The tavern was dimly lit, with smoke hanging heavy in the air, mingling with the pungent scent of mead and sweat. Patrons sat hunched over their drinks, laughing raucously or arguing in low, slurred tones. At the back of the room, where the shadows were thickest, Y/N sat slumped over a table, his massive frame dwarfing the wooden furniture. His fingers clutched a near-empty tankard, and his eyes—bloodshot and glazed—stared vacantly at nothing. The sound of the tavern around him faded into a dull roar, drowned by the familiar haze of drunkenness.
The door to the tavern creaked open, a gust of cold wind sweeping inside as a tall figure entered. The Allfather himself, Odin, clad in a dark cloak, his one good eye gleaming with an intensity that could pierce through stone. The tavern's atmosphere shifted instantly. Conversations quieted, and many of the patrons turned away, sensing the weight of his presence.
Y/N didn't look up. He didn't need to. He could feel it—the overwhelming pressure of his father's gaze. He let out a low grunt, raising the tankard to his lips and draining the last of its contents, not caring about the figure looming over him.
"You've made quite the mess of yourself, haven't you, boy?" Odin's voice cut through the din like a blade, calm but carrying the undercurrent of barely restrained fury.
Y/N scoffed, slamming the empty tankard onto the table with a thud. "Came all this way to lecture me? Thought you'd send one of your lackeys."
Odin's brow furrowed, but he didn't rise to the bait. He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "I didn't come to lecture you. I came to give you a task."
A bitter laugh rumbled from Y/N's chest as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes now meeting Odin's. "A task? You think I'm in any shape for one of your errands, old man?"
Odin's jaw tightened, his patience clearly thinning. "You're in worse shape than I expected, but that doesn't change the fact that you will do what's required. You will leave this pit of filth, put down your drink, and do what you were born to do."
"And what's that? Kill more giants? Tear down their homes, butcher their families?" Y/N's voice was harsh, but there was an edge of weariness beneath it. His fingers twitched as he reached for the tankard again, only to remember it was empty. "Haven't I done enough of that already?"
"Not enough." Odin's voice dropped, cold and final. "The giants remain a threat, Y/N. Their power grows, and they defy the gods at every turn. They must be eliminated—all of them. You were born to fight, to destroy, and I need you to finish what you started."
For a moment, Y/N stared into the empty tankard, his mind muddled with the fumes of alcohol and the weight of his father's words. The urge to refuse, to rebel, simmered beneath the surface. But deep down, he knew he had no choice. Not with Odin. He was the Allfather, and his will was law.
With a groan, Y/N shoved his chair back and stood, towering over the bar as his presence loomed large over the other patrons. He swayed slightly, shaking off the haze, his muscles tense and rippling under the tattoos that decorated his skin. "Fine. I'll do it," he muttered, his voice low and filled with resentment. "But after this, we're done. You hear me?"
Odin's eye flickered with something like amusement—or perhaps it was pity. "We shall see."
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The frosted winds of Jotunheim howled as Y/N stepped through the snow, Mjolnir hanging loosely in his grip. The air was thin, biting at his skin with every gust. The cold didn't bother him, though. It never had. The rage inside him was enough to keep the chill at bay.
