Skirnir felt like his heart might burst from sheer euphoria. After years of shooting arrows blindly into the darkness, he had finally slain a dragon.
The other Vanir might whisper behind his back about his rigid ways—he knew they thought he could have been a senator if he'd just loosened up a little. But he couldn't dismiss Sea Lord Njord's final prophecy like some old wives' tale. Loyalty had been his entire existence; he wouldn't even know how to live any other way.
When Aegir had agreed to the spar, Skirnir had expected a drawn-out affair—maybe a tie, perhaps a narrow victory for his new king. Not a loss, of course. Even inexperienced with his newfound power, Aegir wielded the strength of Sea Lord Njord himself. Surely that would be enough against the still-green Prince of Asgard.
But reality had shattered every expectation.
Aegir hadn't just defeated Thor—he had dominated him. Completely. Utterly. Without breaking a sweat.
The sight of Mjolnir in Aegir's hands made Skirnir's eyes water with joy. Just an hour ago, his king had been comparable to elite Vanir soldiers. Now he stood triumphant over Asgard's golden prince.
Vanaheim finally has its chance to rise!
The implications crashed over Skirnir like a tidal wave. If their newly crowned god-king could defeat the battle-hardened Thor while still learning his abilities, what heights might he reach with experience? Skirnir couldn't wait to see Hlynna's face when he told her about this victory. She'd always called the prophecy "mystical nonsense"—well, she could eat those words now.
At his age, nearly matching Odin's years, Skirnir recognized true strength when he saw it. Thor's power was genuine, which made Aegir's victory all the more significant. While his king might not yet match the All-Father, he certainly wouldn't be helpless against him anymore.
But what fascinated Skirnir most was the nature of Aegir's abilities. This wasn't just Sea Lord Njord's power—this was something more potent, more alien. Thor hadn't even been able to mount a proper defense.
The prophecy was coming true. Aegir would surpass even the previous Sea Lord, just as foretold.
What the Asgardians didn't realize—what Skirnir knew with absolute certainty—was that Aegir hadn't used magic at all. Aegir had always struggled with mystical arts, showing far more talent for disrupting spells than casting them.
- - -
In the arena, Thor felt the bitter taste of defeat coating his tongue like ash.
"Well, do you want to continue?" Aegir casually tossed Mjolnir from hand to hand.
The taunt hit its mark. Thor's pride screamed against acceptance of this humiliation. He was the son of Odin, Crown Prince of Asgard, heir to the throne that had unified the Nine Realms. His father had conquered enemy after enemy to build their empire. As Odin's son, Thor should possess the strength to match that legacy.
"Hmph! Give me back my hammer!" Thor snarled, his face flushed with rage and embarrassment. "That was nothing but a fluke!"
Aegir's expression went ice-cold, the casual amusement evaporating. "Is that how a loser makes requests? Seems you haven't come to your sense's yet Prince Thor."
Aegir might have liked Thor as a character in another life, but this was Aegir's reality now. He'd spent years in Vanaheim—this was his birthplace, his people. Watching Asgard trample his realm again and again had kindled a fury he could no longer contain.
Thor was Odin's son, not Odin himself. Aside from some connection through Frigga, they shared no friendship or bond. Aegir felt no obligation to coddle the arrogant prince.
Thor's face darkened, mouth opening for another outburst, but suddenly there was Sif and Loki beside him. Sif grabbed his arm. "Stop, Thor! Any more of this will only make things worse. Do you want to trigger a war between our realms? That won't end well for anyone!"
The words cut through Thor's rage like a blade through fog. His mind, cleared by combat's aftermath, finally grasped the magnitude of his actions. His father had sent him to attend an enthronement ceremony, not to declare war on a neighboring king.
Instead, he'd challenged the newly crowned ruler at his own coronation ceremony, simply because the display of power had stirred his competitive nature.
The challenge itself wasn't the worst part—it was losing so thoroughly that stung.
Recognizing the situation had spiraled beyond recovery, Loki stepped forward with practiced diplomatic grace. He offered Aegir a formal bow, his voice smooth as silk. "Your Majesty, King of Vanaheim, please forgive our... enthusiasm. On behalf of Asgard, I offer sincere congratulations on your coronation. May Vanaheim flourish under your wise leadership."
"Oh, it will," Aegir replied with a razor-sharp smile. "Future Vanaheim will exceed even your wildest imagination."
Aegir understood when to press an advantage and when to show restraint. But this matter wasn't quite finished yet.
His gaze fixed on Thor with predatory intensity.
The prince understood perfectly. With visible reluctance, his jaw working like he was chewing nails, Thor managed to grind out, "My... apologies."
The words carried all the sincerity of a politician's campaign promise, but Aegir recognized it was likely the best he'd get from Asgard's proud prince.
"Accepted," Aegir said with dismissive finality. He tossed Mjolnir back to Thor with casual indifference. "Now you can go. We don't stock refreshments suitable for... guests of your caliber."
Thor caught his hammer without comment. The Asgardian delegation had been eager to leave since the moment their prince hit the ground—now they practically fled.
The moment they departed, the arena erupted in thunderous celebration.
"GLORY TO VANAHEIM!"
"GLORY TO KING AEGIR!"
"VANAHEIM! KING AEGIR!"
Their cheers echoed off the arena walls like war cries. Hope, that precious commodity so long denied to their realm, blazed in every face. While history remembered no clear victor between Odin and Njord, the new generation had clashed, and their champion had emerged triumphant despite his youth.
- - -
Asgard
The Golden Hall
Odin sat upon his throne, silver hair gleaming despite its color, presence still radiating the authority that had conquered nine realms. Anyone foolish enough to mistake age for weakness would face the full fury of the All-Father's wrath.
But something felt... wrong.
A disturbance rippled through his consciousness—familiar magic under assault. After a moment's concentration, he identified the source. The enchantments he'd woven into Mjolnir were being tested in ways they'd never experienced.
"What in the Nine Realms?" Odin muttered, one eye narrowing. "Whose hands hold Mjolnir now? Who is Thor fighting that could—"
"All-Father." Heimdall's arrival interrupted his speculation. The gatekeeper entered with measured steps, his expression carefully neutral.
"Heimdall." Odin's voice carried the weight of centuries. "What brings you to my hall?"
"I bear news of Vanaheim's new king," Heimdall replied, dropping to one knee with practiced reverence.
Odin's brow furrowed. "What concern is that? I sent Thor to represent us at the ceremony."
"The new king has inherited Sea Lord Njord's power."
The simple statement hit Odin like a physical blow. Suddenly, the disturbance he'd felt made terrible sense. The magical feedback from Mjolnir, the unprecedented strain on his enchantments...
Thor had fought the Vanir king.
Odin's expression darkened like storm clouds gathering. Yes, he'd intended for Thor's natural arrogance to remind Vanaheim of their place in the realm hierarchy. But he'd never wanted actual combat between the realms—and from the magical resonance he'd felt, Thor had clearly lost.
The enchantments on Mjolnir were his personal work, designed to be unbreakable by any but himself. Yet moments ago, he'd felt someone forcibly wrestle control of the hammer away from his son.
The implications were staggering.
Was there truly someone among the Vanir capable of overpowering Thor and suppressing magic cast by the All-Father himself?
Odin could answer that question with absolute certainty: There should not be.
Which made Thor's defeat all the more troubling.
The old king stared into the golden depths of his hall, mind racing through possibilities and their consequences. The balance of power between the realms will soon shift.