Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby novel Chapter 261

Chapter 261: The Forgotten Goddess

The Basics of Cultivation class was also drawing to an end. Through it, Eleanor had come to understand why Midgardians were required to undergo the Trial of Yggdrasil to achieve Ascendance... and why, later, they had to journey to Molgrath to advance their cultivation further.

In ancient times, Midgard had been rich in spiritual energy. Back then, high-level Ascendants were commonplace, and the realm itself was governed by cultivators. Many of the legendary heroes spoken of in myth were, in truth, powerful Ascendants of that golden age. Even Saint-level cultivators walked among mortals, though they too were bound by the realm’s natural restrictions.

Like the present era, Midgard had always imposed a limit upon those of Saint level. Yet, when the world teemed with abundant spiritual energy, the toll upon them was far less severe. Their descent into a lower realm did not sap their strength as cruelly as it does now.

Yggdrasil, the World Tree, was connected to countless realms. When an Ascendant reached the Saint level, they would be transported directly from Midgard to a higher world, chosen according to their aptitude and spiritual resonance.

On the opposite side of Yggdrasil’s network of realms lay the domains of the negative World Tree, Qliphoth. Though younger than Yggdrasil, Qliphoth had once cooperated harmoniously with it. However, that peace ended when the Outer God Nyarlathotep seized control of Qliphoth’s primary domain.

Throughout history, there had been many instances of Outer Gods visiting this part of the cosmos. They would linger for a time before departing again, and some even mingled with the local races, leaving behind half-divine descendants. But this time, matters were different. Under Nyarlathotep’s influence, Qliphoth began siphoning spiritual energy from neighbouring realms. At first, the decline was slow, gradual and largely ignored. Yggdrasil herself was preoccupied with nurturing new life across her vast dominion.

Then came Ragnarök. When the surviving gods were at their weakest, the demons of Qliphoth’s realm struck. They overwhelmed the divine domains and obliterated nearly all of them. Only Vanaheim endured the final war, saved by its formidable magical potency and by the forgotten goddess who led the remaining forces against the demons.

Ragnarök came about through the infighting of the gods. Much of the ancient history that followed was deliberately buried by Midgard’s protectors, and countless truths were lost to time. Only Yggdrasil herself knows what truly transpired... and what calamity cast Midgard into its present, diminished state.

As a lower realm, the Midgardians lived in ignorance, their understanding of the past gleaned only from the temples of the Forgotten Goddess. From these remnants they learned that the goddess and her celestial army had once driven the demonic hordes from Yggdrasil’s domain.

Yet the war had forever altered the balance of that sacred realm. The gods were gone... every one of them slain. The divine realms were reduced to ruin, and even Vanaheim was transformed. The corruption of demonic energy seeped into its atmosphere and soil, twisting its natural order and reshaping its creatures. For that reason, when Midgardians ascend to Vanaheim, they cannot remain there for long; even its water and air are toxic to them.

It is said that, before her death, with the last of her divine essence, the Forgotten Goddess sealed Vanaheim against further invasion. She also reshaped her temples, preparing them as conduits through which, in ages to come, mortals of Midgard might ascend... and one day stand against the demons once more.

After her fall, Yggdrasil concealed Vanaheim within her own sphere, granting Midgardians the chance to ascend, as the goddess had wished.

Vanaheim itself remains a place of haunting beauty and danger. By day, its sky burns gold, illuminated by a solitary sun that bathes the mirrored lands in light refracted through a dense, shimmering mana-field. This radiant daylight offers only a fragile window for travel, for when night descends, the world is cast beneath the ethereal glow of three constant moons. Their white light paints every surface in spectral silver, while above them stretches a sky of treacherous stars... constellations that shift and rearrange from one horizon to the next. No starmap can chart them; only the three moons remain steadfast, the lone celestial anchors in a realm where even the heavens refuse to stay still.

This realm is a beautiful, poisoned crucible. Its terrain mirrors that of Earth... lush forests, vast deserts, and boundless oceans... yet every element here is perilous to mortal life. The waters are tainted, the plants and creatures steeped in a corrupting miasma, for Vanaheim’s natural order has long been infected by demonic energy. This blight ensures that no mortal can safely depend upon its resources for long; every sip of water, every breath of air, becomes a calculated risk.

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