Thrym

A hoarse and unfamiliar voice echoed in his head. Where it came from, he could not tell, but it was disoriented and distant. The words, if they were words at all, were foreign to him and sounded ancient, primal even. At first, he tried to ignore the echo out of sear fear of the unknown - but it wouldn't stop. He was unable to think clearly, his thoughts being dwarfed by the ancient voice. As a single world, Thyrm, formed he understood that it was a call.

His hands were numb and his back was sore. The call eased its grip on him the moment he decided to find the source. He could think again since. Somehow, he knew exactly where to go, but he had no idea what to expect there. Week's long stone crushing was not among his expectations. But he had to get deeper. He lifted the pickaxe again and showed it into the weakened stone wall in front of him. A small opening appeared - at last.
The sea roared, and cold waves touched his ankle. They were unusually chilly. He hit again and again until the opening was big enough for him to crawl in. With a relieved, yet fearful sigh he lit a torch and began to ascend the depths.
Little light and warmth the torch granted him, he touched the walls to help him navigate - but he could not hold to them, as the stone was cold. Colder, than the hour of the wolf in winter's zenith. A little progress he made and the air followed the wall's example and became chilly and unwelcoming. He held his torch close to his chest, just to stay alive, but it went out. In the pitch, deadly darkness, the voice reappeared - it guided him, kept him warm and safe.
As he got deeper and deeper into the stomach of the world, the air became slightly warmer. The walls were still freezing, but the voice kept on guiding him. He could not tell how many steps he made, or whether he was walking in circles. He lost scene of the time as well - was it minutes or years he spent in the darkness? It all seemed the same.
The temperature turned out to be the lesser of the changes, for it wasn't the only thing that has shifted - the voice. The formerly distant and inaudible words were beginning to clear up as he ascended. Their mysterious source he sought to find was close.
A dim gleam of light appeared in the distance. He halted to take a deep breath, then closed in. His footsteps loudly clasped on the frozen ground as he walked. Suddenly the dying light turned into a bright, burning wall, blocking his way. The voice ordered - it has cleared up completely. The sound was deep, hoarse and primal. Centuries perhaps far more was behind the speaker. He could not help himself but feel respect and a deep and unexplainable bond towards the mysterious being. "Fear not," said the voice. He did not, not anymore, and walked into the flames.

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