The Great Hall of Valaskjalf was a sea of shimmering silk and polished bronze. The Vanir representatives, draped in their signature forest greens and oceanic blues, moved through the corridors like a colorful tide, their voices humming with a mix of exhaustion and profound relief. They had come to pay homage to the throne that had turned the tide of their war.
The Seat of the Allfather
At the far end of the hall, elevated upon a massive dais of white marble, sat Hlidskjalf. It was less a chair and more a monument to absolute authority. Crafted from enchanted uru and plated in gold that seemed to glow with its own internal light, the throne featured high, sweeping backrests carved with the intricate images of Yggdrasil's roots. Two golden wolves, Geri and Freki, were frozen in a perpetual snarl at the base of the armrests, their ruby eyes watching every step of those who approached.
The throne was positioned so that anyone standing at its base had to crane their necks upward, feeling the crushing weight of Odin's gaze. To the mortals of Midgard, it was a legendary seat that allowed one to see across the Nine Realms; to the visiting Vanir, it was a terrifying symbol of Asgardian dominance.
Yet, behind the mask of the Great King, Frigga caught the subtle, rhythmic twitch in her husband's jaw. She knew the truth. While Hlidskjalf was designed to look like the pinnacle of divine majesty, it was by some cruel design of the ancient smiths unbelievably uncomfortable. It was stiff, the lumbar support was non-existent, and the cold gold offered no reprieve for a god who had spent centuries in the saddle. Odin could have used his power to numb the ache or reshape the metal with a thought, but his stubborn pride demanded he endure it; a King, he believed, should never be too comfortable.
A high-ranking Vanir elder stepped forward, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. Behind him, servants carried chests of glowing crystals and rare medicinal herbs, tributes for the Allfather.
"Great King, we bring these offerings not as payment, for no gold can buy the blood Asgard spilled for us," the elder proclaimed, his voice echoing. "With the aid of your Einherjar and the courage of Prince Thor, the rabid invaders have been driven into the shadows which they came from. Our orchards are being replanted, and the great spires of our capital, once leveled by the enemy, are rising once more. Vanaheim breathes again because Asgard exhaled its fury."
The Royal Council nodded in solemn approval, the advisors whispering about the "acceptable" quality of the tributes. Odin, however, was barely listening. He sat with his arm outstretched, Gungnir held firmly, looking every bit the stern protector while internally, his mind was somewhere else.
'Blast it,' Odin thought, a dull throb beginning at the base of his spine and radiating upward. 'Do I really need to be here? My back is killing me.'
Frigga, sensing the exact moment her husband's patience was about to snap, rose with a grace that silenced the room. She placed a gentle hand on the back of the throne, a subtle signal to Odin that she had things well in hand.
"Your gratitude is felt, and your tributes are accepted with honor," Frigga announced, her voice like a calming breeze. "Asgard does not abandon its kin. We shall continue to provide the masons and the magics required to see Vanaheim fully restored. But for now... the sun sets, and I believe it is time for the feast!"
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Whether one is a starving mortal or a powerful deity, the promise of a feast is a universal language. The tension evaporated as the delegates and advisors began to filter out toward the banquet halls, their thoughts turning from war to mead.
Once the hall had cleared, Odin stood up with a heavy grunt, his armor clanking as he stretched his back, a few audible pops echoing in the silence.
"Husband," Frigga said softly, stepping toward him. "Your mind was leagues away. What is it?"
"The boy," Odin grunted, leaning slightly on Gungnir.
"He has not awakened yet," Frigga replied, her expression clouding with concern. "His body heals, but he seems to be having deep troubles with his mind. It is… I don't even know what it is."
Odin looked at her with his lone, piercing eye, the weight of thousands years behind it. "And your efforts? Have you seen his memories?"
Frigga shook her head slowly. "His mind is particularly... impenetrable. Even at his lowest point, in his deepest sleep, I could not glimpse a single thought or image. It is as if a shroud has been pulled over his soul."
Odin let out a slow, heavy breath, looking out toward the balcony. "It is as I thought, then. A fortress within a child."
He went silent, his fingers drumming against the gold of his spear. 'Now what?'
———
Gojo Satoru floated in the center of the nothingness, his body suspended as if held by invisible wires. His mind, usually a high-speed processor capable of handling an expanded field of data, felt sluggish, tethered by two nagging questions: How did I get here? and Why isn't my power answering me?
The moment he had regained consciousness in this space, his instincts had screamed at him to protect himself. He had tried to deploy Infinity, expecting the familiar sensation of the world slowing to a crawl around him, but nothing happened. He tried to trigger a Rejection, to push the void away, but that failed too. For a heartbeat, a cold spike of pure panic shot through his chest, a sensation he absolutely loathed. He was the strongest, the untouchable, yet here he felt naked and vulnerable.
He forced his breathing to steady. At least his thoughts weren't frozen. He could still process, still analyze. He looked around the endless expanse, his eyes searching for a boundary.
'Wait,' he thought, his brow furrowing. 'Am I inside my own domain? "
"Well, that would be because it's a sort of crossroads for us to talk."
The voice didn't come from a distance; it seemed to vibrate from the very fabric of the white space. An urgent shock, sharp and electric, jolted through Gojo's chest.
'What?!'
Before he could even attempt to move, his entire perspective was forcibly pivoted. His body spun in the air until he was face-to-face with a figure that made his breath hitch. His crystalline eyes widened.
"Ethan?"
The young man standing there offered a casual, lopsided grin that felt hauntingly out of place in this celestial vacuum. "Sup, dude. It's been, huh... awhile, wouldn't you say?"