"The Aesir are coming," Ægir rumbled, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates.
He had promised Odin a feast that would be remembered until the breaking of the world, but he had a problem. He possessed no cauldron large enough to brew ale for all the gods of Asgard. Г„gir
The feast began. The ale flowed like a golden tide. But as the night deepened, the atmosphere turned as heavy as a coming hurricane. Loki, his tongue loosened by the potent brew, began to weave his insults, stinging the gods one by one like jellyfish. He mocked their courage and their loves, turning the celebratory hall into a den of simmering rage. "The Aesir are coming," Ægir rumbled, his voice
The gods raised their horns. For a moment, there was peace in the depths, while above, the waves crashed against the jagged rocks, singing the song of the giant who ruled the drownings and the dreams of men. The feast began
When the shouting grew too loud, Ægir simply tapped his staff against the floor. The sound was a dull thud, but the ocean responded. The walls of the hall groaned. The water outside pressed in, turning the golden light to a bruised purple. The gods fell silent, reminded that they were guests in a realm that did not belong to them.
Ægir watched from his high seat, his pale eyes unblinking. He was not a god of order like Odin, nor of chaos like Loki. He was the sea—vast, indifferent, and inevitable.