Marvel: Sævor of Wisdom

Tyr keeps practising, repeating the swing over and over. His breathing gets heavier, sweat trickling down his forehead, but he doesn't stop.

After the thousandth swing, I sit up again and whistle.

"Oi, you're gonna collapse at this rate," I call. "You ever heard of resting? Or do you just plan to die dramatically right here?"

Tyr jolts, pausing mid-swing. He wipes his forehead with the back of his sleeve, looking embarrassed. "I… I have to get stronger," he mumbles.

His voice is small but firm.

I tilt my head, genuinely curious. "Why so desperate?"

Tyr stares down at the ground, gripping his practice sword. "I want to protect people. Like the guards who saved me when… when my village was attacked." His words come out in a rush, shaky at first but solid at the end.

Ah. So that's it. The protagonist trope.

I stare at him for a moment, then break into a grin. "Wow. A real knight in the making, huh? You'll go far. I'll give you that."

His head snaps up, eyes wide. "R-really? You think I can?"

"Yeah," I say, standing and dusting grass off my sleeves. "But you're going to fail."

Tyr blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again like a confused baby bird.

"You'll die training before you even make it out of camp. That's dumb. Even those old Einherjar geezers would agree."

I mean, look at his state. Day 1 of proper training and he's already pushing his body to the brink of breaking.

A little bit more, and his muscles would be torn.

[In 5 more sword swings to be precise.]

Or maybe cardiac arrest? Do Asgardians even die from that?

[65% of cardiac arrest.]

There you go.

I sigh. "Come on." I wave him over to the shade of a nearby tree and plop down. "You need to recover. Sit."

He hesitates, then follows, dropping to the ground a bit too stiffly.

I lean back against the trunk, watching him fidget. "So, Tyr, right? You've got guts. But if you really wanna get strong… you need brains too. Technique, strategy — all that nerdy stuff."

Tyr frowns, thinking hard. "Brains…?"

"Yeah. You think Odin won all those wars by just swinging Gungnir around like a party stick? Nah. He plans. Every strike is calculated. Even Thor — well… okay, bad example." I snicker.

"Who's Thor?"

"Nobody, forget it," I chuckle.

"Listen," I continue. "I'll help you sometimes, when I'm free. But you owe me, okay? Later, when I need something, you'll return the favour. Nothing hard, just some errands."

Tyr's eyes go round. "You… you'd really help me?"

I roll my eyes. "Didn't I just say that? You're a bit slow, huh."

But then I hold out my hand.

He stares at it, stunned, then grips it with both hands like it's a sacred treasure.

"I… I'll do my best! I'll repay this kindness a thousand times over!"

I snort, tugging my hand back before he starts crying or something. "Yeah, yeah. Relax. You're acting like I just gave you the throne."

He wipes his eyes quickly.

I stand up, stretching. "All right. Next time, I'll show you another technique. But for now — seriously — rest. Or Frigga will scold both of us, and trust me, she's scarier than any warlord."

Tyr scrambles to his feet, bowing so deeply his head nearly touches the grass. "Thank you, Your Highness!"

I laugh, heading back toward the palace. "Drop the 'Your Highness' stuff when it's just us. Just call me Sævor."

Behind me, I hear him gasp, then shout, "Thank you, Sævor!"

I wave lazily over my shoulder without turning around, a grin plastered across my face.

I'm just helping 'cause I'm bored and curious to see his potential.

Guess I just picked up my first disciple. Or… friend.

Eh. Same difference.

.

.

I stretch my arms above my head, still feeling that satisfied laziness from the grass nap.

Time to head out.

Next on my chilling list? The Royal Beast Sanctuary. Or as I like to call it: the big backyard zoo of Asgard. Technically, it's located at the far end of the palace grounds, separated by shimmering barrier fields. Keeps the beasts in and the clueless Einherjar recruits out.

I call for a carriage — no way I'm walking all the way there under the sun.

A moment later, a sleek golden carriage pulls up, shimmering slightly from the rune arrays powering it. The driver hops down — old Geri, a long-time palace retainer.

"Good morning, Young Master," Geri greets, his voice a warm rumble. He's got that permanent half-smile, half-grumble expression only veteran attendants seem to master.

"Morning, Geri. How's your knee? Still holding up, old man?" I tease, hopping up to the carriage.

Geri snorts. "Stronger than your excuses for skipping spear drills last week."

"Hey, that was advanced magical research! Very important, top secret," I declare, tapping my temple with mock seriousness.

He just rolls his eyes, helping me up with a practised hand.

Before I can climb fully inside, I hear small hurried footsteps behind me.

"Br-Brother!"

I turn, and there she is — Hela, little crown-like braid slightly crooked, cheeks flushed from running. She clutches something in her small hands.

"Hela?" I blink. "A surprise ambush?"

She puffs her cheeks, coming to a skidding stop. "I… I made presents!" She proudly holds out a small, carefully wrapped package with bright ribbons.

"For you! And Mother! And Father!" She practically bounces as she says it.

I crouch down to her level. "For me? Let's see!"

She shoves it into my hands, her eyes sparkling like she just offered me a treasure chest full of dragon gold.

I gently peel open the wrapping. Inside is a small charm — a slightly uneven piece of carved wood, painted with tiny runic swirls. The lines wobble here and there, clearly done by a small, determined hand.

"It's… a protection charm!" she says quickly, almost tripping over her words. "To keep you safe when you go outside!"

[Non-functional. Runes misaligned. Sequence incorrect. No defensive value. Decorative only. Conclusion: It's useless.]

'Shut up, Ælir.'

[Acknowledge.]

Can't even be mad at him, cause he's part of me. The logical, cold, calculating side.

Anyway, I feel my chest warm up in a weird, soft way.

"Wow… it's amazing," I say, ruffling her hair again. "I'll keep it on me always. Thank you, little warrior."

She giggles, cheeks pink. "Really? You really like it?"

"I love it," I say, slipping it into my sleeve pouch like it's a priceless artefact. "You did great, Hela."

She hops in place, excited beyond words.

"Come with me to the Sanctuary," I offer. "You can see the sky-whales and moon foxes with me."

Her eyes widen, but then she shakes her head hard. "I can't! I have to give Mother and Father their presents next! Important princess duty!"

"Ah, the royal delivery quest," I say, nodding gravely. "Very noble."

She grins, showing her tiny teeth. "Yup!"

I stand and give her a gentle wave. "Then, good luck on your mission, Princess."

"Bye-bye! Be safe!" she calls, waving her whole arm with so much force she nearly topples over.

I watch her scurry off, clutching the packages like a sacred scroll.

Geri clicks his tongue behind me. "Adorable as always, that one."

"She's the star of the palace," I say, climbing into the carriage fully this time.

Geri chuckles and flicks the reins lightly. The runic wheels hum to life, and we glide forward.

We roll through the outer palace gardens first, where golden flowers sway and shimmering koi swim through shallow, crystal-clear channels. A few maidens tending the flowers straighten and bow politely as we pass.

Further along, we cross into the city proper. Market stalls line the marble roads, draped in silks dyed so bright they could shame a rainbow.

Vendors call out cheerfully, children chase each other with wooden swords, and armoured guards watch from intersections with easy smiles. Elderly retired soldiers sip mead under sun canopies, chatting about yesterday's sparring matches or new rune gossip.

Some citizens catch sight of me in the carriage and wave eagerly. I nod back, throwing a casual salute to a group of young apprentices struggling to carry a huge barrel of mead.

Ah… Asgardian mornings. Loud, colourful, a little chaotic — and somehow peaceful in their own weird way.

I lean back, feeling the gentle bump of the road and the warm sunlight on my face.

Yeah. Life's good.

Next stop: the Sanctuary. Time to meet some monsters prettier than me.

.

.

.

We roll smoothly up a wide, sloping path lined with massive arching trees. At the end of the road, a shimmering archway of golden runes marks the entrance to the Royal Beast Sanctuary.

Beyond that arch, the world opens up into a sprawling, living paradise. No cages. No cramped enclosures. Just vast, open habitats crafted to match each creature's original realm — lush meadows, star-lake groves, misty hillocks, and crystalline ponds that shimmer like tiny galaxies.

As the carriage slows, Geri hops down and opens the door. "Here we are, Young Master," he says, giving a small bow.

I step out, immediately hit by the blend of wildflower scents, damp earth, and something electric — the aura of powerful, half-divine beasts.

I take a deep breath and start walking. Above, two giant sky-whales drift lazily, their translucent fins glowing under the sun like living auroras. Below them, moon foxes — sleek, white, and star-speckled — dart through the grass, leaving shimmering footprints that fade after a few seconds.

A bit further, crystal deer graze peacefully, their antlers sparkling with shifting rune-light. One lifts its head to watch me, eyes reflecting entire constellations.

Near a rocky section, flame-backed drakes doze on heated stones, their tails flicking lazily. Higher up, golden-winged wind goats leap from one floating stone to another, playing tag above a canyon-like basin.

Each section feels like a living museum — but everything here breathes, plays, and roars. Only royals and a few high nobles are allowed to enter freely. These creatures are too rare, too strong, and too important to Asgard's magic and ecology.

I wander deeper, feeling like I'm on a morning stroll through another world.

Then, finally, I see him.

Sleipnir.

The moment I spot him, my breath catches.

He stands at the edge of a misty glade, munching on radiant star-lotus flowers. Eight powerful legs hold up a sleek, muscular body. His silver-grey fur is so glossy it looks almost liquid under the sunlight. His mane — a long, midnight-dark cascade — ripples gently even without wind, scattering cosmic sparks.

When he lifts his head, two intelligent, moon-silver eyes lock onto mine.

A shiver runs down my spine.

Sleipnir isn't just a horse. He's THE horse.

Odin's steed. Born of miracles and myth. Said to cross the Nine Realms in a single gallop, faster than thought, and even capable of passing through dimensions and space-time tears if guided by the right magic.

Owning a supercar? Cute.

This? This is like owning a Bugatti, a fighter jet, and a pocket dimension all rolled into one — but alive, proud, and ten times more beautiful.

I take a careful step forward, not wanting to startle him.

He tilts his head, amused.

"Hey, Sleipnir," I say softly. "Still outshining everyone as always, huh?"

He snorts, flicking his mane, then takes a few graceful steps toward me.

I raise a hand slowly, and after a long, thoughtful moment, he lowers his massive head to nudge my palm. It's gentle, but the sheer weight and strength behind it are clear.

A laugh slips out of me. "Guess I still pass your vibe check."

[Warning: Contact with high-level beast. Maintain caution. Potential for rapid acceleration or unpredictable behaviour.]

'Relax, Ælir. He likes me.'

[…Acknowledged.]

I move to his side and stroke his neck, feeling the warmth and quiet energy rolling beneath his silvery coat. Up close, I can see tiny star-like runes shimmering under his fur, shifting and glimmering like a living constellation.

For a second, I imagine what it'd be like to ride him across Yggdrasil's branches, racing starlight itself.

Maybe someday.

[Analysis:

Sleipnir possesses maximum speed exceeding warp thresholds, durability on par with royal-class dimensional vessels, and self-regenerating energy reserves nearly infinite under cosmic conditions.

Combat capabilities surpass Asgardian A-rank combatants. Rider compatibility is extremely low; he is fully bonded to Odin, and replacement is virtually impossible without divine intervention.

Conclusion: riding attempt not advised.]

'Yeah, yeah… let me dream for five seconds.'

[Noted.]

I roll my eyes inwardly. Ælir always ready to ruin a perfectly good daydream with cold data.

{Sleipnir's Image}