“I saw for Baldr, the bleeding god,

The son of Othin, his destiny set:

Famous and fair in the lofty fields,

Full grown in strength the mistletoe stood.”

– Voluspa, Verse 32

TWO THOUSAND YEARS EARLIER

Loki stood once again by Odin’s side as their ship glided across the air, piercing through the realms and entering Jotunheim. Reality shifted, time expanded into a million years before shortening again, revealing a frozen landscape over an endless sea, icebergs rolling slowly in the distance, and a massive landmass with black pyramids and endless armies.

As expected, the entire Jotun army was waiting at the shores of their continent, massive magic ships floating mid-air, filled to the brim with giants with pale skin and gleaming eyes, a million spears and lances, and their poisonous mists drifting across the landscape.

Loki shifted uncomfortably next to Odin. The old man’s plan was clear, but Loki wondered how it’d unfold.

The Allfather tapped on the shoulders of his son, Baldur, and the young god only smiled. His hair was as white as wool, parted in the middle and dropping graciously right above the shoulders. He looked much too confident for his own good.

And Loki despised that. He hated how Baldur had become Odin’s second in command, that dumb buffoon with no will of his own; he abhorred that feigned compassion, that attitude befitting a servant and not a god. A perfect slave to his father.

Odin smiled fondly. “Go on, my son, I’m sure as the Norns spin their threads, that they shall submit to our will. Remember, if they do not deserve your mercy, don’t give it to them.”

“I… have my own views on that, father. You’ll see. Trust me, I have a plan that will not fail.”

“I do trust you, my son, but I do not trust them.”

Loki wanted to throw up. Did that boy really take his place? He had once thought Odin was in his grasp, following blindly. Not so much anymore.

He had to change it again.

Baldur nodded, taking a deep breath, and jumped overboard, then glided softly through the air, arms extended, facing the endless army, like a star descending from heaven, white cape, white hair, a gray cape and a jaw as square as a flint.

“My kinsmen,” Baldur’s voice echoed across the vast expanse, magically assisted. “Children of Ymir, brothers, I come on behalf of my father Odin. This is your chance to lay down your weapons and become one with the Aesir. Join us, and let’s make Ymir’s dream come true.”

A noise rumbled among the Jotnar armies, the tumultuous echo of laughter reverberating through the sky. A single figure raised above the air, Hrymr, chieftain of the Jotnar, long pale hair and a long mustache above paper-thin skin that displayed every muscle fiber and vein of his body.

“This is our response,” Hrymr shouted, ascending through the heavens. “Tell your father to stick his offer back inside his wrinkled ass. We have our own terms and are as follow: give back what you took from us, return the Essence to Jotunheim, and accept our right to rule, as it should have been, and avenge the senseless murder of Ymir. Abandon this abominable World he created and its puny inhabitants. Grant them to us as property, their rightful owners, so that we may bring it to order and put them to good use!”

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“I warn you,” Baldur said. “We shall take Jotunheim. We wish not to destroy you, but for you to join us, like the Vanir did. It is best for the Nine Worlds if this war is finally over. There’s no use weeping over past losses. The men of Midgard are also Odin’s progeny, so they are not to be enslaved by you again.”

“Ah,” Hrymr hissed dismissively. “The Vanir are cowards. We shall never yield! Odin has no right to rule, and I swear upon Ymir and all of my ancestors, that all of Asgard will die before we accept Odin’s rule! So now, if you step forward once again, son of Odin, and our magic knives will slice your flesh and maim your bones, and if your spells deter us, we shall take you and bind you in our dungeons.”

Baldur looked back at Odin for an instant. The one-eyed god nodded from above.

“Watch this,” Odin said to Loki, on a low voice. “He’s been rehearsing this line for hours.”

“I cannot wait,” Loki declared blandly.

“I swear,” Baldur said, lifting his hand. “By Odin, that I myself shall defeat your tens of thousands.”

Loki gritted his teeth.

A sudden glow emerged in Baldur’s hand, a blinding light that seemed to coalesce into being.

That was the worst part.

He didn’t know how, but Odin had given him too much power.

It was known that Baldur was the sole holder of the Essence of Renewal. But there was something else. Perhaps, a part of Ymir, Loki didn’t know.

But in the past months Baldur had become stronger than any god in Asgard.

Those stupid sons of Odin, even Loki’s own sons, gathered together to test Baldur’s newfound strength. It was said that he had no weakness and that no weapon could even scratch him.

Loki had even tried to bring Baldur to his camp, maybe by controlling his foolish impulses and thus hold control of Odin. But it was of no use. The fool was blindly loyal to his father.

The glow in Baldur’s hand turned into a sword of white light, longer than Baldur’s stature, reverberating with power.

“I have warned you,” Baldur shouted, his cape and white hair fluttering as he did. “You have one more chance for peace!”

That was when the magic blasts started flying toward him.

“Attack!” shouted Hrymr, with his generals relaying his orders, as hordes of Jotnar propelled into the air with powerful leaps. Baldur descended like an arrow, undeterred, arms spread open, even while holding that blade of light.

That was when the first Jotun blade came into contact with Baldur’s flesh. Powerful maces aimed at his head, arrows oozing poison and magic, blasts of magical energy, all hurled at the god. Loki scanned for Baldur’s life-force, but even that was impossible to read.

He watched attentively. It was as though space and time itself blended on him, swords faded into nothing. For an instant, Loki wondered if he was just witnessing an elaborate illusion by Odin’s hand. But even the ancient dwarven weapons failed. The Jotnar tried to wrestle him, to grab him and take him down, but he slipped as if he were made of light.

No Jotun had been hurt, all of them struggled, tried to get to him, but they were left dazed and confused. Others passed by him, making their way toward the Asgardian ships above.

“I have told you all to yield,” Baldur shouted again, turning around and facing the fleet, while a horde of Jotnar circled around him, wildly raising their weapons and striking him.

And then, Baldur shifted, like lightning flying toward the sky. The half-dozen Jotnar who were reaching toward Odin were cut in half in an instant, their bodies exploding into blurs of blood and flesh. More and more Jotnar ascended toward them, all of them were cut down by lightning.

The more the Jotnar ascended, the more they were cut down, mercilessly.

“I have forewarned you all!” Baldur shouted, lightning crashing behind him and cutting down all the Jotnar who had passed above him. “Whoever passes by me shall die.”

Lightning struck; Jotnar bodies collapsed, shredded into pieces, and bursting into explosions of blue-blood. Baldur turned forward, as if intentionally ignoring the result of his magic.

Then, Baldur drifted forward like a blur of light, passing by Jotnar hordes who swung frantically and cast spells, some reverberating among their allies.

“You cannot hurt me!” Baldur’s voice echoed around Loki, coming from all directions. “I hold your lives in my hand. So I urge you, desist and yield yourselves to my father, the creator of this world.”

For all of Baldur’s feigned mercy and understanding, Loki could see through it all. Odin wanted to plant his son as a benevolent ruler while also threatening his enemies.

Loki’s eyes drifted toward the sea. Baldur had faded from view, and the Jotnar hordes stared about in confusion, their leaders holding ordering them to remain attentive.

Suddenly, a blaze of light erupted in the heavens around the Jotnar. Something took shape among the clouds. It was a human figure, gleaming like the sun itself, raising over the pyramids and mountains of Utgard. Baldur was seen there, larger than the city, and his voice echoed and reverberated in Loki’s ears. Even he found himself in awe.

“Desist now, yield yourselves to Odin’s peace,” said Baldur’s voice. “You are not fighting for control of the Nine Worlds.”

Then, his voice shifted again. It was as if the wood of the ships spoke, and the iron of the swords, the strands of wool in their capes and textiles, even the clouds and the light of the sun. As if he spoke through all matter and every fiber of reality.

“I am the Nine Worlds.”