Chapter Text
The plains of Hallorka stretched as far as the eye could see, blanketed in snow and ash. The wind bit at faces, howling between the cracked rocks, whipping the snow into swirling eddies.
In the distance, a low rumble rose. It wasn't thunder. It was the footsteps of the Gumm-Gumms.
Orlagk, their king, advanced at the head of his army. Around him, thousands of massive figures emerged from the icy mist: chipped armor, colossal weapons, guttural cries. Each breath exhaled a cloud of white. Their eyes gleamed with a reddish light in the fog.
"Keep moving forward!" roared Orlagk, his voice echoing like thunder across the hills.
The war drums answered, heavy and steady. The earth trembled. But despite the discipline he imposed, a doubt gnawed at him. Gunmar, his traitorous general, still hadn't reappeared. He had taken with him several hundred Gumm-Gumms, elite warriors. And since then, not a word.
Orlagk clenched the hilt of his Decimaar blade, his jaw clenched.
Cowards, or dead men... what does it matter.
His gaze drifted into the mist, toward the horizon. The traitors had not reappeared. Perhaps they had fled, overwhelmed by their numbers. If Gunmar was still alive, then he would return. And on that day, he would fall beneath his blade.
Further on, in the same mist, another footstep could be heard.
Gunmar advanced alone, his skin covered in frost, his eyes ablaze with rage and certainty. Behind him, his troops, far fewer than Orlagk's, followed in silence.
The rebels.
They knew they were marching toward death, but none of them wavered.
Gunmar didn't speak. Not yet. He followed the ancient breath of the wind, the whisper that, it was said, led to the Jotnar.
The snow grew thicker. Then, around a bend in the plateau, the figures appeared. Seven large creatures, motionless, standing in the mist.
Their size, their bearing, everything about them exuded the power and immutability of the mountains.
Their eyes shone, red, blue, gold, according to the nature of their magic. Their presence made the earth tremble beneath the feet of the rebellious troll.
Gunmar stopped several meters away from them.
Silence reigned. Only the wind blew between the columns of ice. A deep laugh rose: that of Osaffor, the largest of the seven, whose massive horns rose like two peaks.
"Well, well... Pure blood in our mountains?" His voice echoed between the cliffs.
The other Jotnar turned, intrigued. Myrrah, Ember Horns, was practically melting the snow beneath her claws. Kirin, Thunder Breather, gave a mocking sneer. Karai, Stone Eater, sniffed, his fangs snapping in the cold. Aldröna, Water Thorn, watched silently, already tracing runes in the air. Shax-Kuga, Shadow Messenger, remained motionless, impassive.
And at the very end, Jörmegaëlir, the Frozen Maw, the youngest, barely glanced away, as if he expected nothing from this bold troll.
Gunmar knelt on one knee. "Great Jotnars, I come to claim your strength."
"And why," Karaï snapped with a predatory grin, "should we lend our magic to a troll?"
"Because this war will change the world. Because you and your people, Aarkars, will be free." Gunmar raised his head, his blazing gaze meeting Osaffor's. "Lend me your power. Help me defeat Orlagk. Lend me your flames, your lightning, your shadows, your ice. In return, I will offer you a world where the Aarkars will no longer be beasts, but lords."
Silence fell once more. The wind died away. The Jotnars exchanged meaningful glances.
Myrrah stepped forward first, her voice echoing like a blazing fire. "I accept. Let it all ignite."
Kirin laughed, pounding her fist in the snow. "It's settled!"
Karaï cracked a shard of stone between his fangs. "If there are trolls to devour, I'll go."
Aldrona sighed, raising her hand, her runes fluttering like snowflakes. "I'm in."
Shax nodded slowly. "If Osaffor leads, I'll go too." Her gaze fell upon the immense half-troll at her side, awaiting her brother's decision.
The tall, white-eyed Jotnar remained silent for a moment, then looked down at the younger. "And you, Jörmegaëlir?"
The younger brother averted his eyes, his breath chilling the air. "You already know what I think of all this..." His gaze lingered briefly on Gunmar, who was imperceptibly clenching his fist. "Your wars don't interest me."
Osaffor placed his heavy hand on his shoulder. "Then watch over those we leave behind. Gnasha will lead the Ìsskar clan at our side." He turned to Gunmar. "So be it. We will march beside you. But I warn you, troll. Fire burns everything, even its allies."
Gunmar rose slowly, a hard smile on his lips. The pact was sealed.
Gunmar raised his hand. A raucous cry shattered the silence, echoed by a hundred others. The rebels pounded their weapons on the ground, sending snow flying.
Around them, the Aarkars emerged from the darkness, beasts of every shape and form, their skin a mix of scales and rock, their eyes gleaming. A few dragons accompanied them. The Jotnars watched from the heights, impassive.
Under their command, the Aarkars marched. The earth groaned. The sky darkened.
At the far end of the plain, Orlagk was raising his army. The ranks of the Gumm-Gumms stretched as far as the eye could see, like a tide of stone and rage.
The king gazed at the horizon where, through the mist, he glimpsed the rebel group.
A joyless laugh rose from his throat. "So that's it?" he snarled. "So this is the greatness of Gunmar... a few hundred traitors?"
His generals laughed in turn. But the laughter died quickly. Behind Gunmar, shifting shadows emerged from the mist: the Aarkars. Thousands of them. And, towering above their figures, the leaders of the seven Aarkar clans appeared.
Their arrival made the armies tremble. Even Orlagk, for a moment, felt fear creep into his heart.
Gunmar advanced, weapon in hand, his gaze fixed on his former master. "Orlagk. Your pitiful reign is over!"
Orlagk burst into laughter. "You think you can overthrow me with these impure creatures? These soulless beasts?" He spat on the ground. "Let them come then. We'll crush them like all the others."
The first war cry came from an Aarkar. A roar so deep it made the surrounding peaks tremble. Then the battle erupted.
The ground became fire, stone, and blood. The Gumm-Gumms charged, pounding their sledgehammers, their entire bodies rippling with rage. The Aarkars toppled them like chaff, spitting flames, lightning, and ice, tearing their bodies apart with their claws.
Even the Jotnars joined the fray. Myrrah, half-Monstrous Nightmare, reduced the enemy lines to ashes, her fury illuminating the plain. Kirin, laughing, unleashed lightning upon dozens of trolls. Karaï, immense, crushed those who came too close. Aldrona cracked the ground with her runes, causing searing geysers to erupt. Shax-Kuga, silent, drowned entire regiments in her shadows. Osaffor, for his part, remained calm, advancing like a judge through the tumult.
But as the hours passed, the flame of some died out. Kirin was the first to stop, casting a weary glance at the sky.
"Already dead. All of them..." She turned away, her lightning dying in the wind.
Aldrona followed her, erasing her runes. "This game bores me."
Without another word, they walked away, their clans with them.
Gunmar, in the thick of the fight, saw their silhouettes disappear into the mist. His roar cut through the din.
"What are you doing?!"
But both clans had already left.
The fight continued nonetheless. The remaining Aarkars struck, roared, and fought until their claws broke.
Gunmar was covered in blood and ash; they had won. The enemy troops had finally retreated. But Orlagk still lived...
Gunmar planted his halberd in the ground. The remaining loyal Gumm-Gumms threw down their weapons. The shouts died away.
But deep inside Gunmar, victory brought no peace.
He turned toward the mountains, where the distant Jotnars still watched from afar.
"They mock me... They think they're above it all." He clenched his fist. "Let them learn the price of betraying a pact."
Beside him, an Aarkar with a frosty mane approached. His eyes gleamed with a cold, cunning light. "Leave it to me, my king," he murmured.
Gunmar stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Gnasha... find them. Destroy what's left of them. Start with the one who never wanted to fight."
Gnasha bowed his head, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his lips. "At your service."
In the northern mountains, Jörmegaëlir gazed at the field of ruins in the distance.
The wind still carried the scent of iron and blood. He didn't know if his brothers and sisters would return. Perhaps they didn't want to.
The crunch of ice beneath his feet was the only response to the distant rumble of Gunmar's drums.
Then, he heard a breath behind him. He barely had time to turn around. Iron chains clanked in the snow. A figure covered in scales and shards of ice advanced through the mist.
"Your... new king... awaits you," hissed Gnasha.
Jörmegaëlir fell to his knees, the ice splitting the ground beneath his weight. The chains closed around his arms, around his neck... The air grew heavier.
"I've been waiting for this for a long time..." murmured Gnasha, tugging at the chain. "The world has no place for those who refuse to fight."
Young Jotnar lowered his head. He didn't have the strength to resist.
Jörmegaëlir's chains clattered in the snow, dragged by Gnasha's powerful arms. The Aarkar advanced without a word, its breath icy. Behind them, the plain was silent, covered in ash and the frozen corpses of flesh and stone. The young Jotnar stumbled with every step, but Gnasha kept firing, unmoved by his pleas.
When they reached the ruins of the rebel camp, Gunmar was waiting for them.
"So this is Jörmegaëlir, the Frozen Maw, child of Skadi," he murmured. "A grand name for a coward."
Gnasha forced the Jotnar to his knees. The chains clanked, a mournful echo in the cavern. "He is yours, my king," he said with a smile.
Gunmar stepped forward and laid a heavy hand on his prisoner's head. "The others are either in hiding or have left. The Jotnars are slowly disappearing, they and their clans, but you... you will serve me."
He gestured. The Gumm-Gumm soldiers seized the chains, dragging Jörmegaëlir into the depths of the lair. "Lock him up," Gunmar said. "Let him live without pride."
Years passed. Gunmar's victory spread, relentless. The troll clans that resisted him were crushed one by one. Orlagk's clan remained elusive.
And always at his side stood Gnasha. The traitor Aarkar, promoted to general. He led the raids, burned the villages. His name became a whispered terror, that of the wingless dragon, the cruellest of Gunmar's generals.
But in the stone dungeons, a being was slowly forgetting his name. Jörmegaëlir no longer knew how many seasons he had lived. At first, he had screamed. He had pounded against the walls until his fingers were broken.
Then the cold, which he had once resisted, had taken hold of him. They threw carcasses of dead animals at him. When he refused, they beat him.
The soldiers laughed at his silence. They forced him to crawl, to clean their weapons, to fight other prisoners for their amusement.
The Frost Jotnar was now nothing more than an animal at the bottom of a pit. His breath, once capable of freezing mountains, now formed only faint clouds. His eyes, once bright blue, had grown dull, almost lifeless.
Sometimes, he heard the rumble of Gunmar's armies above him, like a distant echo of a world he had never wanted to see born.
And then, one day, nothing.
Silence. The drums had fallen silent, the shouts too.
The Gumm-Gumms were gone. They had left these lands for new territories, carrying their wars with them.
The trolls' footsteps faded into the distance, leaving behind only ruins and ashes. But Jörmegaëlir's prison had never been emptied.
He remained alone.
The days stretched into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. He expected nothing more.
Then, one night, the snow fell again, silent. A footstep echoed in the corridor. Light... human. A figure approached, wearing a long, dark cloak, studded with frost. Her eyes shone with a soft, blue, ethereal light.
"You... you have never hated, not even in war..." she murmured.
Her voice seemed to come from another time, another place. The Jotnar raised his head with difficulty.
His chains still weighed heavily on his wrists, rusted, embedded in his flesh. He could no longer even speak... Not after all this time. Not after all the torture he had endured...
"I am Lady Illyra, mage of time and change," she replied softly.
She knelt before him, placing her icy hand on his forehead. "The world has stolen your form. I will give you a new one."
The light rose, pure and silent. The frost that covered his skin transformed into flesh.
The chains crumbled, falling with a metallic clang. The colossus collapsed into her arms. And when the light faded, it was no longer a monster that lay there...
The witch gently lifted him, wrapping him in her cloak.
"Sleep," she murmured. "Time will give you back what the war took from you."
