I wake up to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of a heart monitor. My eyes flutter open, squinting at the blurry figures around me. As my vision clears, I see Dylan, Milena, and the others huddled close, their faces etched with concern.
"Su Yan!" Milena cries out, and before I can say anything, she throws herself onto me, her arms wrapping tightly around my shoulders. Her body trembles. She's crying—actually crying—and it stuns me more than anything else. I've never seen Milena shed a single tear, not even during the worst of our missions.
"I thought we lost you…" her voice breaks, muffled against my shoulder.
Dylan is still holding my hand. His grip is warm, firm, grounding. He doesn't smile. He just looks at me with a softness I rarely see in him. "How are you feeling?" he asks quietly. "Are you in pain?"
I shake my head slowly, trying to sit up. My body protests, sore and sluggish, but nothing feels broken. Just… drained.
"You scared the hell out of us," Dylan continues, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Everyone's been waiting. You've been out for two days."
Two days?
My gaze sweeps the room. Familiar faces stand close—concerned, silent. No one speaks, but their presence is enough. It wraps around me like a blanket, warm and comforting.
I glance back at Milena, still clinging to me like I'll disappear if she lets go. "I'm okay," I whisper, gently placing a hand on her back. "I'm here."
She pulls back slightly, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her jacket, but refuses to meet my eyes. "Don't ever do that again," she mutters. "You don't get to go all silent hero on us and nearly die."
I offer her a small, tired smile. "Noted."
Dylan chuckles quietly, though the worry doesn't leave his eyes. "We've been through worse together. But seeing you like that—none of us were ready for it."
I rest my head back against the pillow, heart heavy but full. I didn't expect this. I didn't expect to wake up to so many people who actually care.
For a moment, the war feels far away.
----
The All-Father's words, though unspoken aloud in the silent chamber, resonate with the weight of a god's decree. Gungnir, Odin's spear, leans against his throne, a silent testament to the missing Cul and the unease that shadows Asgard.
"Now that Cul is missing and seems to be nowhere found,"
Odin's thought echoes, clear as a struck bell
"I want you to give this Tang Su Yan a test. Gauge if she can handle the fate that lies on her shoulder. But do not kill her. I merely wish to assess this little goddess' potential."
The command hangs in the air, a directive aimed at unseen forces, at the threads of fate that weave through the cosmos.
The awakening of Lunox has not gone unnoticed in the halls of Asgard, and Odin's gaze, though fixed on the horizon where the new goddess now stands, is also turned inward, towards the uncertain future.
He seeks to understand the measure of this new power, born of mortal pain and divine heritage. Can she bear the weight of her destiny?
Will she be a force for balance, or another catalyst for chaos? Only a trial, carefully orchestrated, can reveal the answers he seeks.
A fierce protectiveness flares within Freya, a mother's immediate and unwavering defense of her child. Her grip tightens on the edges of the shimmering water basin, the image of Su Yan – no, Freynir(Lunox) – etched in her mind.
"I will not let you hurt my child,"
She vows, her voice a low growl that vibrates with barely suppressed fury.
Her eyes, usually alight with warmth or strategic calculation, now burn with a cold, steely resolve.
Through the magic-infused water, her scrying pool, she watches and listens to the silent exchange between Odin and Gungnir. The All-Father's intention, though cloaked in the guise of a mere test, sends a shiver of apprehension down her spine.
She knows Odin's pragmatism, his willingness to sacrifice even those he holds dear for the perceived greater good.
"He will not touch her,"
Freya declares, the words a silent promise to her daughter and a direct challenge to the King of Asgard. The air around her crackles with nascent power, a subtle manifestation of her divine wrath.
Her hand instinctively moves towards the Brísingamen necklace, a source of immense power, as if preparing for a confrontation that has yet to unfold.
The image of Lunox, standing amidst the battlefield's ruin yet radiating newfound strength, fuels Freya's determination.
She will be vigilant, ready to intervene should Odin's "test" prove to be anything more than a veiled threat.
With a surge of divine will, Freya summons her weapon, Thrungva, its shimmering form materializing in her grasp. The air crackles with latent power as she utters a silent command.
"Watch over my child. Protect her from any harm."
The weapon, imbued with the goddess's fierce protectiveness, glows with an ethereal light. It stands as a silent guardian, a manifestation of Freya's unwavering resolve to shield Freynir from any threat, even from the machinations of Odin himself.
The magic within Thrungva resonates with Freya's emotions, a tangible extension of her love and determination. It will stand as a bulwark against any danger, a silent sentinel watching over the newly awakened goddess.
The ethereal glow surrounding Thrungva intensifies, the very air shimmering as the weapon undergoes a profound transformation.
The distinct form of a sword begins to blur and coalesce, the divine energy reshaping itself into a human figure.
Standing now where the weapon once materialized is a woman of striking presence.
Her eyes hold the same intense, unwavering protectiveness that burned in Freya's gaze, their color mirroring the polished steel of a well-forged blade.
Her posture is alert, poised, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Clad in practical, dark leather armor that seems to ripple with subtle enchantments, she moves with a quiet grace that belies a formidable strength.
Her hands, though now flesh and blood, retain the memory of holding a weapon, their movements precise and capable.
A single, braided strand of hair, the color of spun moonlight, falls over her shoulder, a subtle echo of the weapon's former ethereal form.
This is Thrungva, now given human guise – a silent guardian, an embodiment of Freya's fierce love and protective will made manifest.
Her very being radiates a quiet determination, a promise of unwavering defense for the little goddess. She is a shield made flesh, a watchful protector sent to stand against any harm that may come to Freya's child.