The cracks in the temple floor widened, stone grinding against stone with an ear-splitting screech. More columns of frost erupted from the growing fissures, and the temperature continued to drop at an alarming rate.
Eira's teeth began to chatter. "But... but the runes said it would help Thor return to Asgard! We spent a week translating them!"
"You translated what the runes wanted you to translate," Elric said sharply, his eyes scanning the rapidly deteriorating situation.
The icy hand clawed at the air, fingers as long as spears, each one dripping frost that hissed against the soil like acid. The massive limb crashed through the temple floor, sending chunks of ancient stone flying. Trees outside snapped like twigs as the colossal arm dragged itself higher, shards of ancient ice falling from its surface like shattered glass.
Eira stumbled backward, her heart hammering so hard in her chest she thought it might burst.
Thor moved instantly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her behind him with surprising strength for someone who'd lost his divine power.
"Stay close," he commanded, his voice low and sharp with urgency. "If that thing breaks fully through... it would be trouble."
Eira's breath came in shaky gasps. "Y-You said it's a giant?"
Thor nodded grimly, his eyes never leaving the emerging monstrosity. "A Frost Giant. One of the ancient enemies of Asgard."
The enormous hand slammed back into the ground with devastating force, causing the entire earth to buckle and crack. The giant was trying to pull its massive body upward, using the temple floor as leverage. But something—some ancient enchantment woven into the very foundations—was still resisting, still trying to hold it down.
The resistance wouldn't last much longer.
Thor's eyes darted around the chamber, searching for anything that might help. That's when he noticed something he'd missed before—a mural on the far wall, partially hidden behind centuries of dust and decay.
He moved toward it, pulling Eira along with him.
The image depicted a scene of cosmic chaos. A sky split in two, with lightning tearing through the heavens. A figure falling from the rift—small, humanoid, powerless. A giant rising from the earth below, arms outstretched in triumph. Frost engulfing an entire forest, spreading like a plague.
And beneath it all, a line of runes written in both Old Norse and Asgardian:
WHEN THE SKY FALLS, THE SLEEPING KING SHALL RISE.
ONLY THE WORTHY CAN STOP HIM.
Thor exhaled sharply, the pieces finally falling into place.
"The Sleeping King..." he whispered. "Jötun Borgir."
Eira swallowed hard, her throat dry. "You know him?"
Thor's expression hardened like steel, memories flooding back from his studies of Asgardian history.
"He was one of the oldest Frost Giants. A warlord from the ancient times, before even my grandfather's reign. Ruthless, cunning, and powerful beyond measure. Even Laufey himself—the current king of Jotunheim—feared him."
Eira's pulse quickened. "Then why is he sealed under our temple? Why here?"
Thor traced the ancient mural with his fingertips, feeling the grooves of the carved prophecy.
"I heard stories about it when I was young," he said quietly. "My grandfather, Bor, fought Borgir in a great battle that lasted for three days and three nights. He could not kill him—Borgir was too powerful, too ancient. So instead, Bor chose to bind him, to seal him away where he could never threaten the realms again."
He gestured around the temple. "He must have chosen this place as the prison. Far from Asgard, deep within Midgard, hidden and forgotten. And your family—"
"My family has been guarding a monster," Eira finished, her voice hollow with realization. "For generations. We thought we were temple keepers, preserving history. But we were actually prison guards."
A thunderous roar erupted through the earth, shaking the entire structure. Dust rained down from the rafters, and several more cracks split across the walls.
Eira staggered, but Thor steadied her with a firm hand.
"You said... only the worthy can stop him," she whispered, staring at the inscription.
Thor stiffened, his jaw clenching.
His father's voice echoed painfully in his memory. "You are unworthy of these realms! Unworthy of your title! Unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed!"
The hammer he could not lift, sitting just kilometers away in the town square.
The power he had lost, stripped away like a costume.
The shame that burned deeper than any physical wound.
"I am not worthy," he said softly, the admission tasting like ash in his mouth.
The words fell heavy between them, weighted with bitter truth.
Eira stared at him—this wounded, stubborn, infuriating man who had fallen from the sky like a broken comet. Who had spent a week helping her translate runes while discovering the simple joys of mortal life. Who was standing here now, powerless and mortal, facing a monster that could kill him with a single touch.
"You ran toward the giant when it first emerged," she said firmly. "You shielded me without hesitation. You're standing here right now, even knowing you've lost your power and might die."
Thor shook his head. "That is not what makes one worthy."
"Then what does?"
Thor looked away, unable to meet her eyes.
"I... don't know anymore."
A chilling laugh echoed from beneath the cracked floor—deep, distant, but unmistakably real and filled with malevolent intelligence.
"THOR... GRANDSON OF BOR..."
Eira grabbed Thor's hand instinctively, seeking any comfort in the face of that terrible voice.
The voice continued, each word dripping with centuries of hatred:
"YOUR FALL HAS BROKEN THE SEAL. YOUR WEAKNESS FREES ME."
Thor's face darkened with anger. "He's is here for 20000... but he knows my name. He's been aware this entire time, waiting."
The floor cracked further, spreading like a spiderweb across the entire chamber.
A thin line of frost snaked across the rune circle, freezing and corrupting the ancient protective symbols one by one. Where the frost touched, the golden light of the runes flickered and died, replaced by icy blue.
Another roar shook the chamber—louder now, closer, filled with triumphant rage.
The seal was breaking faster now, crumbling like ancient parchment.
Eira backed away, her voice trembling. "What do we do? How do we stop him? Thor, you have to—"
"Hey, why don't you guys back off a little and let me handle it?"
Both of them suddenly turned to look at Elric, who had been standing so still during their conversation that he'd become almost invisible to them.
Thor almost gasped—he'd completely forgotten about the warrior he'd brought with him. The situation had been so overwhelming that Elric's quiet presence had slipped his mind entirely.
"Mighty warrior of Midgard," Thor said urgently, his voice carrying the weight of both request and warning. "I seek your help, but at the same time, I must warn you—we will be no match for this creature. This might very well be the last battle of our lives."
"THORRRRRR!"
Eira's panicked scream forced Thor to whip his head forward, only to see a massive sword made of pure ice materializing in the air before them. It was at least ten feet long, razor-sharp, and moving at impossible speed.
The attack had come from nowhere—Borgir had launched it while they were distracted.
There was no time left to dodge.
Thor's body moved on pure instinct. He pulled Eira back behind him with one arm, positioning himself between her and the deadly blade. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the intense pain of being impaled by enchanted ice.
At least I can die protecting someone, he thought grimly. Perhaps that counts for something.
But after several seconds, no pain came.
Instead, Elric's voice sounded from behind him, calm and almost casual.
"You don't need to be so troublesome. This guy isn't that strong."
Thor's eyes snapped open and he looked back at Elric in shock.
The young warrior was standing between them and the ice sword, which had stopped completely in mid-air, hovering harmlessly just inches from Thor's chest. But what truly caught Thor's attention were Elric's eyes.
At some point, both of his eyes had transformed into something unnatural and otherworldly. One had become pure white, glowing with inner light like a polished pearl. The other had turned yellow with what looked like stars or constellation patterns swirling in the middle—specifically, it resembled the Big Dipper formation.
Thor realized immediately that Elric wasn't exaggerating about his strength.
As someone who had been a god for over a thousand years, Thor could naturally sense the energy contained within other beings. And the power radiating from Borgir—impressive as it was for a Frost Giant—was not even half of what he could feel emanating from Elric.
Thor knew that someone's energy level couldn't determine exactly how strong a person was in combat—skill, experience, and technique all mattered tremendously. But energy definitely could determine their upper limit, their maximum potential output.
So no matter how many broken abilities Borgir might possess, no matter what ancient techniques he'd mastered, his energy reserves would run out long before Elric's did.
It was simple mathematics of power.
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