The Asgardian longsword could be wielded with one hand or two, and Solomon had trained in both single-handed and two-handed sword techniques. Mastering the sword itself wasn't the challenge—it was the energy coursing through its blade that made things tricky.
His one-handed sword techniques often required the use of a shield, while some two-handed techniques necessitated gripping the blade itself for leverage. For instance, if he locked swords with an opponent, he might need to grab the blade to tilt it and use the hilt to strike the opponent's face—a move that could break the stalemate.
If he were wearing armor, the sword's energy wouldn't be much of an issue. But currently, his enchanted gloves were no match for the intense energy pulsing through the blade.
"Dark magic," Queen Frigga murmured as she carefully examined Solomon's custom-made vampire gloves. The stark white leather gloves, with their crimson stitching resembling long, claw-like nails, caused her to frown slightly. "Did you make these yourself?" She shook her head. "Your dark magic is impressive, but these extra stitches… Oh, I must say, your sewing skills are atrocious."
Solomon blushed deeply and looked down, awkwardly shifting his weight onto his toes.
There was always a sense of shame when one's creation was judged by others, especially when Queen Frigga herself critiqued his less-than-perfect needlework. He didn't dare mention that the leather had been tanned by an Italian cobbler, one of Athena's preferred craftsmen. The cobbler had even asked what kind of animal the leather came from and what type of shoes Solomon wanted him to make.
In Asgardian tradition, materials for magical equipment were supposed to be self-obtained—aside from ancestral heirlooms. Solomon had purchased the leather in Vana'diel, had it tanned by a craftsman, and then made the gloves himself. This was a time-saving and efficient method. Thankfully, Queen Frigga wasn't overly strict about this custom. She understood that mastering so many skills at Solomon's age was unrealistic.
"I'm not particularly skilled in blood magic, but I'm far better at potions." Frigga smiled as she returned the gloves to Solomon. "Come with me to the greenhouse. I'll teach you how to grow magical plants and process potion ingredients. The Vanir are far more advanced in pharmacology than Kamar-Taj. You'll learn to make hallucinogens, aphrodisiac balms, and healing elixirs. Don't worry, I'll leave you time to play in the training grounds."
A raven landed on Odin's arm, its black feathers gleaming under the light. The All-Father listened closely to the whispers of the raven, named Muninn. After nodding in acknowledgment, Odin watched as Muninn flapped its wings and disappeared into the distant stars and radiant twilight.
He was deep in thought, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Odin's network of informants extended beyond Heimdall. Huginn and Muninn, the two ravens, were his eyes and ears. They traveled across the Nine Realms and beyond, observing and reporting everything they saw.
The All-Father's concerns were many.
The Kree Empire's oligarchs and warlords continued their endless battles, profiting from the chaos. The Skrulls, emboldened by their new protector, had resurfaced, engaging in conflicts with native populations and their Kree pursuers. Interstellar pirates and wanderers roamed beyond the Nine Realms, scavenging what they could to survive. The recent rebellion in Vanaheim was evidence of these scavengers' audacity. The emotionless Eternals continued their distant observations, as mechanical and detached as the automatons Odin cared little for.
But it was the Black Order that truly troubled the All-Father.
This interstellar warlord faction, led by Thanos, had an insatiable hunger for conquest. Odin knew all too well what Thanos sought and feared that Asgard would inevitably become one of his targets. So long as Odin and the Ancient One lived, Thanos wouldn't dare invade the Nine Realms or enact his twisted philosophy. But after their deaths, could Thor and the Ancient One's successor withstand the immense pressure?
And then there was Hela, Odin's firstborn. Her existence was intertwined with the prophecy of Ragnarök.
One failure would lead to total defeat, with no chance of recovery.
Hela's dangerous ideology wasn't the real reason Odin had imprisoned her. It was his visions at the Well of Wisdom, visions of the end times, that haunted him. Hela's views merely provided a convenient excuse—her war-hardened mentality was no longer suitable for the stability of the Nine Realms. As the linchpin of Ragnarök, her imprisonment seemed like the logical course of action. Yet, over time, Odin realized that his actions were exactly what destiny intended, making him the very catalyst for the prophecy.
He had once sought the Ancient One's counsel on this matter. Both Ragnarök and the fall of Camelot were the work of destiny's unseen hand, manipulating their lives. Odin had hoped the Eye of Agamotto could shed light on Asgard's future. But the Ancient One had refused. She had said, "The most terrifying aspect of destiny is that when you try to escape it, you can never be sure whether your thoughts are your own or destiny's whispers."
However, after adopting her successor, the Ancient One had changed her tune. Solomon Damonnet, the Ancient One's heir, was both ensnared by destiny and a potential breaker of its chains. His choices could alter the fates of the Nine Realms and the entire universe.
The All-Father sighed deeply.
Thor, noticing his father's expression, asked, "Father, is there something troubling you?"
"No, nothing." Odin shook his head, unwilling to burden Thor with the weight of the future. Thor had matured but was still not ready for such responsibilities. "Instead, tell me about Vanaheim. I noticed someone didn't return."
"Vanaheim will no longer rebel," Thor replied. "I left Hogun there—he's home."
Thor leaned against the balcony railing, watching the soldiers training below. "If you had led the army yourself, the war would have ended even sooner."
Odin brushed off Thor's flattery. "This is the first time the Nine Realms have known peace since the Bifröst was destroyed." He paused, deciding against delving into complex political philosophy. Thor still had time to learn. "This was your achievement, Thor. They will remember our strength… and you have earned their respect—and my gratitude."
"Everything is in order, except your restless heart," Odin said pointedly.
"This has nothing to do with Jane Foster, Father," Thor protested, blushing slightly.
"Mortals' lives are fleeting, insignificant in the grand scheme. Cherish those who stand by your side." Odin gestured toward Sif, who was training tirelessly in the courtyard below.
She was the bride Odin and Frigga had envisioned for Thor. To them, Jane Foster wasn't even worth considering.
"And what about Solomon? He's a mortal too!" Thor countered.
Odin snorted dismissively, waving his hand as if shooing away an irrelevant thought. He picked up his goblet and walked away without another word.
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