Dawn of Violent Skies (The Fallen Realms Trilogy #1)

Prologue

Asgard was crashing down around them—Ragnarok had arrived, proving the gods wrong.

The prophecies had been more than legends, and yet none took heed.

Too many Seers of old had told various falsehoods for their own benefit and they had lost credibility, leading the gods to foolishly assume their downfall was a hoax.

And yet, with fire and brimstone, the once beautiful and affluent city of the gods crumbled, and Fenrir’s loud growl reverberated through the realms. Asgard lay in shambles, the bodies of gods and goddesses scattered throughout, torn to shreds by the newly freed wolf.

A lone god cried out at the sight of Odin’s lifeless body draped over Frigg’s still form.

The rainbow bridge burst into a blinding white light, illuminating the branches of Yggdrasil. The god watched in horror as nine whole planets shattered. Confusion swept over him—This wasn’t prophesied.

Ragnarok was supposed to be the death of the gods, not the death of the realms. He could do nothing but watch as the worlds imploded as if time had slowed, allowing him to witness the atrocity. The god could almost hear the sound of trillions of life forms screaming in unison.

He closed his eyes, chanting the death prayer in a quiet voice as Yggdrasil’s light began to fade.

A growl sounded from behind him, sending a chill down his spine.

He spun to stare into the blood-red eyes of the great wolf.

His end had come, as the legends foretold.

He was not scared of Death—for millennia she had been his constant companion.

He was ready for the halls of Valhalla. What he wouldn’t allow was the death of life itself.

Before Fenrir could pounce, the god whispered a spell and threw the closest weapon he could reach at the very heart of Yggdrasil.

It landed with a satisfying burst of light, halting the implosion of the planets.

A glowing shard from each realm fell towards him, the spell pulling magic from the very core of his being.

The wolf had been momentarily distracted but refocused and twisted back to fulfill his destiny. The god closed his eyes, preparing for the pain of being ripped apart by sharp fangs.

Instead, an unseen magic tugged at him. The spell he cast physically dragged him away from the wolf.

His eyes flew open with a brief feeling of hope that he would escape Death.

But the relief was short-lived because instead of teeth, he found a giant paw coming straight towards him. The spell pulled, but it was too late.

As the claws connected, everything went black.