Freyja's expression shifted the moment Soren mentioned Asgardian magic defections.
Her brows drew together in a sharp frown, and the air between them turned a degree colder…
This wasn't an academic discussion anymore.
Soren immediately noticed the change. He saw it in the way her posture tightened and how her eyes shifted from curious to combative.
"You said the magic of Asgard lacks actual combat application?" She repeated, her voice lowered.
"Do you know what you're saying?"
Soren blinked. "I didn't mean~"
Freyja moved closer, her armor softly clinking with the motion. "There is a saying here."
"Among the Einherjar and the elders: 'He who masters the true essence of Asgardian magic will stand above the Nine Realms.'"
Her eyes locked onto his.
"I believe that. And I've dedicated every breath to proving it true."
"That belief earned me Odin's trust, a command post at the edge of the realms, and the title Goddess of War. So when you call our magic... underwhelming in battle—"
"—you speak from ignorance."
For a moment, Soren was caught between defending his point and not triggering a celestial duel.
What has he gotten himself into?
"I didn't mean Asgardian magic is inferior." Hands slightly raised in truce.
"I meant it's... incomplete. Or rather, built on assumptions that don't always hold up across realms."
Freyja didn't answer immediately. She just narrowed her eyes, studying him, trying to decide if this was some veiled insult or if he genuinely saw something she didn't.
Seeing the tension hadn't eased, Soren exhaled and offered, gently, "I think all magic, divine, sage, dark, natural… is only as strong as the one wielding it."
"The potential is there. But potential isn't mastery."
That earned him a flicker of something behind her eyes.
Respect, maybe. Or restraint…
Freyja crossed her arms, but her stance was less bristling. More evaluative.
"Are you implying our magic could be improved?" She asked, voice still cool.
"Explain."
Soren glanced at the library around them. Shelves upon shelves of glowing tomes. Knowledge frozen in script, too often untouched by combat-tested hands.
"Well." Tapping the spine of the book he'd just closed. "Asgardian magic draws from nature's core, elemental power that flows through the Realms like a circulatory system."
"It's beautiful… but also... to dependent."
"Dependent?" Freyja repeated.
"Yes. On the environment." Soren said, now fully in teacher mode.
"Natural magic thrives in familiar, magic-rich spaces forests, fields, ley lines. But in dead zones, in corrupted spaces, in enemy-forged worlds?"
"It withers."
Freyja's eyes narrowed again. "You mean like... Svartalfheim."
Soren nodded. "Exactly."
"The world of the Dark Elves. When they attacked, they twisted the fabric of that realm into something barren and unnatural. Asgardian magic would be gutted there."
"But that's a vulnerability you don't have to live with."
Freyja's lips parted slightly, caught between memory and theory.
"Then tell me." She said, voice quieter now, but with a bite of challenge. "How would you wield divine magic in such a place?"
Soren's grin returned.
"By borrowing a page from the sages."
"On Earth, some of our magicians extract raw energy from multi-dimensional space. They don't just draw from the environment, they carry power. Store it. Internalize it."
"You're saying we should... hoard elemental energy?" She asked, skeptical but intrigued.
"Not hoard. Channel."
"Asgardian magic already names its core elements, earth, fire, wind, void."
"Train yourself to extract their essence and store them, either within your body or a bound dimension."
Freyja's breath caught.
"If you can store those elements."
"Then you never need to rely on the environment again."
"You could cast in the middle of a dying star or inside a black hole if your body became the source."
A long pause stretched between them.
Freyja's gaze dropped to the floor, then slowly rose again, and this time it was clear: she wasn't seeing a mortal fool.
She was seeing a revolutionary.
"What you're suggesting..." She said, softly now. "Would reshape how we train. How I fight."
Soren shrugged. "Or it could just give you the edge you need when Odin's not watching."
Freyja looked away, but he caught the curve of her mouth. Barely a smile. More like a smirk, wrapped in something thoughtful and dangerous.
"You're still infuriating."
"And you're still scary."
But neither of them walked away.
"Furthermore." Soren continued, not even sparing Freyja a glance as he flipped through a thick, rune-bound tome. "Asgardian magic still has another flaw."
"…!?"
"One, I noticed the moment I skimmed this advanced spellbook."
Freyja's eyes narrowed.
Another flaw?
The word struck her like a slap.
She is resisting the impulse to snap back. Still, she couldn't stop herself. "There are still defects?"
"You sound surprised."
She bristled. "That's because I am."
Ever since she was a child, Freyja had heard the same words repeated like scripture: Perfect the art of Asgardian magic and ascend to the pinnacle of the Nine Realms.
Those words had shaped her life, every battle, every sleepless night spent mastering runes and summoning storms. She had bled for them. Killed for them.
And now here was this outsider, cutting through centuries of tradition like they were parchment scraps.
Soren held up the open book between them.
"Tell me." He said calmly.
"When you cast high-level Asgardian spells, not just elemental flares or binding runes, but full-form advanced magic, how long does it take you to prepare?"
Freyja blinked.
"That depends~" She began defensively, then paused.
Her pride wouldn't let her lie, but her knowledge didn't offer her comfort. "Well... if you're channeling that much power, you have to give it time."
"It's a foundational principle of divine magic. The elements resist being bent too quickly. They need to be guided."
Soren nodded, as if expecting exactly that answer.
"But in battle."
"Do you think an enemy will politely wait for you to finish your incantation? Will they freeze mid-attack while you channel starlight into a spear?"
Freyja frowned. "Of course not!"
"Which is why we use low-tier magic to stall or defend during casting. This is not new. Our earliest arcanists created entire battle doctrines around this strategy."
"Exactly." Soren said, his smile growing sharper. "And that is precisely the problem."
"Excuse me?" Freyja blinked.
"That assumption."
"That high-level magic must take time… that it must be buffered by weaker spells, has crippled magical innovation for centuries."
"It's a crutch. You've all mistaken it for a pillar."
"You're picking bones in an egg, Soren!"
"I'm breaking the chick open!" He shot back.
"Ask yourself this, if both high-tier and low-tier spells are drawn from the same source the same core of elemental or divine power, why does one require seconds or minutes to cast, while the other is instant?"
"It's all magic, isn't it?"
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Because complexity demands time!"
"Because the deeper the runework, the more unstable the draw! You can't just brute-force it like some mortal spell-slinger with a death wish!"
Soren's conviction didn't waver.
"You say that."
"But I've cast forbidden-level spells faster than most can blink. Not because I'm reckless. But because I stopped accepting the limits tradition told me were real."
Freyja froze.
She hated how his words made her chest feel tight, like old truths were unraveling inside her.
She wanted to dismiss him, to wave off his confidence as arrogance... but she couldn't. Not when he said it with such maddening truth, not when she could feel the weight of his experience behind every word.
Soren gently closed the book and stepped back from the table. The light caught his face just right, making his smirk look almost wistful.
"I'm not insulting your magic."
"I'm inviting you to challenge it."
With that, he turned toward the exit.
"Where are you going?" Freyja asked, still standing stiffly by the shelves.
"I've spent too long here."
"And apparently I've already broken enough sacred cows for one afternoon."
Then he was gone.
The door closed behind him with a soft thud, leaving the library suddenly much quieter than before. Freyja stood there in silence, one hand resting on the table, her knuckles white.
She stared down at the open book, the one Soren had been reading, but now the words seemed dull.
She whispered to no one.
"Soren... what kind of person are you?"
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
PhantomDream