Where the sun last touched the crown of the fallen,
A child shall rise where the old one fell, amid ash and shattered steel.
Born in silence, cradle in ruin,
The new bearer of wind and wave shall rise.
Not of spear, yet war-born.
Not of law, yet destined to rule.
By their hand, the Vanir shall rise-not as they were, but as they were meant to be.
The rivers will remember, the mountains will echo,
For the Sea-Father's throne shall not remain empty.
Beware the still waters-they see, they wait, they choose.
---
Vanaheim is one of the Ten realms and exists on the highest level of World tree along with Asgard and Alfheim. Its inhabitants are the sister race to the Aesir of Asgard, ruled by Njord, lord of the seas.
The realm of Vanaheim is filled with vast forests, fields, and plains. Malekith the Accursed even described the realm as "filled with dusty old gods and enough trees to build a bonfire the size of the sun."
However, thousands of years ago, a war between the gods broke out between the Vanir living in Vanaheim and the Aesir of Asgard. This centuries-old battle of gods finally ended with a peace treaty and marriage between Odin, the god-king of Aesir and Frigga, the goddess of Vanir.
But some years after this war, the Vanir God King Njord entered eternal sleep out of nowhere for unknown reasons, leading to the lack of an heir from the royal bloodline to lead the Vanir and finalizing the decline of Vanaheim.
After that, Vanaheim has been mired in civil strife for thousands of years, dividing it into several factions.
And to their further loss, Odin recruited the talented young generation of Vanir to Asgard, including the still young Heimdall, Sif, and Hogun.
Heimdall became the all-seeing and all-hearing gatekeeper of Asgard and the guardian of its Bifrost. His sister Sif became the strongest warrior-goddess of Asgard.
Even Hogun, along with Fandral and Volstagg, earned their place as the Warriors Three, following Asgard's 'eldest son' Thor and fought all around the nine realms, raking great achievements.
In contrast, Vanaheim, having lost both its royal family and its most gifted elites, suffered an inevitable decline, plunging to the very bottom of the hierarchy. It would have declined completely if not for the two senators doing their best to contain the civil war.
However, in the past two decades, whispers began to spread—rumors of the birth of the last surviving descendant of the Vanir royal bloodline. Though the news remains unconfirmed, it has ignited a quiet yet persistent hope among those who still remember Vanaheim's former glory.
---
Vanaheim Central
Once the glorious heart of the Vanir gods, the capital of Vanaheim stood as a beacon of prosperity and divine power.
But after thousands of years of war, the once-magnificent city had crumbled into ruin. The divine halls that once echoed with the voices of gods and heroes now lay silent, their grandeur reduced to faded memories.
At the very center of this ruin stood the royal palace, the last remnant of the Vanir gods' former majesty.
Inside, amidst the dust-laden halls, a tired voice broke the silence.
"Skirnir, must the enthronement ceremony be so complicated? You know the state Vanaheim is in."
Aegir sighed, watching as Skirnir busied himself with preparations. His tone was tired, but his expression betrayed more irritation than anxiety.
To Skirnir, Aegir was the prophesied heir of Vanaheim—the one mentioned by King Njord to be the future king of Vanaheim, the last royal bloodline, chosen by fate to restore its lost glory. But in reality, he was a normal 25-year-old—an outsider who had inexplicably transmigrated into this broken realm as a newborn two decades ago.
His arrival had been nothing short of a miracle. He had appeared in the very palace where Njord, the last God-king of the Vanir, had spent his final days before entering his eternal slumber.
This alone was enough for Skirnir—the last guardian of the Vanir gods—to believe that Aegir was a divine gift, a child of royal descent sent by Njord himself.
Aegir had done little to correct this misunderstanding since it was his only choice for continued survival.
Adding to the illusion, his name had not been given by Skirnir but had instead been inscribed on his crib upon his arrival. Aegir—the name of the legendary giant, believed to be one of the oldest gods of the sea. A name that carried weight and destiny.
But what truly deepened the misconception was his behavior in childhood. Retaining memories from his past life, Aegir was smarter and far more capable beyond his years. To the dwindling remnants of the Vanir court, his intelligence was seen as a sign of divine providence.
Even though his physical capabilities were similar to that of an average Vanir's, Skirnir remained steadfast in his belief. He was convinced that Aegir was the chosen one—the one who would lead Vanaheim's revival.
And he would stop at nothing to see him take the throne even against the skepticism of the two senators.
Aegir spent a long time persuading Skirnir, hoping to simplify the ceremony. But no matter how much he argued, the old warrior's resolve never wavered. As the last guardian of the Vanir royal family, Skirnir was determined to see the ceremony through in all its grandeur.
And so, on the day Aegir turned twenty, the long-awaited enthronement of the new God-King commenced.
"Your Highness, the enthronement ceremony of the God-King is an event of immense significance—we cannot afford to be careless!"
Skirnir stood before him, clad in armor that bore the marks of countless battles. His gray hair and weathered face spoke of his years, but his eyes still burned with the fire of a warrior.
"This ceremony is not just about formalities," Skirnir continued. "It represents the dignity of Vanaheim and is a crucial step toward reuniting our scattered people, restoring them to their former glory!"
Aegir rolled his eyes, leaning back against one of the crumbling pillars. "Yes, very dignified—a ceremony in a half-collapsed palace with barely enough soldiers to form a proper honor guard. The scattered factions will be so impressed they'll trip over themselves rushing to pledge allegiance."
Skirnir frowned at the sarcasm but continued undeterred. "Mock all you want, Your Highness, but appearances matter. The ancient rituals must be observed."
"Ancient rituals, huh?" Aegir pushed himself off the pillar, walking over to throne in the center and inspect the ceremonial artifacts Skirnir had painstakingly arranged. "Let's hope these ancient rituals don't bring down what's left of the ceiling. Some of these columns look like they'll crumble if I sneeze too hard."
He was still processing Skirnir's words when the old warrior casually added something that made his heart skip a beat.
"I've not only summoned those still loyal to the royal family,—I've also extended an invitation to Asgard. Odin has agreed to send his heir prince Thor as a representative. If my calculations are correct, they should be arriving soon."
Aegir froze, then slowly turned to face Skirnir, disbelief etched across his features.
"You did what now?" he asked, voice barely calm.
Skirnir either missed or chose to ignore the disbelief in Aegir's tone. "It's a diplomatic necessity, Your Highness. For the ceremony to have true legitimacy across the Nine Realms, we need representatives from—"
"Are you trying to get me killed?" Aegir cut him off, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Good grief, old man. Do you enjoy playing with fire?"
Why in the nine realms would you invite Odin? The same Odin who had spent centuries ensuring the Vanir never rose again?
Aegir let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Through the two decade he lived in Vanaheim, he had already realized that he was in the Marvel Universe. And the Odin of this era, though maintaining the facade of a benevolent ruler, had not forgotten his conquests. After uniting the Nine Realms, he had abandoned his old tyrannical ways outwardly, but Aegir had no doubt: the All-Father would never allow a new force to rise and challenge Asgard's supremacy.
Vanaheim's continued division was proof of that. even that would not have been possible if not for the two senators Hlynna and Veidra doing their best. Though they are not that convinced about him being the prophesied one, at least they are not hostile toward him yet.
Odin had taken many of the Vanir's most talented warriors and scholars, absorbing them into Asgard's ranks. And those who resisted? No one knew their fate, but Aegir could guess—assassinated, silenced before they could ever become a threat.
To Odin, Vanaheim was not an ally. It was a vassal. Even if they never accepted it.
And now, he was expected to ascend the throne right under Asgard's watchful eye.
Aegir ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to manage his frustration. "Skirnir, I appreciate your... enthusiasm. But we're not ready for this kind of attention. Not from Asgard."
"Your Highness, this is precisely the kind of attention we need," Skirnir insisted, his weathered face set with determination. "Recognition from Asgard legitimizes your claim in the eyes of the Nine Realms."
"Or it paints a target on my back," Aegir muttered, but decided not to push the argument further. What was done was done. "Fine. But next time, consult me before you invite potential enemies to our doorstep."
Skirnir looked momentarily offended. "Asgard is not our enemy, Your Highness. The days of war are long behind us."
"Sure," Aegir said with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And I'm actually Surtur in disguise, just waiting for the right moment to start the Ragnarok."
Aegir clenched his fists. If he were stronger, this wouldn't worry him. But despite years of training, his physical strength was barely on par with the elite of Vanir soldier. If Odin decided he was a problem, eliminating him would be too easy.
The only thing protecting him now was Odin's restraint—his unwillingness to tarnish his carefully curated image as a just and wise ruler. And perhaps... a little influence of Queen Frigga.
But how long could that last?
It wasn't like Aegir hadn't considered leaving all of this behind. But Vanaheim didn't even have the technology to get off-world—and even if it did, where would he go? He couldn't exactly apply his modern knowledge to run Vanaheim efficiently either; there was no safety net, no fallback system, no power to rely on.
Still, it wasn't as if he'd completely given up. Over the past two decades, Aegir had absorbed everything he could about Vanaheim. He'd even gone so far as to secretly hunt for the ancient artifacts the Vanir were said to wield during their age of glory.
"What about Veidra and Hlynna? Will they not attend the ceremony?"
Aegir asked, noting their absence from the court. Skirnir grimaced slightly in response.
"There were complications at the front—trouble with the rock trolls. They had to leave urgently. But they'll return after the ceremony."
"Reporting to Your Highness, Lord Aegir! General Skirnir! The delegation from Asgard has arrived!"
Before Aegir could inquire further, a soldier clad in black armor strode into the hall, his voice steady but edged with tension.
Aegir exhaled slowly. "Let them in."
They were already here—refusing them now would be meaningless. The soldier barely had time to turn before the Asgardians forced their way in.
Aegir raised his eyebrows as a group of three people, exuding an unmistakable air of arrogance, strode into the chamber as if they owned it. The surrounding Vanir soldiers stiffened, hands inching toward their weapons, but the Asgardians paid them no mind.
No decorum. No announcement. No respect.
They acted as if this was their court, and Aegir was merely some vassal receiving his overlords.
Skirnir's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. This was a blatant provocation—an insult to Vanaheim's sovereignty. His grip on his sword hilt tightened, knuckles whitening.
But for now, he endured. Not out of fear, but out of necessity.
"Well," Aegir murmured under his breath, seating straighter but maintaining a relaxed posture. "If they're trying to start a diplomatic incident before I'm even crowned, they're doing a fantastic job."
Despite the contempt Aegir remained outwardly composed, watching the Asgardians with a curious expression. Then, his gaze settled on the figure leading the group, and his heart skipped a beat.
Thor. Loki. Sif...
All familiar faces. All standing before him, no longer mere names from mythology or characters from a movie.
This was real. And that made things far more dangerous.
Thor led the procession, his red cape flowing behind him, Mjolnir hanging casually at his side—a not-so-subtle reminder of the power he wielded. His golden hair caught what little light filtered through the cracked ceiling, and his broad smile did nothing to soften the assessment in his eyes.
Behind him walked Loki, all lean grace and calculating gaze, dressed in his signature green and gold. Unlike his brother's obvious swagger, Loki's danger was in his stillness, in the way his eyes seemed to catalog every detail of the room—and every potential weakness of its occupants.
And then there was Sif—originally of Vanaheim herself—now a devoted servant of Asgard. Her dark hair framed a face both beautiful and severe, her armor marking her as one of Asgard's greatest warriors.
"Greetings from the All-Father," Thor boomed, his voice echoing through the hall. "We come to witness the... coronation."
The slight pause before the last word was deliberate—a subtle questioning of the very legitimacy of the ceremony they had come to observe.
Aegir met Thor's gaze steadily, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Prince Thor. How kind of Asgard to send its crown prince to our humble ceremony. One might almost think the All-Father was... concerned about events in Vanaheim."
It was Loki who replied this time. "The All-Father takes interest in all Nine Realms under his protection. Especially when new kings are crowned."
"Under his protection," Aegir repeated, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "How fortunate we are."
Skirnir stepped forward, bowing slightly—just enough to be polite without showing subservience. "Prince Thor, Prince Loki, Lady Sif. Vanaheim welcomes you to witness this historic moment. The ceremony will begin shortly."
As Skirnir led the Asgardians to their designated places, Aegir caught Loki studying him with undisguised interest. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Loki's lips curved into the ghost of a smile—one schemer recognizing another.
Aegir would have to watch that one carefully. Of all the Asgardians, Loki might be the most dangerous—or the most useful.