Reinhard felt Odin forcibly cut them off, as he gritted his teeth and his bronze-tipped fingers tightened on his weapons.
"It doesn't matter." Odin muttered, voice barely audible. The words carried finality despite their softness. "In the end, I am always grateful to them for being my parents and being there for me."
Whatever his origin, whether it was planned or coincidental, destined or chosen, they had raised him.
They had taught him, loved him in their different ways, and took care of him from the moment he was born till now.
That was real, regardless of the true reason or purpose.
Odin turned away from the scene.
His parents remained in conversation, unaware of his presence, and he left them to their moment, continuing his journey.
The landscape shifted with the ice formations growing larger and more ancient. He approached the heart of the realm, where the first throne stood, that massive seat carved by the original Frost Giant, the creator, Ymir.
He arrived.
