The golden towers of Asgard gleamed under the light of a hundred suns, their spires piercing the clouds like fingers of fate. The streets hummed with life — guards pacing, servants scurrying, and faint laughter drifting from distant halls. But at the heart of the palace, the air was still. Heavy. Expectant.
Inside the main birthing chamber, Frigga's face was streaked with sweat, her hands gripping the bed's silk sheets as she struggled to bring new life into the world. Her breath came in sharp bursts, each one carrying the weight of hope and fear intertwined.
Outside the chamber, Odin stood like a mountain, his golden armor catching every flicker of torchlight. One hand rested on his staff, the other clenched at his side, his single eye fixed on the door. His chest rose and fell slowly, though the tension around him could be felt by anyone nearby.
No words were spoken. Only the quiet rhythm of Frigga's struggle, the distant hum of Asgardian magic, and the patient, towering presence of the All-Father waiting for what was to come.
The tense quiet of the palace halls seemed to stretch endlessly as Odin finally stepped through the doors of the birthing chamber. His golden armor gleamed softly in the lantern light, but his mind was elsewhere, focused entirely on the woman he loved.
Frigga lay on the bed, pale but radiant, exhaustion and relief mixed on her face. Odin approached slowly, his single eye scanning her for any sign of pain. "Are you well?" he asked softly, though the words felt inadequate for the weight of the moment.
She nodded weakly, a small, tired smile forming. "They're… both fine," she whispered, the sound fragile yet filled with warmth.
Before Odin could speak further, the servants gently lifted the two newborns, carefully cleaning them and wrapping them in silken swaddles. They placed the twins into the cradle, side by side, their tiny chests rising and falling with the steady rhythm of life.
Odin's gaze fell upon the children, and he felt a sudden weight in his chest — awe, pride, and a flicker of something deeper, something that whispered of destinies yet to unfold. He leaned closer to the cradle, first observing the child on the left.
Even as a newborn, there was a spark within him — a subtle rumble of energy that made the very air tremble, faint echoes of storms and thunder brushing against Odin's senses. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "You… you will carry the storm within you," he murmured, the name forming naturally in his mind. "Thor."
His gaze then shifted to the second child. Unlike the first, this one radiated a different energy — soft yet infinitely expansive, warm and playful, as though the light itself had taken form in a tiny body. Odin felt it swirl around the room, brushing past him like a teasing wind, mischievous and untamed. He studied the child, seeing the potential to illuminate worlds and hearts alike.
Lucas slowly opened his eyes, and the first thing he noticed was the unfamiliar weight and softness of his tiny body. He wiggled his fingers and toes, marveling at how small and delicate everything felt — yet strangely alive. A shiver of excitement ran through him.
Then he heard it: a soft, proud voice, commanding yet gentle. His gaze followed it, and he saw Odin kneeling by the cradle, his golden armor gleaming, his single eye glowing with wisdom and quiet authority.
Lucas blinked, taking it all in. He realized, with a shock that made his heart race, that he wasn't just anywhere — he was inside the Marvel universe, reborn into a world he had only ever watched, read about, and dreamed of.
He turned his gaze slightly and caught the loving eyes of his parents. Frigga looked exhausted but radiant, her gaze gentle and warm as it rested on him. And Odin… even in this calm, peaceful moment, exuding care and love, Lucas could feel it: an aura of power unlike anything he had ever sensed, making the very air around him feel charged, alive, and impossible to ignore.
For the first time, he understood something profound: even in a quiet, tender moment with his family, Odin's might radiated effortlessly — not just in battle, but in presence, in every gesture, in every glance.
Lucas pressed himself against the cradle, absorbing it all — the love, the awe, the wonder, and the subtle hum of cosmic energy flowing through the room. He felt small, yes, but already alive with potential. His new life had begun, and even in these first fleeting moments, he knew: surviving — and thriving — in this world would require more than courage. It would require understanding, observation… and perhaps a little mischief of his own.
Odin's gaze finally shifted fully to the second cradle, where Lucas lay quietly, his tiny body already pulsing faintly with an unusual, radiant energy. A rare smile touched the All-Father's lips as he spoke, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of destiny. "You shall be called… Lucas," he said, the name echoing softly through the chamber. "The new light of Asgard, the beginning of a generation that will shape our realms."