Later That Night
.
.
Frigga sat alone in the birthing chamber, the fire low and humming softly.
Odin had retired. Hela slept soundly in her cradle, her small fist twitching in dreams.
But Sævor lay wide-eyed, calm, watching the flickering shadows with unnatural stillness.
Frigga picked him up gently, resting him against her chest. The boy did not fuss. He simply listened.
"I know you see," she whispered.
She rocked him slowly, brushing a hand through the wisps of hair forming on his head.
"I wonder if you understand how much the world weighs on your birth, little one. You and your sister… you're not just children. You're balance. You're trust. You're hope, dressed in soft skin."
She looked toward the window, where the Vanir moon hung heavy over the horizon.
"I left my forest for a crown," she murmured. "But in you, I see both. The storm and the stream. Aesir fire and Vanir roots."
Sævor stirred—just slightly. His tiny hand reached upward and gently grasped the edge of her tunic.
She smiled softly.
"You're already thinking too much."
Her lips brushed his forehead.
"But whatever you become…Always remember—before you were heir, before you were wise…You were mine."
And in the hush of night, with the weight of realms on her shoulders and peace hanging by a cradle's thread, Frigga simply held her son—and was, for a moment, only a mother.
...
~Sævor POV~
"Before I was wise… I was hers."
Sævor heard her words, and though his body was too small to respond, something deep in him stirred.
He blinked slowly, adjusting to the golden warmth of the room. The ceiling above shimmered with starlit murals—great stories painted into arcs of polished stone and soft light. Warriors with silver hair riding stags through the sky. Rivers of magic flowing between realms. Odin, youthful and wild-eyed, standing above a sea of broken spears.
He lay still in Frigga's arms, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against his ear.
"Ælir… confirm again. This is Asgard? Not just something similar?"
[Confirmed. Architecture, energy resonance, and recorded mythic structures all match high-fidelity Yggdrasil signatures. Realm: Asgard. Pantheon classification: Aesir. Affiliation: Marvel Multiversal Cluster.]
"So… this is really it. The Bifrost, the Nine Realms, Thor… everything starts here."
He stared at the arching ceiling, marveling at the sheer artistry carved into it. Even the firelight seemed refined, controlled—not wild like Earth's, but shaped by intent.
"This place… it's beautiful. And heavy."
[Realm weight exceeds Earth by 3.2 times. Atmospheric energy: stable.]
"I meant it metaphorically."
[Understood.]
A quiet chuckle formed in Sævor's mind. This was real. Not a dream. Not a delusion. He had been reborn into the Marvel universe. Into Asgard. As royalty.
"Okay… so I'm a newborn with a cheat code, born to a queen, inside a palace carved with stories of gods. And I already have an AI that can do quantum calculations. Feels like the start of a novel."
The excitement buzzed faintly in his chest.
Frigga had fallen asleep in her chair, his head resting gently against her chest. The warmth of her heartbeat remained steady, soothing.
But his mind was wide awake.
"Ælir, what can I actually do? You said my domain is wisdom… what does that give me?"
[Primary Domain: Wisdom.]
[Subdomains identified: Calculation. Information. System.]
[Functions within these domains include data processing, analysis, logical deduction, energy mapping, predictive modeling, sensory translation, and basic construct formation.]
"That's a lot…"
[Current output is limited due to host's physical constraints. Most abilities are active—requiring directed energy. Passive activation will become viable after domain reinforcement and core maturation.]
"So I'm a baby genius with a locked arsenal."
[Correct.]
Sævor tried to move an arm. It twitched—barely.
"Ugh… I can't even lift my head. I'll be stuck like this for months."
[Observation: Host's physical limitations prevent effective motor use.]
"No kidding. Can't I cheat something? Telekinesis? Flight? Anything?"
[Recommended: Use ambient mana to assist in minor mobility. Prerequisite: Mana Sensing.]
[Secondary benefit: Expanded mana sensing improves magical data acquisition.]
"Okay, so first step—learn to sense mana. Let's do it."
[Initializing task. Focus on ambient energy fluctuations: warmth, pressure changes, vibrational drift.]
Sævor closed his eyes. The world narrowed to a soft hush.
He focused.
There was something—a gentle hum, flowing into him from Frigga. Warm, steady, familiar.
"Is this mana?"
[Negative. Detected source: Lifeforce. No ambient mana signature recognized.]
[Skill Acquired: Lifeforce Awareness]
Description: Enables detection of living presence within limited range.
[Lifeforce Nearby: Queen Frigga. Hela Odindottir.]
"...Not what I aimed for, but still useful."
[Retry advised. Begin with low-frequency energy. Minimize internal interference. Focus exclusively on external fluctuations.]
"Alright. Round two."
[Confirmed. Task: Isolate and observe ambient mana. Begin.]
He exhaled slowly. Cleared his thoughts. Tuned out Frigga's heartbeat, the warmth, the rhythm.
Then—he felt it. Faint strands. Gentle pulses. Threads that brushed his awareness like silk in water.
"This... this is it."
[Acknowledged. Mana signature detected. Recording pattern.]
[Skill Acquired: Mana Awareness (Basic)]
Description: Enables perception of ambient mana flow within a close radius. Requires focus for clarity. Range: Close. Efficiency: High.
Sævor's eyes widened mentally. The world around him felt… deeper.
"What's next?"
[Sample saturation reached. Fusion eligible.]
[Skill Fusion Successful.]
[New Skill Created: Presence Sense]
Components: Lifeforce Awareness + Mana Awareness
Description: Detects presences and differentiates magical energies within close range. Provides instinctive spatial feedback.
"Two for one deal? I'll take it."
"Can I push the range?"
[Attempting expansion.]
Sævor extended his awareness outward—and instantly recoiled. A flood of signals hit him like crashing waves. Too much.
[Warning: Cognitive threshold surpassed. Mana processing overload detected.]
[Auto-limiting range to prevent neural strain. Range locked: Close.]
"Okay, okay! I get it! Stay small."
Even so… it was enough.
He could feel more than just people now. There were objects—stones that pulsed faintly, metal that buzzed softly with intent.
[Detected: Enchanted devices. Gathering energy signatures.]
[Analyzing artifact mana communication protocols... Success.]
[Constructing skill framework.]
[Skill Acquired: Mana Manipulation (Basic)]
Description: Allows minor shaping and redirection of ambient mana. Enables pressure adjustment, flow guidance, and early construct formation. Limited by physical maturity.
Sævor's consciousness hummed with light mana flow. It danced at the tips of his tiny fingers.
A low, amused giggle escaped his infant mouth.
"Three skills in one night? That's what I call progress."
[Observation: Host exhibits high sensory aptitude. Recommend initiation of wavelength variation training.]
"…So I'm a prodigy."
[Statistically confirmed.]
"Ælir. Status screen. Let's see it."
[Request acknowledged. Displaying host status.]
[STATUS]
Name: Sævor Odinson
Race: Royal Aesir-Vanir [Peak Enhanced]
Maturity: Infant
Domain: Wisdom
Subdomains: Calculation. Information. System.
Skills:
– [Presence Sense]
– [Mana Manipulation (Basic)]
– [Thought Acceleration] (Locked)
– [Prediction Analysis] (Locked)
– [Split Mind] (Locked)
Sævor studied the list, pleased.
"Peak Enhanced… Royal… Sounds cool already."
[Classification derived from host's optimized genetics and spiritual traits. Status accurate.]
"And the locked ones?"
[Unavailable. Neural and spiritual development below minimum activation threshold.]
"Alright. I'll wait. Hopefully not too long."
He let the mana settle again, nudging it experimentally through his limbs. Still clumsy, but responsive.
"Let's just sleep now..." he yawned while comforting himself.
Sleeping peacefully in the embrace of the night.
{Picture}
.
.
.
.
Sævor's body was divine—but immature. His mana manipulation, while functional, lacked the force and finesse needed for flight or proper movement. A strand here, a pulse there—that was all he could manage.
So, for now, he trained the only thing he could: his senses.
[Presence Sense: Active. Mana fluctuation: stable. Magical atmosphere: enriched.]
The crib beside him rustled.
His twin stirred.
Hela's baby fists flailed gently before she rolled over, her little head pressing clumsily into his shoulder. She let out a sleepy grunt—half-whine, half-yawn—and drooled on his sleeve.
He blinked.
"…Charming," he thought.
She blinked back.
Then smiled.
She smacked his face with a sleepy hand and let out a victorious baby laugh.
Her giggle was quiet and airy, like a bubble popping in a sunbeam.
"She's... cute," he admitted.
[Subject: Hela Odinsdottir. Status: Infant. Magical signature: latent. No current threat potential.]
"Yeah. Still just a baby… even if she will be terrifying someday. Those little hands can crush Mjolnir like a cake."
She babbled nonsense and patted his chest, then promptly sneezed into her own blanket and looked confused by it.
Sævor chuckled in his mind.
"Alright. I'll make sure you never have to wear that death helmet."
Before Ælir could reply, the chamber door opened with a quiet creak.
Frigga stepped in, radiant as ever, carrying a soft glow in her presence that made the room feel gentler.
"There you two are," she said softly, crossing the room with grace untouched by time.
She knelt beside the cradle and scooped both of them into her arms—Hela curled against her shoulder, Sævor resting in the crook of her other arm.
"My little moon and sun," she murmured, kissing their foreheads in turn.
Her magic flickered around them unconsciously—warm, protective. Vanir magic flowed softer than Aesir, like spring water instead of wildfire. Sævor could feel it brushing his own mana, harmonising gently.
"Today's a big day," Frigga said with a fond smile. "Your father is returning."
As if on cue, the distant thunderclap of the Bifröst echoed from the far end of the palace—a high-pitched whine descending into a pulse of thunder.
Frigga rose, carrying her twins through the golden halls. Servants bowed as she passed. Murals of conquest lined the walls—Odin in triumph over frost giants, dwarves, and beasts, displayed as they approached the throne room.
They reached the outer landing just in time.
A rush of wind swept through the chamber doors.
Odin arrived on his mount, a beast as white as storm clouds with eyes like molten gold.
The All-Father sat tall in royal battle armour—scored, scratched, but gleaming with power. Gungnir rested on his back.
Frigga stepped forward slowly, regal and serene.
"You've returned," she said simply.
"Frigga," he said, his voice deep, steady, tired.
His gaze fell on the children in her arms, something gentler stirred in the war-forged god.
"I always return," he answered.
He approached, removing his helmet. He kissed Frigga's forehead.
"My king," Frigga responded softly, kissing his cheek.
Odin brushed his fingers against Hela's dark curls, and then Sævor's cheek.
"How fares the heirs of Asgard?" he asked.
Frigga smiled. "Curious and quiet. Like their father."
Frigga stepped beside Odin, still cradling the children. "Where was the battle this time?"
"Muspell's edge," Odin said, jaw tight. "A fire jarl refused our terms. He burns no longer."
Sævor stilled in her arms. He could feel it. The divine heat of Muspelheim still clung to Odin's armour like ash. Odin had stood against beings of flame and fury—and won.
He stepped past them and entered the throne hall.
Frigga followed, children still in her arms.
The Golden Court awaited.
Generals, envoys, and scholars bowed as Odin took the throne. Frigga sat beside him, regal and calm. The twins rested quietly against her chest.
Then court began.
"Report," Odin ordered.
A grizzled commander stepped forward, armour scorched and dented from recent battle.
"Jotunheim remains hostile, my king. Their border raids have increased. Our eastern gates have suffered frost damage."
"Retaliation?"
"Initiated. Their warbands scatter before our advance. Resistance is light. They lack formation."
"Then press harder. End their defiance."
Another general—a younger one, bearing the colors of Vanaheim—stepped forward with a scroll in hand.
"Svartalfheim's silence persists. No envoy has responded to summons, but scouts report strange disturbances along the void edges. Possible magical decay."
"They either plot or decay," Odin said coldly. "If they do not speak, they will scream when we arrive."
Sævor listened silently, nestled in his mother's arms.
Another voice rose—a quieter one this time. A scholar-lord with pale robes and no battle scars.
"My king," he said carefully, "with respect… our campaign front stretches thin. Even with Muspell pacified and Nidavellir secured, our troops are spread across five gates. Might we consider diplomatic overtures—brief ones—to stall new fronts?"
The hall grew still for a moment.
Odin's gaze settled on the man. "You fear weakness?"
"I fear overextension," the scholar replied, steady but respectful. "Conquest thrives on momentum, but empires endure on balance."
There was a silence. Not angry, but heavy.
Then Odin spoke again, his voice calm.
"I will not be lectured on balance by a man who's never held a dying comrade."
The court remained silent.
Sævor, however, was listening closely.
[Observation: Diverging opinion detected. Internal strain within the imperial hierarchy. Likely future factionalization.]
.
.
Every word spoke of war. Of expansion. Of legacy.
[Observation: Odin is in active conquest mode. Strategic empire-building. Multirealm projection.]
"This isn't the shiny paradise the movies showed. This is… Rome. And it's not done expanding."
[Observational match: 93%. Asgard functions as an imperial centre. Culture, warfare, and diplomacy serve unification through dominance.]
[Odin's current goal: Nine Realms unified under Aesir dominion.]
No wonder Hela became what she did. This wasn't a utopia. It was a golden engine of war.
Eventually, Odin stood.
"Enough for now. Let the halls rest. Tomorrow, we march again."
The courtiers bowed and dispersed.
Odin descended the dais.
Frigga rose, placing the twins in his arms. One cradled in each.
He held them carefully, with the caution of someone more used to warhammers than infants, then walked with her through a quiet corridor that led to a wide balcony.
And then, with the twins in his grasp, he stepped onto the balcony overlooking Asgard.
The view was breathtaking.
The sky was painted with gold and lavender. Below, the city stretched like a jewel, aglow with enchantment. Spires. Canals. Shields glimmering like constellations. Streams of light—part arcane, part technology—flowed through the city like rivers of energy. Far below, citizens of Asgard went about their lives, unaware
"This is your legacy," he murmured to them.
"You will not just inherit it—you will shape it."
He looked down at Hela, her head resting sleepily against his chest.
"You will be my sword."
Then to Sævor.
"And you… you will be my mind."
Sævor met his father's gaze. That single eye, ancient and knowing, saw further than most could dream.
"You will be more than children of gods," Odin said softly. "You will be the architects of an eternal empire."
The wind stirred.
.
.
.
Later that night…
Deep beneath the golden towers of Asgard, far from the glowing halls and celestial bridges, a hidden chamber thrummed with quiet resentment.
The walls here bore no light, no mural, no name.
Just shadows. And voices.
Eight figures stood in a rough circle, cloaked in deep crimson and obsidian. Their armor bore no crest, but their presence crackled with divine power—warriors and nobles of Aesir blood. Old blood.
One slammed his fist onto a rune-marked stone table, teeth clenched.
"This court is a mockery," he hissed. "Odin returned from battle not with glory—but with weakness in his arms. That woman. And those… children."
Another, older, nodded grimly. His golden hair shimmered faintly beneath his hood.
"She was Vanir. A forest sorceress. What place does she have beside a king of Aesir steel? Her blood runs soft. Unclean."
"And now that unclean blood sits in a cradle in the royal nursery," the first growled. "Two halfbreeds born of peace and poison. One of them will rule one day."
The third spoke—his voice smooth, sarcastic. "If they live that long."
The room went still.
One of them chuckled. "Easy now. We wouldn't want to start a civil war. Not yet."
Another scoffed. "Let it come. This 'peace' with Vanaheim is a joke. The All-Father spills our blood across the Realms for conquest, yet shares the throne with forest filth. He dares to breed impurity into the royal line."
"I heard the girl—Hela—already reeks of death."
"Should've drowned them both when they were still red and squirming."
A silence fell. Cruel. Deliberate.
Then—
A new voice. Calm. Cold. Sharper than the rest.
"Enough."
They all turned.
A man stepped forward from the shadows, tall and pale-eyed. His cloak bore no sigil, but his presence made the others step back—instinctively. Like prey before a serpent.
His voice cut like ice. "You'll do nothing. Yet."
The first one scowled. "So we wait while Odin builds his little empire?"
"We wait," the man said, "because empires built on war crack from within."
He walked slowly around the circle, eyes unreadable. "Odin overreaches. He stretches his grip across the stars while rot grows beneath his throne."
"And what of the children?" the older noble asked. "If they come of age, we'll be kneeling to a bastard prince."
The man paused, smiling faintly.
"Then we make sure the prince kneels to us."
He turned toward the others.
"We mold him. Control him. The girl, if she survives, will be a sword. But the boy? The quiet one? He will become a throne with no will of his own."
"And if they prove uncontrollable?"
"Then we prune the line."
The room was silent.
The eldest among them muttered, "Last time we plotted, Bor's brother vanished. The palace blamed rebels. But we knew."
"And Odin knew," another added bitterly. "He just chose not to flinch."
"We lost ten good men."
"We lost nothing," the leader replied. "We learned. And now… we wait. A kingdom this large does not fall from without—it crumbles from within."
Then, slowly, heads began to nod.
The man's smile returned, but it never reached his eyes.
"Patience, brothers. The All-Father forgets: it is not only spears that shape empires. Sometimes... it is whispers."
******
A/N;
There you gooo!...almost 3000 words and tomorrow my exam, pray for me.*crying*
Thank you to Abiodun_4527 for telling me this type of writing, it really helps me and improves the readability.
Thank you to others who also comment and give a lot of inspiration.
Is the writing ok?
-Should I use this format going foward?
-Or do you guys want a little more descriptive?