I Sleep.

Waiting.

Under the ocean.

Old and scarred and bitter, coiled in the deep and sunless dark.

axe-age, sword-age, shields are cleft asunder,
wind-age, wolf-age, before the world plunges headlong;
no man will spare another

Until the day the sky turns to poison and my enemy will walk nine paces and then die. I shall go to my end gladly, as the old ones die with me. The world tree shall wither and even my father, prince of lies himself, shall fall.

The ocean stirs up storms against heaven itself,
washes over the land, and the air yields;
from there come snow and biting winds;
then it is decreed that the gods come to their end.

The world shall drown and be reborn.

And I suppose all will be well in Eden until another old snake brings ruin upon paradise and old sins are made anew.

The world belongs to our children now. Let them destroy it as we destroyed ours.

Just give me my last glorious battle, my final victory… and I shall be content.

But until then, I sleep.

Under the ocean.

Waiting.