Within one of the golden chambers of Valaskjálf, the air hung heavy with dread.
Thor lay upon a bed of runic silk, his once-golden aura now dimmed to nothing. His skin was pale, his breath shallow, and no thunder stirred within him anymore.
Around him gathered the Æsir gods, most of them, their faces a mixture of disbelief and sorrow.
Sif knelt beside her husband, tears glistening down her cheeks as she clutched his cold hand. "All-Father… how could this happen?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "How can Thor, the God of Thunder, be reduced to this?"
Frigg gently placed a hand on Sif's shoulder, her calm voice a frail attempt at comfort. "Be still, child. The All-Father will find a way'
But Odin said nothing. He stood silent at the foot of the bed, his one eye fixed upon the goddess of healing, Eir, who was still examining Thor's body with hands that glowed faintly with divine light.
The silence stretched until Odin finally spoke. "Eir… your thoughts?"
