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Fifteen years had passed since that silent morning in Asgard's great hall.
On a vast open field, surrounded by statues of fallen warriors and ancient emblems, a tall young man with hair as golden as the dawn wielded a gleaming steel sword. He was dressed entirely in white — a light tunic, combat boots, and a cloak that billowed with every movement.
His strikes were clean, precise, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp whistle. In front of him, Tyr — the god of war — watched in silence, arms crossed, a half-smile marking his battle-hardened face.
Vidar took a deep breath after executing the final thrust. His blade pointed to the ground as his gaze lifted toward Tyr.
"You did it," Tyr said, approaching. "Fifteen years since that first day, and now you master the art of the sword better than many born for war."
Vidar lowered the weapon and held it relaxed in his left hand.
"Thank you, Tyr. For teaching me more than anyone else would have dared."
Tyr clapped him on the shoulder.
"You were a pupil with an unbreakable will. You didn't just learn to wield a weapon… you learned when not to. And that, boy, is what separates a warrior from a killer."
Vidar raised his gaze to the horizon of Asgard, his golden eyes steady.
"I won't forget a single one of your lessons."
The god of war nodded with respect and pride.
"You carry it in your gaze. It's time you follow your own path, Vidar. There's nothing more I can teach you."
And so, the wind swept through the sacred trees, carrying away the words that marked the end of a chapter in the young god's life.
…
After parting with Tyr, Vidar sheathed his sword and walked through Asgard's inner gardens. The sky was a deep, endless blue, and the cold breeze carried the scent of flowers that bloomed only in these sacred grounds.
He arrived at a pavilion adorned with silver vines. There, seated beside a crystal-clear fountain, was Frigga, reading ancient runic texts. The Queen of Asgard looked up, sensing her son's presence.
"You've grown, Vidar," she said with a soft smile.
He approached and knelt before her.
"Mother… I wanted to thank you. For all these years. For the teachings you gave me in secret… the runes, the protective spells, and those old incantations."
"Never let them see you weak, Vidar… for this place destroys what it cannot understand." Her words echoed now, like a memory from a past life.
Back in the present, Vidar pressed his lips together and met her gaze with resolve.
"But it's time I follow my own path."
Frigga snapped the book shut, her expression hardening.
"Do you mean it?" she asked, her voice low and cold.
Vidar nodded.
"I won't be part of Father's game. I won't be his experiment, nor his weapon. Not here."
Frigga's eyes flashed with restrained fury.
"If only it were that simple. Do you think you can leave without him stopping you?" She rose with a queen's grace but a mother's desperate anger. "If you try to defy his will, he'll imprison you… lock you in Asgard's dungeons if he must, until you break. To him you are not a son… you're a piece to keep under control."
Vidar held her gaze, unafraid.
"I'd rather live as an enemy of Odin… than die as his puppet."
Frigga drew a long breath. Her hands trembled for a moment, but she forced them steady.
"Sooner or later you'll have to face him. And when you do… you'll be alone."
Vidar gave a bitter smile.
"I always have been."
Without another word, he turned and vanished into the shadows of the palace.
…
Hours later, as the stars began to fill Asgard's skies, Vidar walked steadily through the golden hall leading to Odin's throne. The torches lit his tall figure, the reflection of his white cloak flickering like a ghostly shade.
Odin watched him from above, seated on his ancient rune-carved throne, with Gungnir resting at his side.
Vidar stopped a few paces from the dais and raised his gaze.
"I've come to tell you what I told Mother," his voice was clear, unwavering. "I will not be part of your game. I will not live as another piece on your board. I'll follow my own path… and I hope you accept it, Father."
The hall fell into silence.
Odin narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Vidar held his gaze a moment longer, then turned and began walking away without waiting for a response.
But before he could reach the doors, Odin's voice thundered through the hall's foundations.
"Stop, boy!"
Vidar froze, without turning.
"You dare defy me in my own realm? Speak to me of your own path like some mortal whelp?" Odin roared, and in his hand, Gungnir appeared, the legendary spear blazing with searing light.
Without warning, Odin unleashed a bolt of pure golden energy.
Vidar reacted in an instant, summoning his shield — a massive disc of white steel etched with ancient runes. The impact slammed into its surface, sending a shockwave through the entire hall. The torch flames whipped violently, and a crack opened in the floor beneath Vidar's feet.
"I don't need your permission, Father," Vidar growled from behind his shield, his voice firm.
Odin gritted his teeth, furious.
The silence held for a heartbeat. And in that instant, it was clear to the heavens and the Nine Realms — the balance of Asgard was about to break.
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