After Siegfried wins the right to spar with Thor, the crowd cheers, and Thor turns his gaze to the young Drengr who was originally chosen. The Drengr, a warrior known for his bravery yet also for his humility, had not even gotten the chance to introduce himself before Siegfried had stepped forward to challenge him for the right to fight Thor. Yet, even after Siegfried's display of power, which had left the villagers murmuring in awe and uncertainty, Thor's gaze softened as he looked upon the young Drengr.
For a moment, Thor's expression was thoughtful. He nodded at the warrior, a sign of respect that did not go unnoticed by those in the crowd. Siegfried may have won the right to face him, but this Drengr's bravery in stepping forward had not gone unnoticed by the god of thunder.
"Strength lies not only in victory but in the heart that dares to fight," Thor said, his voice booming through the village square like a clap of thunder.
The Drengr's eyes widened, and he stood straighter, the weight of Thor's words filling him with a sense of pride he had never known.
"He speaks to me as though… as though he sees the warrior within," the Drengr thought, his chest swelling. "I may have lost the chance to spar with him, but I've gained his respect."
Thor then raised his hand, and with a casual flick of his fingers, a shimmering portal of golden light appeared in the air beside him. The crowd gasped, awestruck by the sight. This was no ordinary magic—this was a gateway to the treasure vaults of Valhalla itself, a realm of divine artifacts and weapons blessed by the gods.
The portal hummed with an ethereal glow, swirling with golden tendrils that pulsed like veins of pure lightning. Through the translucent shimmer, the villagers could see faint glimmers of treasures—helmets forged with intricate runes, shields that seemed to vibrate with the essence of storms, and weapons of unimaginable craftsmanship, each one radiating a unique power. The light cast from the portal was almost too bright to look at directly, filling the square with a golden hue, as if Thor had pulled down a piece of the heavens itself.
Beyond the visual splendour, a faint sound drifted through the portal—battle cries, the clash of steel, the war songs of warriors in Valhalla. The cries were fierce, charged with the raw energy of combat and the joy of warriors who knew no death. It was as if the very essence of valour and glory had taken on a sound, vibrating through the cold air, pulling at the hearts of the villagers.
One of the drunk warriors in the crowd, overcome with excitement and the intoxicating thrill of the battle cries, stumbled forward, eyes wild with desire. He let out a half-slurred shout, and with a clumsy way, "f-for...for valhal...la" he looked ready to make a run for the portal, a reckless gleam in his eyes as if he might jump into Valhalla itself.
Thor didn't even turn his head. With a voice as calm as a distant thunderclap, he said, "Don't."
The warrior froze, startled, his arm outstretched toward the golden light.
Thor's gaze flicked over to him, eyes piercing even in their casual indifference. "You haven't earned the right to join those warriors," he said, his voice a rumbling growl that seemed to shake the air.
"Do you wish to shame your parents? -
-To dishonour the blood in your veins?"
The drunk warrior stumbled back, his face paling as Thor's words washed over him. A few of his friends grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back into the crowd, and he muttered apologies under his breath, barely able to meet the god's gaze. The villagers around him looked down, chastened by Thor's simple rebuke, and a heavy silence fell over the crowd. The cries from Valhalla grew fainter, the portal's song shifting from battle rage to something deeper, a melody of warriors at rest, of souls who had earned their peace.
Thor's expression softened as he turned back to the portal, the faintest hint of respect glimmering in his eyes as he regarded the treasures and echoes of Valhalla. Then he turned back to the Drengr, who was standing frozen in awe before the portal, and nodded, urging him forward.
The air around the portal was charged, tingling with an electric energy that made the villagers feel as though they were in the presence of something ancient and divine.
Hakon, standing at the edge of the crowd, felt a chill run down his spine as he gazed at the portal. "This… this is the power of the gods. Valhalla itself seems within reach," he thought, his young heart pounding with a mixture of awe and envy.
From the portal emerged a magnificent pair of twin Dane axes, gliding through the air as if carried by invisible hands. The weapons settled before the Drengr, who stared at them in disbelief, his hands shaking as he took in their beauty and power.
Each axe was a masterpiece, with blades carved with intricate patterns that seemed to resemble swirling thunderclouds. Runes ran along the length of each handle, pulsing with a faint blue light, and tiny bolts of lightning crackled along the edges, as though the axes themselves were alive with the essence of Thor's power.
"Step forward, Drengr. Claim your reward from the vaults of Valhalla," Thor commanded, his voice resonating with both authority and warmth.
The Drengr stepped forward, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch the axes. The moment his fingers brushed the handles, a surge of energy flowed through him, filling him with a warmth that felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. A small burst of lightning arced from one blade to the other, encircling his hands and igniting his heart with a fierce, unshakable confidence.
"These… these aren't ordinary axes. They're filled with Thor's blessing. I will carry his strength with me," the Drengr thought, his eyes filling with tears of gratitude.
Thor nodded approvingly as the Drengr lifted the axes, acknowledging his newfound power. From that day forward, the young warrior would be known by a new name: Thorfin Stormsplitter(for which his name before was Thorfin Hartvigsen), for he wielded the Twin Lightning Axes blessed by the god of thunder himself.
"All hail Stormsplitter, chosen of Thor!" the villagers chanted, their voices rising in a wave of reverence and admiration. Stormsplitter raised his axes to the sky, lightning sparking along the blades, and the villagers could feel the intensity of his spirit, renewed and strengthened by Thor's blessing.
As the crowd cheered, Siegfried stepped forward, his gaze locked onto Thor with an intensity that burned like fire. With Stormsplitter honoured, it was now Siegfried's turn to face Vingthor ("the thunder hurler")..
Thor turned to him, his stormy blue eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and challenge. Siegfried's stance was steady, his shoulders squared, and a faint silver aura began to shimmer around him as he prepared himself for the greatest challenge of his life. The god of thunder studied him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"You have spirit, Siegfried," Thor said, nodding in approval. "I shall not bring Mjolnir's full wrath upon you today. But prepare yourself… even at your level, I will not go easy."
With a casual toss, Thor dropped Mjolnir to the ground. The legendary hammer struck the earth with such force that it sent a shockwave through the crowd, causing the villagers to stagger as dust rose into the air. The ground trembled, and Hakon, watching from the sidelines, felt his breath catch in his throat.
There was something about Mjolnir that captured his attention—a strange aura that seemed to flicker and pulse around the hammer. It was as if the weapon was alive, exuding both a calm, controlled grace and an untamed fury, a balance between wrath and wisdom. Hakon stared, entranced by the way Mjolnir's energy seemed to shimmer with a life of its own.
"Mjolnir… it's more than just a weapon. It feels like a piece of Thor himself, alive with his strength and rage," Hakon thought, his heart pounding with a mix of reverence and yearning.
The villagers stepped back, forming a wide,like a really wide circle around Siegfried and Thor, their faces filled with awe and anticipation. Hushed whispers rippled through the crowd as everyone wondered how the mortal warrior would fare against the god of thunder. Even the children fell silent, their wide eyes fixed on the scene before them, as if they were witnessing a tale from the old sagas come to life.
Siegfried let out a roar, his voice filled with fierce determination, and charged forward. His sword flashed in the firelight as he aimed a powerful strike at Thor. His movements were fast and precise, each step grounded in the training and discipline he had honed over years of battle. His eyes were sharp, locked onto Thor as he sought an opening, fully aware that he was facing an opponent unlike any other.
But Thor only chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He raised his hand and effortlessly parried Siegfried's strike with his forearm. The impact was powerful enough to send a shockwave through Siegfried's arm, but Thor remained completely unfazed, his face showing only a hint of mischief.
"Good! Let your fury guide you, but don't let it blind you," Thor said, his voice resonating like the distant rumble of thunder.
Siegfried gritted his teeth, refusing to back down. "This… this is the strength of a god. But I won't falter," he thought, his determination hardening like steel.
As they clashed, Thor began to give Siegfried pointers, his tone both stern and encouraging. With each move, he corrected Siegfried's stance, guiding his movements with the wisdom of a warrior who had fought in countless battles.
"Your stance is too rigid, Siegfried," Thor said as he blocked another strike. "Bend your knees, stay grounded. Feel the earth beneath your feet; it will steady you."
Siegfried adjusted his stance, his breathing growing heavier as he tried to absorb Thor's advice while defending against the god's powerful strikes. He focused, attempting to make his movements more fluid, each swing of his sword growing stronger, more controlled.
The clash of their weapons echoed across the square, each impact resounding like thunder. Sparks flew with every strike, illuminating the faces of the villagers who watched in awe as the battle unfolded. For them, this was not just a fight—it was a lesson in the art of war, a display of strength and skill that left them breathless.
Thor's aura shifted as he fought, fluctuating between the warmth of a mentor and the fierce, unyielding wrath of a god. One moment, he was a compassionate teacher, guiding Siegfried with gentle corrections; the next, he was the thunder god in all his glory, his every strike carrying the weight of his divine power.
Hakon watched from the sidelines, mesmerized by the complexity of Thor's presence. "Thor values strength… but he also respects the heart of a warrior," he thought, feeling a deep respect for the god who stood before them, both ruthless and compassionate.
As the fight neared its end, Siegfried summoned the last of his strength, focusing his Hugr to envelop himself in a brilliant silver aura. With a fierce battle cry, he charged at Thor, determined to land a decisive blow.
Siegfried's aura flared like a silver flame; his eyes locked onto Thor's form as he closed the distance. Every muscle in his body was tense, every fibre focused on this one strike. "This is it. If I can just land this blow… I might prove myself worthy."
But just as Siegfried's strike was about to connect, Thor stepped to the side with a fluid movement, deflecting the blow with his forearm. With his other hand, he tapped Siegfried on the chest, sending him sprawling backward, defeated but unharmed.
The crowd gasped as Siegfried hit the ground, his sword clattering away. Despite his loss, there was a look of pride in Siegfried's eyes as he caught his breath, acknowledging the honour of facing Thor.
Thor stepped forward, offering Siegfried a hand and pulling him to his feet. He nodded with respect, acknowledging Siegfried's strength and determination.
"Well fought, Siegfried. You have a warrior's heart. Continue down this path, and perhaps one day, you will reach the strength you seek," Thor said, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
As the crowd began to disperse, Hakon, unable to resist his curiosity, approached Thor, his heart pounding. He had to know—he had to understand the strange aura that surrounded Mjolnir.
The villagers of Brynhold were still buzzing with excitement as they watched Siegfried bow his head in respect to Thor before stepping back into the crowd. Despite the outcome, Siegfried wore a look of pride, and the silver aura around him flickered with an almost reverent glow. He had sparred with a god, earned his respect, and received invaluable wisdom in battle. It was a feat that would become a tale retold in Brynhold for generations.
But amidst the cheering and chatter, Hakon felt a strange pull—something urging him forward, closer to the towering figure of Thor. He couldn't shake the question burning inside him, a curiosity that felt almost like a compulsion. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the crackling energy that radiated from Mjolnir. It was as if the hammer itself was calling to him, demanding answers.
Swallowing his nerves, Hakon stepped forward, pushing through the crowd until he stood just a few paces away from the god of thunder. Thor was laughing with Siegfried and Erik, his booming voice echoing across the square, but he caught sight of the young boy's approach and paused, his stormy blue eyes turning to study him.
Thor raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he regarded the boy. It wasn't often that mortals dared approach him directly, especially a child, yet there was something in Hakon's gaze that intrigued him.
"Speak, young one," Thor said, "I see you have a question."
Hakon took a deep breath, his voice quivering slightly as he looked up at the towering god. "Mighty Thor… may I ask… why does Mjolnir shine with that strange light? It felt… alive."
At Hakon's question, the crowd fell silent, their attention shifting to the boy who had dared to question a god. Even Siegfried and Erik exchanged puzzled glances, caught off guard by the perceptiveness of Hakon's observation.
Thor tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied Hakon more closely. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—respect, perhaps, or maybe curiosity. He leaned down slightly, bringing his gaze level with Hakon's, his voice lowering to a more personal tone.
"And who are you, boy, to sense the life within Mjolnir?" Thor asked, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and caution. "Are you from Alfheim, perhaps? Or are you some thrall's child gifted with unusual sight?"
Before Hakon could answer, a gentle but firm voice interrupted. "He is neither, my lord Thor." The voice belonged to Astrid, Hakon's mother, who had been watching from nearby. She stepped forward, bowing her head respectfully, but there was a quiet strength in her posture.
Thor turned his gaze to Astrid, his eyes flickering with recognition and intrigue. "Ah, Astrid… the healer, yes? You carry the aura of seidr, though it's faint. And this boy is your son?"
Astrid nodded, meeting Thor's gaze without flinching. "Yes, my lord. His name is Hakon. He is… unusual, even among our kin. The Oracle herself has said that he carries the essence of something ancient within him."
Thor's eyes sharpened, and he straightened, his posture becoming more serious. "Hmm, The Oracle said this?"
"Yes," Astrid replied, her voice steady but reverent. "She said he bears the essence of Freyr, though she would not explain further."
At the mention of Freyr, Thor's expression shifted from curiosity to shock, his gaze turning even more intense. A heavy silence fell over the crowd as they watched Thor study Hakon, his eyes searching the boy's face as if seeking the truth within him.
"Freyr…" Thor murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. He looked back at Astrid, his expression now laced with a hint of reverence. "The god of fertility, peace, and prosperity… the one who Died in the Aesir-Vanir war that took place…"
Thor's eyes returned to Hakon, his gaze filled with a mixture of wonder and caution. For a moment, it seemed as though he was seeing someone else within the boy, someone who existed beyond the mortal realm.
Erik, noticing the gravity of Thor's reaction, stepped forward, his own face reflecting the weight of the revelation. "My lord Thor," Erik began respectfully, "I have sensed something unusual in my son, but even I did not realize it was this profound."
Thor nodded slowly, as if piecing together fragments of a story only he knew. "It is rare for the essence of a god to linger within a mortal. But if what you say is true, then perhaps there is a way to know for certain."
He turned to Hakon, his expression now both solemn and curious. "Hakon… if you truly bear the essence of Freyr, then you should be able to connect with Mjolnir, even if only in a small way. Come closer."
Hakon's heart raced as he stepped forward, feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes upon him. He was about to perform a task that no other mortal child...No other mortal could even dream of. He looked up at Thor, who extended his hand towards Mjolnir, his fingers hovering over the mighty hammer as he murmured an incantation, his voice deep and resonant.
"With the oath of Asgard, I bind this weapon. Only those with a true heart and a godly spirit may lift it. Let Mjolnir's power reveal the truth," Thor intoned, his words weaving a spell around the hammer.
The crowd held its breath as Thor stepped back, nodding at Hakon to proceed. The boy took a deep breath, steadying himself as he reached out towards the handle of Mjolnir. He could feel the energy radiating from the weapon, a warmth that pulsed in time with his own heartbeat. It was as if the hammer was alive, waiting for him, testing him.
Hakon's fingers tightened around the handle of Mjolnir, and the ancient warmth deep within him blossomed, spreading through his chest and down his arms. The hammer, impossibly heavy a moment before, now seemed to respond, like a slumbering beast stirring at his touch.
He closed his eyes, and in that brief darkness, he saw it again—the golden boar. It stood in a misted clearing, watching him with wise, solemn eyes. The air around it shimmered, as if it were made of sunlight and memories. Hakon felt the creature's gaze pierce through him, ancient and knowing, as though it were examining not just his strength but his very spirit.
But when he blinked and looked around, the boar was gone, leaving only the whisper of its presence lingering in his mind.
"Freyr…" a voice murmured within him, as soft and distant as a breeze through golden fields. "From roots to crown, I call to thee… the power of harvest, the strength of the sea."
The words hummed within him, resonating with something old and hidden, something that had been waiting for this moment. It was a warmth that felt both familiar and foreign—a connection to something he couldn't fully grasp but instinctively understood. The power was raw, yet comforting, a gentle strength that seemed to grow the longer he held onto it.
With a surge of determination, Hakon tightened his grip and pulled.
The weight, though still immense, felt as though it were relenting, just enough for him to lift it. Inch by inch, Mjolnir rose from the ground, the crowd gasping as the hammer left the earth. A soft golden glow began to radiate from Hakon, a faint but undeniable light that wrapped around him like a halo. His eyes gleamed with the same golden light, and for a moment, he felt as if he were part of something vast and ancient, a lineage that reached back to the roots of the earth itself.
Around him, the villagers fell silent, every eye fixed on the boy holding the hammer of the gods. Even the mighty Thor looked on, his expression a mixture of curiosity and awe, as if he too sensed the significance of this moment.
The warmth within Hakon intensified, and a gentle whisper reached him once more.
"Remember who you are, child of the harvest and the sun. Remember your roots. You are not only of Midgard; you are a seed of something greater."
A flicker of memory—a vision, almost—flashed through his mind. Fields stretching endlessly under golden sunlight, crops bending in the wind, forests alive with life. And then, the sea, wild and restless, crashing against cliffs. A faint sense of loss tugged at him, as if he were glimpsing a life he'd once lived but could no longer fully recall.
The weight of Mjolnir began to settle once more, growing heavier, and Hakon felt the strain returning to his arms. Slowly, he let the hammer fall back to the earth, the aura around him fading as the ancient warmth within him withdrew, like the receding tide. As soon as Mjolnir touched the ground, the glow in his eyes vanished, and he felt the lingering presence of the golden boar dissipate, leaving him with a strange emptiness.
The crowd erupted in murmurs, shock and wonder rippling through the villagers like a wave. Many looked at Hakon with a mixture of awe and reverence, as if they were seeing him in a new light. The young boy who'd only just begun his journey was no longer just Erik Stormbringer's son. He was something… more.
Hakon took a deep, steadying breath, his mind racing. Had he truly lifted Mjolnir? He couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had just awakened within him, a piece of his spirit that had lain dormant until now.
Thor stepped forward, his gaze sharp and contemplative as he looked down at Hakon. The god of thunder placed a hand on his chin, stroking his red beard thoughtfully. There was a strange gleam in his stormy blue eyes—respect mixed with curiosity, as if he were sizing up an equal rather than a mortal boy.
Thor's voice, deep and resonant, cut through the murmurs of the crowd. "Aye, lad. It seems there's more to you than meets the eye." He turned to Erik and Astrid, his gaze lingering on them with a look of respect. "You've raised a fine son, one touched by something rare and ancient."
Erik's face, usually stern and unyielding, softened with pride and a hint of wonder. "Thor, what does this mean? What… what is my son?"
Thor looked back at Hakon, his expression inscrutable. "The boy carries an essence—a spark—that belongs to an old friend of mine. Freyr, god of the harvest, lord of peace and plenty… and a warrior when the need arose." His voice grew quieter, more contemplative. "Freyr may be gone from Asgard, but his spirit endures. It found its way to your son."
Hakon felt a shiver run down his spine. Freyr. He knew the name, of course. Every child of Brynhold grew up hearing the tales of Freyr's bravery, his sacrifice during the great battle at Ragnarok. But to think that some part of that god—a being of such power and wisdom—lived on within him…
Thor leaned down, his gaze piercing. "Listen well, lad. Power—true power—comes with a price. Freyr was a god of peace, but he gave his life in battle to protect those he loved. If you truly carry his essence, then you must understand this: the path before you will not be easy. It will demand sacrifice. Courage. Strength that goes beyond the body."
Hakon swallowed, feeling the weight of Thor's words settle over him like a mantle. He glanced at his mother, Astrid, whose eyes shimmered with both pride and fear. She stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Hakon's shoulder, as if to steady him, her voice soft but unwavering.
"Thor," Astrid said, her tone respectful yet resolute, "the Oracle once spoke of my son. She said he carried the spirit of an ancient god, that he was born under a rare star." She glanced at Hakon, her gaze full of love. "We always knew he was destined for something beyond this village."
Thor nodded thoughtfully, casting one more glance at Hakon. "Then perhaps it's time for a test." He turned, gesturing to Mjolnir, which still lay on the ground, its aura flickering faintly. "Hakon, if you truly carry Freyr's spirit, then there may be more you can do with this hammer than just lift it."
Hakon's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. A test? He glanced down at Mjolnir, feeling its immense weight even before he touched it. But this time, he felt a different pull—a challenge, an invitation to prove himself.
Thor's voice grew louder, carrying across the crowd. "By the old ways, I call upon the power of Mjolnir to test this boy's spirit. If he is worthy—if he truly carries the essence of Freyr—let him bear the weight of this hammer."
Hakon felt a thrill run through him as he reached for the hammer once more, but this time, something strange happened. Thor raised his hand, murmuring an incantation in a language that was ancient and unknown, each word resonating with power. Mjolnir's aura intensified, glowing brighter, flickering between blue lightning and golden warmth.
Thor's gaze was fierce, his voice like thunder. "This oath I place upon Mjolnir: let only the worthy lift it, let only the true-hearted bear its weight."
Hakon hesitated for a moment, feeling the power of the oath settle over the hammer. This was different from before. He wasn't just lifting a weapon; he was answering a call, stepping into a legacy far older than he could comprehend. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his fingers around Mjolnir's handle, feeling the warmth within him rise once more.
He closed his eyes, searching for that connection, that golden thread tying him to the power within. In the darkness behind his closed eyes, he saw the golden boar again, watching him with a steady gaze, as if to say You are not alone.
With a surge of determination, Hakon tightened his grip and pulled.
Mjolnir lifted, just a few inches, but this time there was no struggle, no resistance. The golden glow around him intensified, and Hakon felt himself merging with something vast and ancient, a presence that filled him with strength, courage, and peace. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw fields of golden grain, rivers winding through green valleys, and the sun setting over endless horizons—a memory that was both his and not his.
The crowd gasped as Hakon held Mjolnir aloft, the hammer's light mingling with his own, casting a golden radiance over the villagers. Thor watched him, his expression one of deep respect and perhaps a touch of awe.
"Well done, lad," Thor said quietly, his voice filled with a rare warmth. "You truly carry Freyr's spirit. Remember this moment, Hakon. For it is only the beginning."
As Hakon gently placed Mjolnir back on the ground, he felt the warmth within him recede, like the tide pulling back from the shore. But the connection remained, a steady presence deep within, reminding him of who he was and who he could become.
Erik and Astrid stood close by, their faces a mixture of pride and awe. Erik placed a hand on Hakon's shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "You have made us proud, my son," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Thor straightened, his usual fierce expression softened by a trace of respect. He glanced at Erik and Astrid, nodding approvingly. "You have raised a son with the spirit of a god. Take pride in that."
But Thor's gaze returned to Hakon, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Hakon, the path before you is a perilous one. Bearing the essence of a god is both a blessing and a curse. You will be seen, you will be tested, and there are forces in this world and beyond that will seek you out… for both good and ill."
Hakon swallowed, feeling the weight of Thor's words settle upon him. "I… I understand, my lord."
Thor's mouth curled into a faint smile, a glimmer of something akin to compassion in his eyes. "Then know this, boy. If ever you are in need, call upon the storm, and I shall hear. Freyr may be your essence, but Midgard has many protectors. And for tonight… you have me."
The villagers broke into cheers, their awe and pride swelling at the sight of their god acknowledging the young Hakon, the boy who held within him the spirit of Freyr. As the night went on, the festival continued, but Hakon's mind lingered on Thor's words, the warning hidden within the god's offer of protection.
The King of Thunder had given him both a gift and a challenge, and Hakon knew that his journey had only just begun. His connection to Freyr was undeniable, but what that meant for his future—and the future of the realms—remained shrouded in mystery.
Yet, as the fire crackled and the villagers celebrated, Hakon felt a spark of hope, a fire ignited within him that would guide him in the days to come. He would carry Freyr's essence with pride, not as a burden, but as a legacy to uphold.
And somewhere in the heavens above, the storm rumbled, a silent promise from the god who had seen the potential within a mortal boy.