I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 124: She Who Walks the Roots

The Council Hall had been summoned again—but this time, the formality was stripped bare.

Isaac stood once more on the central platform, flanked by Sylvalen and Lira. No ceremonial introductions, no drawn-out speeches. The air was different. Tense. Electric. The kind of stillness that came before a verdict—or a blade.

Aelira, First Princess of Thalara, stood tall from her seat.

"Isaac," she began without preamble. "The Council has reviewed the events surrounding your arrival… and the changes in the Tree."

Isaac's brow twitched, but he said nothing.

"The withering began the day you crossed our borders," Aelira continued. "You carry unknown powers, speak of skills and forces not born of this world, and possess a divine weapon forged with one of our own."

Sylvalen stiffened beside him. "You're accusing him without proof."

"We are observing patterns," the Vaelorn general interrupted, voice heavy with restrained aggression. "And patterns demand scrutiny."

The Y'selaria high priestess raised her hand. "We have not judged you guilty, Isaac. But we must consider the possibility that your presence—witting or not—is tied to the World Tree's suffering."

Isaac's voice was low. "If you already believe that, why ask me here?"

"To weigh intention," murmured the Naelith matriarch. "To see if your words contradict your nature."

A silent beat passed.

Lira stepped forward slightly, her voice sharp. "If this is an execution in disguise, just say it."

But before anyone could answer—

The lights dimmed.

The air changed.

And then—

She descended.

A burst of radiant wind swept through the chamber, stirring cloaks and robes alike. From a tear in space high above the platform, a figure clad in winged armor stepped through, descending as if gravity bent itself to her will.

Her wings were ethereal—woven of starlight and steel. Her armor shimmered with divine moonlight, and in her hand she bore a banner marked with a white rose bound in golden flame.

She landed in silence. The chamber fell still.

Even the councilors—those who ruled Elaraiya—stood without command.

The woman spoke, her voice carrying with the weight of heavens.

"I am Brynhildr, Valkyrie of the High Seat. Emissary of Freya, the Chosen of Beauty, the Keeper of Harmony, She Who Weeps for the Living World."

Isaac blinked once.

The Brynhildr?

The name echoed somewhere in the back of his memory, like a half-remembered myth.

The Valkyrie's eyes swept over the room, sharp and clear as winter glass. Then they landed on him.

For a moment, the world narrowed.

She studied him—not with suspicion, nor with hostility.

But with curiosity.

As if trying to see something behind his skin. A shadow or light no one else could glimpse.

"You are the one called Isaac," she said.

"I am," he replied calmly.

"I have watched your flame ripple across the threads of fate. I have seen the weapon you forged. I know not what you are, nor where your road leads. But I do not come to judge you."

Her gaze lifted to the Council.

"I come to deliver the truth you seek."

Aelira's voice, when it returned, was subdued. "Then speak, Valkyrie. What ails the Tree?"

Brynhildr turned, cloak trailing behind her, and stepped toward the pedestal at the center of the room. She drew no weapon, but her presence shook the roots.

"The World Tree is not bound only to this realm," she said. "Its roots stretch across existence—to the Upper Realms, to the Mortal Veins, and into the deepest shadow."

Her gaze darkened.

"The Abyss. Where light has no name, and time itself forgets."

The Eryndros elder paled. "The Abyss… is untouched. Sealed."

"Not anymore," Brynhildr said. "Something… or someone… has moved against the Root beneath the Abyss. It withers from that end—and now the sickness creeps upward."

The chamber fell into stillness. The implications were vast.

Naelith's matriarch whispered, "Then the withering… has nothing to do with—"

Brynhildr raised a hand.

"I said I do not come to judge the foreigner. But that does not mean he is untouched by fate."

She turned again to Isaac.

"There is something tangled within your path. Something that should not be. Whether you are shield… or blade… is yet to be seen."

Isaac's eyes narrowed slightly. "You came all this way to say that?"

The Valkyrie almost—almost—smiled.

"I came to stop you from being cast aside before your part has begun."

She turned back to the Council.

"The roots must be watched. But your gaze is too narrow. You see only your kingdom. Look deeper. Wider. Or all will be lost before spring returns."

Then, without waiting for approval, without seeking dismissal, she turned and walked toward the same radiant fold in the air from which she came.

A heartbeat later, she vanished.

The chamber was silent for a long while.

Then Aelira sat slowly back in her throne.

"Dismissed," she said, her voice barely audible. "For now."

As the three of them left the chamber, Sylvalen touched Isaac's arm.

"She didn't see you as a threat," she said.

"No," Isaac replied. "But she didn't see me as a friend, either."

Lira snorted. "Well. At least nobody tried to kill us."

Isaac looked back toward the chamber doors, still humming faintly with divine energy.

"Not yet," he murmured.