part of them for its own, or did it leave a part of itself behind within them? Which were they even hoping was true? Was it better to lose a part of yourself to survive, or to live the rest of your days knowing that the thing that destroyed your world still lives within you?
Gods. Getting existential over the color of their hair in the bathroom mirror. They really were losing it.
It wasn’t until Lyfrassir was in the show that they realised just how badly they’d been hurt. There was blood and vomit smudged on their face, and they were covered in bruises. They were aware, with a vague detachment, that their ears must have been bleeding at some point. That was…a concern for another time.
The shower had somehow left them even more exhausted, but this time they figured they should at least sleep in an actual bed rather than the floor of the cockpit. After changing into the only set of pajamas they’d had the foresight to bring, they curled up on one of the bunks. The blanket was thin and not especially soft, but they were too tired to care. They buried their face in the pillow and let themself drift off, praying the steady hum of the thrusters would drown out the ever-cloying impossible symphony that still hummed behind their eyes.
They weren’t left with much time to ponder, though, because they were asleep again within seconds.