Inside a large golden hall, a large crowd formed before the high seat of the palace hall. The murmurs deafened the scene below while the high seat was vacant.
Moments later, the crowd silenced as soon as they heard deliberate thumps reaching towards the high seat.
With each deliberate step, the one-eyed figure, his cloak swirling like storm clouds, exuded an otherworldly power. His aged form, though imposing, moved with a preternatural grace, a testament to both his long reign and divine essence.
A piercing gaze swept across the assembled throng. The figure, surveyed his loyal followers with an ageless wisdom in his remaining eye. A flicker of something, perhaps amusement, perhaps something deeper, crossed his face before he settled with a weighty thud upon the high seat.
"Hail Allfather!" The crowd's chants echoes throughout the hall, even reaching the ears of those outside of Glaðsheimr.
The figure raises his hand and in an instant the crowd went silent. Awaiting for the Allfather to speak his mind.
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"Since the passing of Baldr, the nine realms have been in disarray" His voice, though imbued with the undeniable weight of ages and authority, held a faint tremor. It was the voice of a king who had seen countless battles and endured immeasurable burdens, yet the power within it remained undeniable as he spoke of Baldr.
"The prophesized cold to span three winters has come" A tremor of foreboding ran through Odin's voice. The pronouncement wasn't a simple statement, but a warning that crackled with the imminent arrival of a harsh and unforgiving winter. It sent a shiver down the spines of those who listened.
Odin's voice boomed through the hall, a potent blend of pronouncement and challenge. "Ragnarok is near!" The words vibrated with power, laced with an undercurrent of something...ancient. Was it anticipation? A grim acceptance of fate? Perhaps even a flicker of something more primal, a warrior's yearning for a glorious battle.
A hush fell over the assembled throng for a heartbeat, thick with tension. Then, a spark ignited. A lone figure at the back bellowed a joyous cry, shattering the silence. It was a sound that echoed the primal yearning in Odin's voice, a battle cry for a destiny long foretold. As if a dam had broken, cheers erupted from across the hall. Faces, etched with the harsh beauty of warriors, were alight with a fierce joy. Weapons were raised, glinting in the firelight, a promise of the battles to come. The pronouncements of doom were drowned out by a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of Asgard. Ragnarok was upon them, and they, the chosen warriors of Odin, greeted it not with fear, but with a terrifying exhilaration.
What now will become of the nine realms? Only time can tell.