CHAPTER 247: EYE OF WISDOM

The moment the light struck the centre of her forehead, a cold sensation bloomed. It spread from her brow through her skull, then seeped into every vein, every fibre of her being.

Then, an unstoppable tide of memory that was not her own surged into her mind. It was not mere knowledge but a symphony of sensation, image, and truth that crashed into her consciousness, threatening to drown her. Reality itself was rewritten in its wake.

She shivered violently. This was not the fleeting chill of winter’s breath, but a deep, root-born cold, seeping up from beneath the very earth and rising through the soles of her feet until it swallowed her whole.

The white trial ground was gone.

She stood instead as a lone consciousness at the base of a tree so vast its branches seemed to hold the heavens aloft. The colossal trunk shimmered like gold-veined mahogany, ageless and eternal. Roots like interconnected rivers pulsed with the colours of life... blue, green, gold, and white. While far above, the branches vanished into clouds of starlight, glowing with an emerald radiance that bathed the skies.

"Yggdrasil!"

The name came unbidden to her mind, not as sound but as a fundamental truth, as certain as her own existence. The air itself thrummed with ancient power, vibrating with a resonance older than time. At the roots, nestled in a cradle of gnarled wood, a pool of luminous water glowed with bioluminescence. Its light was soft, sacred, and heavenly. She felt herself drawn to it with a pull beyond will.

"Mímir’s Well."

The second name struck her with equal certainty.

And then she saw a figure of immense presence emerged from the shadows of memory. Cloaked in storms, he carried an aura of both wrath and yearning. His face was a landscape etched with fierce intelligence, profound sacrifice, and a longing so vast it seared like fire. She felt it within him... the unbearable thirst for knowledge, a hunger so deep it was not desire but pain.

"Odin!"

The name resonated in her core. The All-Father, a king who understood that power without wisdom was a hollow crown.

He bowed his head before the well, reverence woven into the gesture. His voice rang out, not in thunder, but in solemnity.

"My Lord, I have journeyed to the wellspring of all knowing. You know the trials I have endured to reach your presence. My thirst for knowledge is unquenchable, and I will not leave unsatisfied. Whatever price you demand, I shall pay."

From the depths of the well, something stirred.

A figure rose, not wholly a man, but a being born of water itself... fluid and eternal. His form shifted as though he were woven of liquid memory, until, slowly, he took on a vivid, lifelike shape.

He was tall, even by Odin’s measure, yet not brutish. He loomed like a giant, his frame akin to an ancient oak... gnarled, weathered, and immovable. There was strength there, but not of raw violence; it was the strength of roots that had endured storms since the dawn of time.

His face was long and austere, crowned with a high forehead marked not by worry, but by the etchings of endless thought. His eyes were the most striking thing about him... vast and fathomless, the colour of the deep sea beneath a storm-laden sky. Within them burned a calm, unblinking light, the eternal patience of one who had watched worlds turn and fall.

His hair and beard, long and flowing, were the colour of stone and moss. Strands were tied with simple cords, others adorned with tiny beads etched in runes so ancient they seemed to hum faintly. He wore only a plain leather robe, practical, unadorned... like a monk, or a hermit who needed nothing of vanity.

Yet what caught the eye most were the horns.

Great, sweeping horns jutted from either side of his forehead. One was whole, glowing faintly with a light that seemed drawn from the marrow of the earth. The other was broken, jagged at its edge... a wound, a symbol, perhaps both.

This was Mímir, guardian of the well.

When he spoke, it was not sound but resonance, like stone grinding in the earth’s depths, like rivers cutting their patient paths through epochs. The voice filled Eleanor’s mind, heavy as truth itself.

"The knowledge you seek has a steep price, Odin. Go back. Not all knowledge is meant for everyone."

But Odin’s answer came swift, his voice threaded with iron. "I will pay any price for knowledge."

Mímir regarded him, his gaze unblinking. "Even if you drank the waters dry, you would still err. You would still die, undone by your own fate. Do you still desire it?"

"I do," Odin said, his resolve unshaken.

"Then know this," Mímir intoned, "all who would learn must pay. To glimpse the secrets of the universe, you must surrender a part of yourself. For you, seeker of the unknown, the price is perception itself. I will not be cruel as my predecessor was. The cost is but one eye. Half of your vision to see the unknown."

There was no hesitation. Not the faintest flicker of doubt.

Eleanor felt it... Odin’s terrifying resolve. A will so absolute it eclipsed fear. To him, wisdom was dearer than flesh, truth dearer than sight. The thirst for knowledge burned brighter than pain, brighter than the sanctity of the body.

In an act both brutal and sacred, Odin reached up. His fingers dug without tremor into the hollow of his face. He tore out his eye.

Golden blood welled, spilling down his cheek, shining like liquid sun.

The pain was not a flash but a deep, wrenching severance. Eleanor gasped, her own vision swimming as if she herself were surrendering part of her sight. It was not merely the agony of torn flesh, but the vertigo of relinquishing perception... the willing surrender of half one’s vision for the sake of truth.

Then Odin dropped the eye into the well.

It sank slowly, a gleaming, bloody pearl descending into impossibly clear water. Yet it did not cloud the depths. Instead, the well received it, as if the sacrifice belonged. The eye merged with the waters, becoming part of their essence... an eternal testament to the price paid.

Mímir reached into the pool with calm inevitability and drew forth a broken great horn. Its surface shimmered now with a deeper, more terrible light. He offered it to Odin.

The draught was not water. It was everything.

As the liquid touched Odin’s lips, Eleanor’s mind fractured and was remade. She witnessed the birth of stars, the collapse of worlds, the whisper of the world’s end. She felt the weight of history and the tremor of futures yet unborn. It was not a ledger of knowledge, but a living comprehension of interconnection... the great weave of fate, war, life, and death.

And in that instant, she understood the true nature of his sacrifice.

Odin had surrendered one eye, but in return he gained a vision beyond flesh. He had traded the power to look at things for the wisdom to see them. He did not become a god who knew all; he became the wisest of gods because he understood how truth revealed itself.

The flood of memory snapped shut. Eleanor collapsed to her knees upon the blackness of the vault, her breath tearing in ragged gasps. A searing pain pulsed at the centre of her forehead, fierce and unrelenting. Something was carving itself into her, merging with her very being.

The agony became unbearable. She fainted as the pain lanced outward from her forehead like fire.

Yet just before the darkness claimed her, knowledge crystallised in her mind:

[Eye of Wisdom / Odin’s Eye]

Level 1: When opened, it eliminates ignorance, illusion, and desire, leading to complete freedom from worldly attachment.

Level 2: Locked.

Level 3: Locked.

Level 4: Locked.

Level 5: Locked.

Level 6: Locked.

Level 7: Locked.

Level 8: Locked.

Level 9: Locked.

[To unlock the next level, master the previous one.]

***

In the teleportation room, Professor Sylpha, the Chief Sergeant, and the other cadets waited with solemn faces. It had been more than ten minutes since the last cadet returned from the Vault of Yggdrasil. Everyone else had already completed their trials and claimed their rewards. Though none spoke aloud of the gifts they had received, each one was a success.

But Eleanor alone remained within the vault. With every passing minute, the professor’s expression grew darker. She knew the trials were not fatal, yet there was always the risk of harm if one dared to grasp something far beyond their limit.

Ophelia, Maíra, Jaciara, and Joshua stood together off to one side, their faces grave. Worry for Eleanor gnawed at them so fiercely that they could not even savour their own triumphs.

Then, at last, the teleportation gate shimmered with a dazzling white light, and Eleanor drifted out of it. Something was clearly wrong. Before she could collapse, Chief Sergeant moved like lightning, catching her mid-air and lowering her carefully to the floor.

Her chest rose and fell with steady breaths... she was alive, but unconscious.

Professor Sylpha stepped forward. "Let me examine her. I am no specialised healer, but I know the basics of restoration."

She ran her hands gently over Eleanor, murmuring spells under her breath. After a few moments, relief softened her face.

"She is unharmed... merely unconscious. I shall bring her to the Healers’ Pavilion for further care. Sergeant Major Ironclaw, please see that the others return to their dormitories."

With that, she lifted Eleanor into her arms and carried her out of the teleportation room.