[ UNDER EDITING!! ]
"I'm in love with someone I shouldn't be."
Son of Thor Odinson and Lady Sif, Prince Triston Thorson, or the God of Strength, was the second in line for the throne. He'd been reminded of that for as long as he could remember.
One...
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━━━━━━━━━ ≫•✯•≪ ━━━━━━━━━ PROLOGUE || 1681 ❝ here we stand as a beacon of hope, shining across the stars ❞
——— ONCE... MANKIND ACCEPTED A SIMPLE truth, that they were not alone in this universe. Some worlds they believed to be dwelling place of gods. Others, they learned to fear.
From a realm of endless cold and shadow came the Frost Giants, intent on plunging the mortal world into a new ice age. But humanity would not face this darkness alone.
The armies of Asgard rose to meet them, driving the Frost Giants back into the heart of their frozen world. The victory was hard-won, plaid for with countless lives.
In the end, their King was defeated, and the source of their power stripped away.
And so, with the Great War finally ended, the warriors of Asgard withdrew from the other realms and returned home — to the Realm Eternal. To Asgard.
Asgard was a shining beacon suspended among the stars, the crown of Yggdrasil itself. It's golden towers stretched skyward like spears of light, catching the sun so that the realm shimmered with brilliance from every angle. The great palace of Valaskjalf, with its high spires and endless halls, stood at the heart of the kingdom. It was a monument of power, wisdom, and the eternal might of the All-Father and the Royal Household.
Beyond its gleaming walls lay streets alive with the pulse of the people. The markets bustled with traders and artisans, their stalls overflowing with silks, armor, and treasures of the realms. The clang of smiths' hammers rang through the forges, while scholars bent over ancient texts in libraries carved from marble and stone.
Rivers of light coursed through the city, their glow feeding the roots of the World Tree. Bridges arched gracefully across them, connecting every quarter of the realm in harmony. At the farthest edge, the Bifrost Bridge stretched outward in a shimmering arc of rainbow crystal, guarded by Heimdall's watchful eye. It was the gateway to all the Nine Realms.
And high above, the night sky unveiled constellations unfamiliar to mortal eyes, stars burning with a brilliance only gods could call home.
This was the Realm Eternal. A place of beauty. A place of might. A place where legends were born, and where destinies would one day collide.
It was the winter of 1681, and snow fell faintly beyond the golden walls of Asgard, blanketing the city in a rare hush. Deep inside the palace, warmth glowed from the torches that lined the great vault, their light flickering over ancient treasures and relics of forgotten wars.
Two children padded softly across the stone floor, their wide blue eyes drinking in the wonders laid out before them. The vault was no place for play, though; today was a lesson, one taught by none other than their grandfather, the All-Father himself.
