Clouds danced within the sky. It blushed a fuchsia; smiling with its wonders. The sun's rays spilled against the temple's walls. Drowning through the transparent window frames, coating the granite floor in titian. Puffs of violaceous occasionally drifted past by, preventing some of the rays from engulfing local villages. The sun periodically played hide-n-seek; blinding civilians every so often; disappearing hastily behind the clouds wandering the sky so carelessly. Trees whistled in the wind, sage branches rejoicing and intertwining. Wind causing their spines to arch, blowing atrociously. Pine needles occasionally being plucked from their origins, soaring through the silent air.
With a roar, following a jangle of weapons, ears perked to the sources of these noises. A fight had unraveled in front of the throne of Asgard. A strident fight to the potential death, if the king hadn't come to stop them just yet. Every step making the fight dig further with acrimony. They hadn't planned for this quarrel to arise in front of the throne but didn't seem to have the smallest care in the world. The weapons whistling through the air, clobbering the temple's tension.
"What's it like, huh?" A voice sneered, confidence coating his voice, "Is Thor possibly enraged that his brother might atone to the title 'King of Asgard'?" The voice connected to a body; a middle-aged man. Whom possessed elongated raven-colored hair, slightly brushing the tips of his shoulders. His face contoured into a mischievous grin, hence his name 'God Of Mischief'. Low, slate brows hung above his eyelids, pushing together and scrunching his nose. Chartreuse eyes began to chew at Thor's patience, egging the man on for more of a violent battle.
The middle aged male wielded a scythe-like weapon. Shining halcyon; bouncing the sunset's reflection into the surrounding walls. The weapon was angled slightly; long and slim grasp—gilt decorating the overlays of alloy that lined it. Followed by two metallic shanks that emerged from the tip of the weapon. Sterling; silver coated the shanks, winding together and capturing a relic within their touch. The relic that sat between the shanks; hummed softly. Painted within the pellucid surface, it swirled with a cobalt wave. Cerulean peeking in and out, immediately being covered by the disturbing glow it adhered. Arctic churns whirled in the relic murmuring slight vibrations. It cooed all shades of blue swirling like snakes and overlapping each other.
"Father would never want a Frost Giant sitting in the throne! I refuse to have my future dictated with you swimming in royalty!"
"Oh? And in what alternative universe do you think, Thor, you'd sit upon that throne, and look over Asgard and be taken care of like you're made of nothing but fragile gems shaped into a carbon copy of our—" He paused, "—your father."
Thor's breath hitched, beryl eyes flickering between his brother and the weapon he clutched. Silence filled the air between the males instantly. It still seemed as if there was an echo in the mansion's lobby, those final words hang in Thor's mind—concern drowning out the frustration the male felt prior.
Thor was taken back, champagne-colored hair scattering across his shoulders—and strands of it spilling across his concerned expression. A fraction of his hair was holstered up, held back, and letting the free hair strands dribble over his collarbone. Occasionally filaments of his hair—getting stuck in the small blonde stubble that lined the male's jawline, drowning across the bottom of his face—and impelling above his upper lip.
He clutched the weapon he owned, a hefty hammer that only he could seize. Mjolnir. The hammer was lifted by only those who were labeled "worthy". Thor's father enforced that policy before he let Thor wield it. Only Thor, out of his knowledge, was the only one who could fully handle its power. Mjolnir held a bister; leather-like handle, emerging into a stone. It was a large, rectangular object holstered on a handle. The only thing that Thor wouldn't let out of his sight.
"It makes sense now! Why you were favoured all those years!" A deafening crash echoed throughout the halls—weapons batted together, conflict continuing. "You were normal! You went lied to, You weren't born in Jotunheim!" Loki continued, roaring more.
"What sense are you making, Loki!?"
"You weren't stolen from the place you originated from only for the sole purpose of spreading peace and becoming allies!" Loki's strength rose, shoving Thor backwards.
