“Odin,” they whispered. The All-Father. The Raven God. The one who hung on Yggdrasil for nine nights to claim the runes. He was the architect of the Nine Realms, the breaker of Jotunn, the king who traded an eye for a sip from the Well of Wisdom.
In the halls of Asgard, where gold shimmered like frozen lightning, the name of the father was always louder than the name of the son.
Because Odin knew the prophecy. He knew Ragnarök would come. And he knew that a boy who only knew victory would never survive what was coming.
“Odin,” they whispered. The All-Father. The Raven God. The one who hung on Yggdrasil for nine nights to claim the runes. He was the architect of the Nine Realms, the breaker of Jotunn, the king who traded an eye for a sip from the Well of Wisdom.
In the halls of Asgard, where gold shimmered like frozen lightning, the name of the father was always louder than the name of the son.
Because Odin knew the prophecy. He knew Ragnarök would come. And he knew that a boy who only knew victory would never survive what was coming.
