I was born under the shivering lights of Asgard's endless skies, a child neither expected nor entirely wanted. My hair shone silver like moonlight glinting off frost, and my eyes were the deep, unending blue of the ocean — the kind that pulls you in before you realize how far down it goes. From the moment I opened my eyes, I could feel the pulse of magic and divinity thrumming beneath my skin, a current older than any mortal could comprehend.
They called me a miracle. They called me an accident. But I knew, even in my earliest moments, that I was different.
It had all started with my father, Thor — or, more precisely, with Thor's recklessness and my uncle Loki's infamous mischief. During the war against Jotunheim, as the fires of victory still smoked in the distance, Thor had celebrated as only a god could: loudly, violently, carelessly. Immortal pleasure and mortal misjudgment collided, and somewhere between wine and laughter, Loki had added a tiny, invisible twist — a fertility potion into my mother's drink.
The result? Me.
Odin's fury came quickly, like a lightning bolt slicing through the skies. My existence was an insult to the royal bloodline, a mortal child carrying the essence of a god. My father shrugged. Thor didn't care for children, nor had he cared much for me. But my mother had none of the protections of Asgardian nobility, and it was only by the intercession of Frigga, ever wise and ever compassionate, that my life was spared.
I grew in her care, and later, under the watchful gaze of Odin himself, I was taken to the divine awakening hole — a place where Asgardian children born with potential for magic and knowledge are tested, trained, and awakened to their true power. It was there that my senses expanded, that my mind stretched beyond mortal comprehension, and I touched the edges of magic itself.
Loki, my mischievous uncle, was my only solace. He had orchestrated the circumstances of my birth, yes, but unlike Thor, he showed me attention. He became my confidant, my guide, my brother in a world where my father's indifference and Odin's anger made me feel like a pawn in a game far larger than myself.
I was learning, growing, becoming more than either god or mortal — and I would not be ignored.