Harken, I beseech from the sacred kin,

Of Heimdall's offspring, high and low;

Valfather's will, my tale to spin,

Of ancient lore in the days of yore I know.

Giants of old in memory stand,

Bestowing bread in bygone days;

Nine realms within the tree grand,

Roots entwined beneath the earth's maze.

In the land where shadows creep,

A truth eternal whispers, winds decree;

Profound darkness, in dawn's sweep,

Yields to the light, a radiant glee.

The woman's voice ceased its melodic narration for a few seconds, leaving a lingering echo that resonated in the hollow space around.

“Who’s this?” Steve asked.

Behold, at the equinox of spring,

A moment destined, a tale's rebirth;

I, a seer of humble wing,

Acknowledge the fickle nature of fate's worth.

Threads of destiny elusive, entwine,

A present pursuit, a key may hold;

Admitting my foresight's flawed design,

Yet altering course, errors unfold.

The woman sang, her words veiled in cryptic wisdom. "Who are you?" Steve asked again, but the silence that followed offered no answers.

Suddenly, he found himself plunging into a deep, dark void. Within this abyss, a dissonance of incongruent sounds echoed — the desperate pleas for forgiveness mingled with the joyous laughter of children. Steve, attempting to shield himself from the noise, covered his ears, but the unequal voices persisted, ringing in the emptiness.

As he collapsed, the ground seemed to absorb him, and an excruciating stillness enveloped him. Two faceless figures, their bodies marked by the scars of many battles, materialized beside him. With gentle care, they lifted Steve, each grasping one of his arms, and carried him into an area shrouded in total darkness.

The once-pervasive screams and laughter ceased, replaced by an eerie calm. In the dim obscurity, Steve's eyes adjusted, revealing a moonlit valley spread beneath the night sky. Before him stood a magnificent throne of weathered stone, its grandeur marred by time and decay.

The faceless men placed Steve on the ground, positioning him about ten feet away from the ancient seat. The moon's ethereal glow bathed the scene, casting long dancing shadows.

Seated upon the magnificent throne, Steve's gaze fixed upon a man clad in a black coat, his face hidden beneath a hood, ‘A member of Völundr retinue?’ He wondered. Two wolves flanked this unknown man, and atop the stone chair perched two three-eyed ravens.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Steve mumbled.

Two faceless naked men stood nearby, pointing towards the figure on the throne. As Steve approached, the man on the throne rose, prompting Steve to kneel. An unspoken exchange occurred, and then Steve found himself occupying the regal seat while the other man vanished into the ephemeral currents of the dream.

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Surveying the surreal landscape, Steve witnessed the miraculous growth of a tree. In mere moments, it transformed into a centuries-old giant, laden with apples. A symphony of coppery birds, resembling majestic hawks, descended from the branches and alighted a few feet away. One of them fixed Steve with its piercing golden eyes before taking flight in the direction of the throne.

The dream released its ethereal grip as Steve awakened, rubbing his eyes to dispel the lingering visions. A sense of déjà vu enthralled him, and he recalled the words of De Hard in prison—a premonition of sorts. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

"The dream I had in prison," he murmured, recalling De Hard's words and the vision he experienced. The word "Walpurgisnacht" echoed in his mind. Folktales had mentioned it, but he never fathomed its reality. Yet, amid the unfolding chaos, nothing seemed too extraordinary.

Steve, resolute, crawled towards his katana, a mere five feet away. The cold metal greeted his left hand as he wielded it. Memories of De Hard's enigmatic ring surfaced, and he fumbled in his pocket, retrieving the artifact. His gaze lingered on the ring as he sat for a moment, contemplating its mysterious surface.

A gust of wind, swept through, ruffling Steve's hair and coat. In a twist of fate, the ring slipped from his fingers, bouncing on the katana. The once-solid blade transformed into golden dust, absorbed by the hungry ring, giving birth to a new engraving.

Steve grinned as he rose to his feet. The ring found its place on his right index finger. Silvery shadows, reflections of the dormant weapons within the ring, surrounded him in an ethereal dance. Among them, his katana stood resolute flickering in a gray ghostly light. With conviction in his heart, Steve descended the stairs at a deliberate pace.

He noticed Joanne all the way down the destroyed entrance stairs next to an unconscious Hatta. Joanne turned back, sensing his presence. She raised her voice to cast a spell, "Sagittari!" Twenty Arcis emerged like blooming flowers, rallying with arbalests and longbows at the ready. Arrows loosed through the air, and the silvery shadows covering Steve spun around him, coming to a stop on a Greek aspis. The shield materialized, the word Aígis glowing with a bluish flash beneath.

Steve, tapping into the newfound strength coursing through him, gripped the shield with his left hand. The arrows found no target, their lethal trajectory thwarted by the ethereal barrier. Turning his attention to his right side, he discovered the presence of a belt, a hammer, and a pair of gloves. Beneath them, words materialized, a testament to their hidden power: Járngreipr, Mjölnir, and Megingjörd, respectively.

He dropped the shield, seamlessly melding itself into the shadows, maintaining its protective vigil. A heavy metal belt, adorned with a circular buckle, found its place around Steve's waist. He reached for the hammer, lifting it effortlessly. The hammer had intricate engravings of trees and runes. Its weight, however, betrayed him, transforming into a force that brought itself crashing to the ground. Unfazed, he seized the leather gloves, donning and fastening them. As he retrieved the hammer, its weight shifted once again, becoming as light as a feather in his grasp.

Steve surged forward, a cascade of silvery shadows trailing behind him like ethereal phantoms. Gripping the hammer with both hands, he swung it with determination, colliding with one of the armored adversaries. The hammer unleashed electrical shock waves, creating a powerful gust of wind that sent the Arcis hurtling into its companions, a dominos-like cascade of metallic forms crashing to the ground.

Understanding that the key to their destruction lay in extinguishing the inner flame, Steve continued his relentless assault, systematically quenching the light within each one. His path led him towards Joanne, who sought escape amidst the chaos.

“You OK?” He asked as he approached Hatta. The old man groaned. He was battered and wounded, blood covering his face. Fortunately, he still breathed.

Once again surrounded by the silvery shadows, a Roman spear named Longinus materialized before him. Steve, fueled by the urgency of the chase, seized the spear with his right hand and hurled it towards Joanne. Swift as the wind, she evaded its trajectory. In its wake, a second lance emerged, slightly shorter, its curved blade named Ame no Nuboko. Steve repeated the motion, this time finding its mark as it struck Joanne on the right flank. She stumbled as her clothes were stained with warm blood, but she quickly recovered, determination etched across her face as she continued her desperate flight.

In the heat of the pursuit, Steve's senses heightened, revealing the presence of a new valuable tool, a bow named Astra. With agility, he retrieved arrows from within the shadows and then drew the bow with practiced precision. Arrows whistled through the air, aimed at Joanne. Yet, despite his skill, the elusive Jana managed to evade the deadly rain.

A sudden whirlwind of wind manifested to Steve's left, the arrival of Kyrie and Alouqua. Their presence added a new layer of complexity to the unfolding confrontation.

"Steve!" Aloqua's voice pierced through the chaos. “Take this!”

Alouqua tossed a shining red apple at him, he didn’t think twice and took a bite. He felt a warm sensation covering his body, as his muscle aches disappeared, his wounds healed, and his fatigue faded away.

“Help Hatta,” He yelled.

Alouqua noticed the old man a few feet from her and reached out to him. She summoned another red apple out of thin air and forced the delirious Hatta to chew on the apple.

"Go get your family!" Kyrie insisted on her. “I’ll take care of him.”

Alouqua simply nodded, determination etched on her face as she marched into the ruins of the devastated building.

Kyrie turned to Steve, his eyes reflecting weariness and resolve. "Go get your daughter. I'll handle this, Mr. Hammer." Kyrie bantered.

Steve sighed after the bad joke, however, he quickly briefed Kyrie on the Arcis's vulnerabilities before setting off in pursuit of Joanne. Along the way, he deftly grabbed the two spears, avoiding confrontation with the challenging moving armors.

Kyrie's appearance caught his attention. The paleness of Kyrie’s face hinted that he was not in top condition, as dark circles beneath Kyrie's eyes showed his fatigue. Steve had also noticed the extent of Kyrie's injuries. The left arm was missing, covered with makeshift bandages. Kyrie's remaining arm was covered with intricate S-shaped tattoos, as he gripped his halberd with determination.

"Ca!" Kyrie's voice resonated as Steve rushed past the Arcis. The halberd blades turned into petal-like shapes. With a swift motion, he hurled it like a boomerang, the blades cutting through the armors, extinguishing the blue flames in a graceful display of precision and skill.