The silence of the Golden Palace was colder than the deepest winter nights. Odin sat alone on his throne.
The scent of mead still lingered in the air, but it had transformed into an ironic poison, burning his throat.
He regretted it.
Not that he regretted yielding to the taboo that led to Baldr, but that he hated his own powerlessness—the powerlessness to break this established path, the powerlessness to grasp a fragile straw for those he loved in the current of fate.
He could only be like the weakest player, staking everything, including brotherly affection and his wife's dignity, to preserve that scant hope, which barely existed.
"Deserving of guilt..." he repeated in a low voice, as if chewing broken glass.
For himself, and for Loki.
He was disappointed, endlessly disappointed.
Not at Loki's evil deeds, but at his seemingly insightful yet foolish 'resistance'.
Loki thought he had jumped out of fate's trap, not knowing that every time he struggled, he tightened the rope and fell deeper into this vortex of destruction, unable to escape.
His thoughts drifted to Týr in Vanaheimr.
He was the best, most like him, yet also the least like him, of his sons.
Týr now felt like a stranger in a foreign land, but at least he was safe.
He had escaped this doomed theatre and did not have to accompany the mad actors.
This might be one of the few things Odin could do for him, and the only thing he could do right.
And his two foolish and arrogant brothers—Vili and Vé.
They coveted his throne, were simple-minded, and caused countless troubles.
But he still remembered the sin—killing the primordial giant Ymir together in their youth, using his corpse to create a new world.
The primordial blood soaked into his hands, the burden he had to bear for creating the world—he had borne it alone.
He had let them live in the glamorous new world he built from sin, enjoying the peace and prosperity they never truly understood.
This, too, could be seen as a twisted form of brotherhood.
As for Narcissus, the mysterious Vanir King... a weary mockery flickered in Odin's one eye.
Let him be.
The negotiations between them had been futile from the start.
Ásgarðr would eventually fall, and the Nine Realms were doomed to collapse—this was the final, long-written chapter.
Vanaheimr might survive under Narcissus's wing, but that had nothing to do with him, Odin, or the Æsir.
A new world?
There would be no place for him, and no need.
Finally, there was Thor, his other sons who remained in Ásgarðr.
A sharp pang of guilt seized his heart.
He pitied them, especially Thor.
In these negotiations with Narcissus, he could have fought to send new heirs to Vanaheimr—as hostages, as envoys—anything.
But he didn't.
For all prosperity to burn, necessary ashes are required.
They had to stay.
They needed to remain in Ásgarðr and accompany him—their God-King, their father—to the peak forged in blood and glory, and then fall into the abyss called Ragnarök.
This was the king's responsibility, the god's fate, and... the cruelest and truest companionship a father could give his son.
He closed his eyes and drove all his emotions into the deepest part of his heart, leaving only the cold resolve, like the foundation of the World Tree.
The final bell of Ásgarðr tolled in his ears.
After the long winter, the birth of Baldr, the god of light, was like the first ray of morning light piercing Ásgarðr's long winter, illuminating the entire divine realm.
His blonde hair shone dazzlingly, his smile was warm, and his whole being radiated a soothing radiance, as if he had gathered all the good in the world.
The gods were astonished by this and sincerely offered blessings and favor.
However, alongside this perfect light came his twin sister, Hödr, the god of darkness.
She was born blind, her eyes like the deepest night—quiet and silent.
Her existence seemed to highlight Baldr's brilliance, and because of this, most of the Æsir gods ignored or even disliked her, whether intentionally or not.
Only Freyr, the god of abundance from Vanaheimr, often came to Hödr out of his inherent kindness and some other feeling, patiently describing the colors of the world to her and accompanying her to feel the wind and flowers in quiet corners.
The siblings grew up in completely different atmospheres.
Baldr became stronger, more beautiful, and more generous, his light almost making it impossible for the gods to look directly at him.
Hödr, on the other hand, became quieter and more withdrawn; she grew accustomed to staying in the shadows, using her other senses to listen to and touch the world, and this silence seemed to contain insights far beyond her years.
As in the myth, the queen-goddess Frigg's deep love for Baldr gradually turned into a growing fear.
Nightmares haunted her, heralding the fall of light.
She could no longer bear this pain and was determined to act.
She traveled through the Nine Realms, begging all things in the world to give sacred oaths—steel, stone, fire, flowing water, disease, venomous snakes, birds, and beasts... All known beings swore to her, the Queen of Ásgarðr, that they would never harm Baldr, the god of light.
Everything was moved by her tears and pleas, and they gave their promises.
However, this time, Týr, the god of justice and oaths, far away in Vanaheimr, did not participate in this great oath.
But Frigg did not care.
She knew Týr, an honest, restrained god, and even in her absolute faith, she believed Týr could never harm his own blood brother.
Baldr's safety seemed flawless.
The gods rejoiced at Baldr's 'immortal' blessing and began to playfully throw various weapons at Baldr, but none could hurt him.
Baldr was like an eternal toy of light amidst the laughter, enjoying this almost absurd 'invulnerability'.
Only Hödr, who never participated in these games, simply quietly 'watched' in the direction of her brother, not a single flicker of emotion in her empty eyes.
And behind all this, Loki, the god of trickery, indifferently observed the farce.
He submitted to the fate already distorted in his eyes and journeyed to the land of giants.
There, he fathered three children who, as prophesied, would shake the foundations of the world—the giant wolf Fenrir, the Midgard Serpent Jörmungandr, and the goddess Hel.
He hid these three children, destined to bring destruction and the end, like sowing three seeds that would ultimately detonate Ásgarðr.
Then he returned to the Divine Realm, quietly waiting, his habitual, unsettling smile on his face.
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