As they stood, bloody and exhausted, their loved ones’ corpses strewn about them, they beheld ground coming back where they had just seen it burn, ruined by smoke and flame and the feet of legions of giants. This new Earth was greener, more peaceful and full of life than it had been before the Doom. The ground sprouted grass with no urging, and trees and foliage sprang up as if by powerful life magick.
Those few left, they who remained, who had survived the End, all drifted as individual units to the plain where they had all begun. It was more beautiful than it had ever been before. The grass more vibrant, the sky was brighter, more alive while nearly devoid of life than it had ever been while full.
Quietly, they began to speak. Recount the tales of their fathers, and of their father’s fathers. Those few who had survived walked the plain together as they exchanged tales as had not been told since the coming of the giant’s daughters and the birthing of the dwarves. The companion of Hel joined them, as did those others fated to return after the Twilight of the Gods.
Laughing, the Æsir walked together in half-peaceful companionship. They were in a plain of peace as had never been, but they were yet coated with the blood of their brothers.
It was Vali who stumbled. Bending down, he dislodged from the dirt a shining golden king, a prized piece of one of the fine cheque sets once played by their fathers, before the coming of the three giant’s girls. The others left fell silent as all gazed at the priceless token, the legacy of a painless age long lost.