The sea was calm that morning, its waves gentle as a lone fisherman guided his small wooden boat over the waters. The only sounds were the creak of the oars and the distant cries of gulls above. It was peaceful, ordinary—until the sky changed.
Without warning, dark clouds rolled in, smothering the sun. The shift was so sudden that the fisherman froze, his hands still on the oar. The bright blue sky turned into a roof of thick, black storm clouds, twisting and swirling as if the heavens themselves had been torn open.
"By the gods…" the fisherman whispered, eyes wide. He saw this phenomenon—it was his first time seeing something like this in his entire life.
Thunder cracked, loud enough to rattle his bones, echoing across the vast sea. Lightning forked in the distance, bright and furious. And then came something even more terrifying. The waters in front of him began to stir, pulling back unnaturally, waves rising higher on each side as though the sea itself was splitting apart.
His boat was barely holding on as the waves grew larger and more chaotic.
From its depths, something rose, glowing faintly and trembling with power. In the next instant, it erupted upward—a streak of light shooting into the sky. The fisherman shielded his eyes, mouth hanging open in shock.
The blazing star tore upward through the storm, climbing higher and higher until it looked as though it would vanish into the heavens. But then, as if guided by some unseen hand, its path shifted. It turned north, sharp and precise, the roar of its passage shaking the clouds around it. The sound of it broke the air itself, a deafening crack as it surged beyond the speed of sound, vanishing into the distance like a spear of light.
Even miles away, in King's Landing, people near the port could hear the booming sound.
The fisherman sat frozen in his boat, chest heaving. He could not speak nor move. All he could do was stare at the sky, shaken and speechless, wondering what kind of omen he had just witnessed.
"My Seven, what was that?"
...
[Harrenhal]
"Oi, make sure that bastard doesn't die. Lord Tywin will kill us all if he isn't breathing by the time he gets here!" one Lannister soldier shouted to another as they came out of the ruined castle.
"Don't bother, didn't you see it? That's a tough son of a bitch. I bet my arms hurt more than his face at this point. That bastard can surely take a beating," another spat. He was looking forward to having another go with that highborn—show him his place.
However, just as they left the castle, a strong gust of wind caught everyone's attention.
"Seems like a storm's brewing," one of the men said with a brooding look. The strong wind indicated a storm was approaching.
"Aye..." another nodded, glancing at the quickly darkening sky.
"Make haste, hurry up!" another shouted, seeing that they were losing the little daylight they had left.
As the soldiers picked up their pace around the old burned castle, even the peasants they had captured noticed the winds stirring.
It was baffling—just a few minutes ago, the sky was completely clear, and now it was as dark as night itself.
Zoom
Inside one of the few comfortable rooms left in the old castle of Harrenhal, the window nearly burst open as the strong wind collided from outside.
Both Arya and Sansa could hear the wind suddenly picking up speed outside; its howling grew louder.
"It seems like a storm is coming," Sansa muttered, her already tense nerves growing more worried.
Arya got up to open the window and see what was going on outside. Maybe they could use the storm to their advantage—to escape. Maybe.
Just as she opened the window, what she saw left her stunned. The wind was strong enough to pick up someone her size, and the sky was as dark as ink.
It had been sunny and calm just moments ago. Arya hadn't traveled much outside of Winterfell, but even she knew this was not normal.
She squinted her eyes, shielding them from the dust, and then she saw something.
"What's that..." she whispered to herself, staring at something far away in the sky—shiny and fast.
And it was coming directly toward them.
Suddenly, thunder crackled, brightening the dark sky and rattling the ruins of Harrenhal with its sound alone.
And then she saw it—a star rushing toward them from afar, thunder and lightning gathering around it.
Arya's eyes widened. Her body stiffened, and her mouth fell open before she snapped the window shut and rushed back.
"Sansa..." she shouted as she ran.
Then the sky screamed.
From the heavens, a light appeared, like a star tearing the darkness apart. It came faster and faster, growing brighter until the entire sky seemed to burn. The soldiers stopped in their tracks, mouths open. Some pointed, some cursed, others fell to their knees, believing the gods had sent their judgment.
The bright object tore through the clouds, dragging a storm with it. Thunder rolled so loud that the very stones of Harrenhal shook. With a roar like the world breaking, it slammed into the old ruins.
Like a meteor, it struck the old ruin.
The ground split, the courtyard erupted, and the earth itself seemed to scream as a hole opened wide, glowing with fire and lightning.
"Seven hells!" shouted one guard, dropping his spear as the shockwave threw men off their feet.
From the hole came thunder after thunder, bolts of lightning striking again and again into the same spot. The peasants screamed—some praying, others running for the edges of the castle walls.
"Seven protect us!"
"This is the gods' will!"
"God's punishment follows you, scum!" some peasants cried, thinking the gods had heard them and come to save them from the Lannister soldiers' cruelty.
Each strike tore deeper, the foundations of the ruined fortress crumbling. Great stones cracked, towers groaned, and whole walls collapsed in clouds of dust. Harrenhal, already cursed, was now shattering under the fury of the storm.
And then it happened.
A blinding light burst from the hole, so bright that every man who looked upon it cried out and covered his face. It was as though the sun itself had fallen into the castle. In that instant, silence followed the roar, broken only by the crumbling of stone.
From the heart of the storm, a figure rose.
He leapt high from the shattered depths, his red cape billowing behind him like fire. He came down with a hammer in his hand, the weapon glowing with thunder still crackling along its head. When his feet struck the ground, the impact boomed like a drumbeat of war. Lightning split the sky once more, answering him.
The peasants stared in awe, tears streaming down some of their faces. To them, it was no man who stood there but a god, risen from fire and ruin.
The Lannister soldiers, however, trembled. Some clutched their swords with shaking hands; others backed away, muttering in disbelief.
"What is this? Why's he here?" one whispered.
Thor stood tall, his armor shining with the light of the storm, his blue eyes fierce and alive with power. Mjolnir hummed in his grip, alive again, drawn to its master. The red cape flowed behind him, caught in the storm winds.
He turned his gaze upon the Lannister camp, then to the peasants, and finally toward the castle ruins.
"You're as mad as me, partner, 'cause I'm going wild," he muttered as his grip tightened around Mjolnir. And for the first time, the hammer hummed as if it understood its partner's mind and replied.
...
A/N : Dare I say, I am looking for the next chapter.
xxx
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