Type-Moon: Does even a sneak peek make it official?

"So, you're not Sigurd after all… but Siegfried. In this era, you are the one who shares his essence."

The werewolf spoke with a note of wonder.

Sinfiötli was the son of Signý and her brother Sigmund. Signý's husband had slain both her father and brothers. In order to take revenge, Signý transformed herself into a sorceress, deceived her brother, and bore him a son—Sinfiötli. Later, father and son together avenged their kin, after which Signý took her own life.

In time, Sigmund married Borghild. Upon Sinfiötli's return from war, Borghild offered him three cups of poisoned wine, intending to kill him. Sigmund intercepted the first two, but the third Sinfiötli drank of his own will.

After Sinfiötli's death by poison, Sigmund carried his body to a riverbank, where Odin—disguised as a ferryman—guided him across to Valhalla.

"The brother of Sigurd, King of Warriors… the hero Sinfiötli."

Only after some exchange did Siegfried and Sinfiötli—descended into this age within the body of a wolf—come to understand each other.

It is said that both Siegfried and Sigurd slew the dragon Fáfnir, but in truth, Fáfnir was not a single creature—rather, he was the embodiment of greed itself. In the age of the gods and after, that same greed would manifest again in similar dragon-forms. After the end of the divine era, the lingering "dragon factor" left in the world could, under the right conditions, grow once more into dragons suited to the age.

But the Fáfnir phenomenon was different—it was a greed-born corruption that never truly vanished. Even a god, driven to the extreme by avarice, could succumb to the transformation into a dragon.

"By the way, the two of you have been talking for quite a while… Sinfiötli, was there something you came here for?"

Though this was Avia's first meeting with the werewolf, perhaps due to the effect of Odin's runes, he recognized the warrior's true identity instantly.

At that, the werewolf bared his fangs and turned to Avia, his expression bright.

"You must be the warrior chosen by the All-Father himself. I have come for you."

In truth, Sinfiötli's descent into this world had been Odin's doing—part of a trial granted by the god, a means of aiding mankind.

But the timing of this mission was set before he ever met Avia. Once Odin saw him—and heard his promise—he decided to entrust everything to this human whom even Greece and the All-Father himself would acknowledge. Originally, Odin had planned to recall Sinfiötli immediately, but the hero asked to remain a while longer to help the people of this time. So the god let him be.

During that time, Sinfiötli hunted a fire-dragon guarding a treasure in the Scandinavian Isles. This dragon, it seemed, had been born from a fragment of Jörmungandr's dragon-factor. Though slain, its malice lingered—fading slowly over decades. Before it dispersed completely, the beast would revive once more, and would have to be killed again.

Even so, instead of rushing straight to Avia, Sinfiötli followed his own instincts—heading deep into a secluded Nordic mountain to find an isolated werewolf village. There, he claimed a single Tear of the Stars.

"This," Sinfiötli said, extending his arms, "is my gift to you."

What he held was a golden-furred, wolf-headed child.

Avia knew at once what it was—a universal lifeform, able to change its form at will, not bound by the need for a physical anchor to exist in the material world. In the language of magi, it was a higher-dimensional being whose soul had already been made manifest—its body shaped of solidified spirit, able to transform into the tentacles of the stars.

It was a mystery born of the planet itself—an impossibly rare miracle that descended only after thousands, even tens of thousands, of years. Neither magical nor illusory, but truly sacred. A bane to sorcery. A lifeform from the now-extinct divine age, carrying the primal werewolf's bloodline—surpassing magical beasts, classed among the phantasmal species… though in truth, its combat prowess could not match that of a skilled savage warrior.

By some measure, Sinfiötli's gift was extraordinary. But for Avia—already wielding the power of Typhon and Odin's runes—its strength was roughly on par with the three-headed dragon Zmey Gorynych. Still, he accepted it. After all, in the work of destroying the Western Roman Church, one could never have too much power.

"Well then—my deepest thanks for this gift. But I take it you didn't come only to bring me this, did you, Sinfiötli?"

"You're right, Lord Avia." The werewolf smiled again. "I already know of the threat the All-Father spoke of. I cannot stand by and do nothing."

At present, Sinfiötli's wolf-born eyes, for some unknown reason, possessed the qualities of an extremely high-grade Norse Mystic Eyes.

Through them, he saw a red-haired girl sitting cross-legged on Avia's shoulder, glancing about with interest. On the other shoulder, he saw a white-haired fairy, who looked even more delighted than the dragon-girl—a sight that matched well with Sinfiötli's image of what a fairy should be.

He paid it no great mind. Born in the Norse divine age and hailed as a great hero, such sights did not seem strange to him. For heroes—whether of the North or from far-off Greece—this kind of scene was commonplace. With a few rare exceptions.

He set aside the thought and continued:

"Please—let me stand with you, and together we will end the disaster the All-Father has spoken of. The werewolves of the North will fight as well—they will arrive in time."

As a werewolf whose very essence was the great hero Sinfiötli, the werewolf clans had, upon sensing his aura, knelt without hesitation. Among the phantasmal wolf-folk, submission to the strong was an instinct as old as their blood.

"Very well. Then let us face this so-called disaster together, Sinfiötli."

Avia's smile matched the moment's gravity, his blue eyes lifting to meet the gaze of the werewolf who stood a head taller.

"Whether it's an ancient terror or a planetary calamity—if it harms this world, it should be erased."

His silver hair swayed lightly in the sea breeze, sunlight breaking on it in gold, as if it were a torch burning bright.

"So long as I still exist."

In truth, Avia had already thought of a title for himself. At present, his ranks included the progenitor-dragon Typhon, the three-headed dragon Zmey Gorynych, the Dead Apostle Princess, the two great knights, the star-born golden wolf, the werewolf Sinfiötli, the Norse king Beowulf, the giant-god mind Attila, and the Marshal of Magecraft. One could say he had drawn to his side almost every major figure outside of the Church.

So… surely "King of Kings" was not too much to ask.

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