Eclipse of Eternities

The morning after the feast, we stood before the shimmering portal that would take us back to Valhalla.

The warmth of Vanaheim clung to us—the scent of enchanted woodlands, the faint golden light filtering through the leaves. For a brief moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Peace.

But peace wasn't why we were here.

Frey stood beside me, hands clasped behind his back. Unlike the night before, he looked more serious now—like the weight of leadership had settled back onto his shoulders.

"The portal will take us directly to Valhalla's gate," he said. "Odin will be expecting you."

"Great," Erik muttered. "Can't wait for more gods judging us."

Freya elbowed him. "Try not to insult the All-Father before breakfast."

Erik scoffed but said nothing.

I turned to Elder Hjalmar, who had come to see us off. The village stood behind him, watching in solemn silence.

"We appreciate your hospitality," I said.

He gave a slow nod. "You have earned the respect of Vanaheim. Our doors will remain open to you." His sharp eyes flickered to me. "And should more creatures of the dark come, we will be ready."

I nodded. "Be safe."

With that, we stepped through the portal.

The transition was instant.

One second, we were in Vanaheim.

The next, the golden halls of Valhalla stretched before us.

The familiar scent of mead, roasted meat, and the faint hum of battle drifted through the air. Einherjar warriors filled the feasting halls, drinking, laughing, and telling stories of their latest deaths.

For them, nothing had changed.

For us? Everything had.

The moment we appeared, heads turned. Warriors eyed us curiously, taking in our worn armor, the dried blood on our weapons, and the presence of Frey at our side.

Helgi, the steward of Valhalla, raised an eyebrow as he approached. "Back already? And with a god in tow?"

I crossed my arms. "Odin wanted us to take care of a problem. We did."

Helgi smirked. "Oh, this should be interesting."

Without another word, he led us through the halls, straight to the throne room.

The massive golden doors swung open, revealing Odin seated upon his throne. His ravens, Huginn and Muninn, perched on either side of him, their black feathers gleaming under the torchlight. The air itself seemed heavier here, filled with the weight of wisdom and expectation.

Frey stepped forward first, bowing his head slightly. "All-Father."

Odin nodded in greeting before his single eye settled on me. "You have returned."

I stepped forward, standing tall. "Mission accomplished."

Odin studied me for a long moment, then flicked his gaze to my team. "Tell me what you faced."

I didn't waste words. I told him everything—about the fire giants' odd movements, the burned land, and finally, the Bloodspawn of Fenrir.

At the mention of Fenrir, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

The warriors standing near the walls murmured among themselves. Even Odin's expression darkened.

"Fenrir's struggle births these creatures," Odin murmured, his voice carrying through the hall. "A reminder of a threat that cannot be ignored."

He leaned forward. "And you slew it?"

I nodded. "It wasn't easy. Its wounds healed almost instantly. The only way to stop it was to break the chains still wrapped around its limbs—chains connected to Fenrir's own binding."

Odin was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"You have done well."

A murmur rippled through the hall. Odin did not give praise lightly.

I exhaled, relaxing slightly.

Odin's gaze sharpened. "But victory alone is not enough."

I stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"You fought well, but you relied on instinct. Strength alone does not make a warrior."

I clenched my fists. "Then train me."

The room fell silent.

Even my team turned to look at me.

Odin's eye narrowed. "You ask for training?"

"Yes," I said, stepping forward. "Tyr held back against me. The Bloodspawn nearly killed us. I won't rely on luck the next time I face something like that."

Odin considered me for a long moment. Then, he let out a deep chuckle.

"Very well," he said. "You wish to become stronger? Then you will train under the greatest warriors Valhalla has to offer."

He turned his gaze to the warriors lining the hall. "Tyr."

A heavy presence filled the room.

Tyr stepped forward, his celestial armor gleaming. He regarded me with a calculating expression before nodding. "I accept."

I exhaled slowly. Training under Tyr… this was exactly what I needed.

But Odin wasn't done.

"Not just Tyr," he said. His gaze swept across the hall before landing on another figure.

Siegfried.

My ancestor.

The dragon slayer smirked, stepping forward. "Interesting."

Odin nodded. "You will train under both Tyr and Siegfried. Learn the art of war from the God of Battle, and the art of slaying from the one who felled Fafnir."

I met Siegfried's gaze. He was watching me like a hunter sizing up prey.

This wasn't going to be easy.

Odin's voice echoed through the chamber. "Your training begins tomorrow. Rest while you can."

With that, the All-Father stood. The meeting was over.

I turned to leave, my team following close behind. As we stepped out of the throne room, Erik whistled. "You really don't like making things easy for yourself, do you?"

Freya smirked. "I think it's kind of hot."

I rolled my eyes. "Let's just get some rest."

Tomorrow, my real training would begin.

And I wasn't going to waste a second.

This chapter wraps up the Vanaheim mission perfectly while setting up the next phase—Orion's training.

Odin's reaction felt appropriately grand and weighty.

Tyr & Siegfried training Orion? That's a power move.

No hints for future quests—just pure warrior growth.

The training grounds of Valhalla were legendary.

Massive stone arenas stretched for miles, their surfaces worn from centuries of combat. Wooden dummies enchanted with self-repair runes lined the edges, along with various weapons ranging from simple steel to divine artifacts pulsing with raw energy.

And in the center?

Me.

Standing before Tyr, the God of War, and Siegfried, the Dragon Slayer.

My team gathered at the edges, watching from a safe distance. Even Erik, who usually had something cocky to say, looked like he knew better than to joke around.

Tyr stood tall, his celestial armor gleaming under Valhalla's golden light. His single eye bore into me like he could see every flaw, every hesitation, every weakness.

Siegfried? He smirked, arms crossed. Unlike Tyr, he wore no armor—just a simple tunic and a sword slung over his back.

"You asked for training," Tyr rumbled. "Then you will receive it."

Siegfried's smirk widened. "Let's see if you survive it first."

I rolled my shoulders. "Just tell me what I need to do."

Tyr stepped forward. "Fight me."

I blinked. "What?"

"No rules," he said. "No restrictions. No holding back." He tilted his head. "You believe yourself strong. Prove it."

I exhaled, gripping my spear.

Alright then.

Let's go.

I moved first.

Bad idea.

I lunged, spear flashing in a precise arc—aiming for Tyr's shoulder. A feint. The moment he dodged, I twisted my grip and struck low, aiming to sweep his legs.

He didn't even move.

Before my strike could connect, his fist slammed into my gut.

The world blurred.

I barely had time to register that I was airborne before I crashed into the stone floor, my breath torn from my lungs.

"Too predictable," Tyr muttered. "Again."

I staggered to my feet, vision swimming.

Siegfried chuckled from the sidelines. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

I clenched my jaw and charged again.

This time, I didn't go for a direct attack. I feinted left, then darted right, striking for his side.

Tyr didn't dodge.

He caught my spear. With two fingers.

Then he ripped it from my grasp and cracked me across the jaw with the hilt.

Pain exploded across my face. My back hit the floor again.

"Sloppy," Tyr said.

I growled, pushing myself up again.

"Your speed is decent," Tyr continued, "but speed without purpose is wasted. Every strike must have intention. Every movement must be a decision, not a reaction."

I wiped blood from my mouth. "Alright. No more wasting time."

I took a breath, calling on my divine blood.

The air around me crackled.

My mother's power. The sky bending to my will.

For the first time since my fight with the Bloodspawn, I let it flow through me.

Tyr's eye narrowed. "Now we begin."

The fight lasted another twenty minutes.

I lost.

Repeatedly.

Tyr didn't just beat me—he dismantled me. Every attack I made, he countered. Every movement, he predicted. Even with my divine blood flaring, I barely lasted more than a few minutes at a time before he put me on my back.

By the end of it, I was bruised, battered, and barely standing.

Tyr watched me carefully before stepping back. "Good."

I coughed. "That… was good?"

"You learn," he said simply. "But not fast enough."

Siegfried stepped forward, clapping his hands together. "Well, that was entertaining."

I shot him a glare. "Your turn, then?"

Siegfried grinned.

"Oh, I'm not going to fight you," he said. "Not yet."

I frowned. "Then what—"

Before I could finish, he tossed me a sword.

I caught it out of reflex. "What's this for?"

"You rely too much on your spear." Siegfried's smirk widened. "Let's see how you do without it."

---

For the next few days, I was broken and rebuilt.

Tyr focused on discipline and control. He drilled me on footwork, precision, and decision-making in combat. Every mistake I made, he punished with brutal efficiency.

Siegfried?

He threw me into pure chaos.

He made me spar with different weapons, forcing me to adapt. One day it was swords. The next, axes. The next, bare-handed combat.

"Don't rely on one style," Siegfried told me. "A warrior doesn't win because he's skilled. He wins because he's unpredictable."

And through it all? My team trained with me.

Freya sharpened her own skills, learning more advanced swordplay alongside Darius and went on a quest with him and recieved a raven feather cloak like valshamr.

Erik worked on control—something he wasn't thrilled about.

Ingrid practiced strategy, pushing herself further than ever and becoming stronger by increasing her strength and learning to use a broad sword.

Khaled honed his agility, becoming even faster and learnt archery and poison making.

Darius perfected his shield techniques, making him an unbreakable wall in battle and recieved an reforged sword of tyr.

We weren't just getting stronger.

We were becoming a unit.

And I knew, deep down, that this training wasn't just for us.

It was preparing us for something bigger.

One night, after a brutal session, I sat at the edge of the training grounds, staring up at Valhalla's endless sky.

Freya sat beside me.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," she said.

I exhaled. "I have to."

She tilted her head. "Why?"

I didn't answer right away.

Because I couldn't tell her the full truth.

That I was afraid.

That every battle was getting harder.

That I still couldn't access my full divine power when I needed it most.

So instead, I just said, "Because I need to be ready."

Freya studied me for a moment, then sighed. "Then at least remember to rest."

She nudged my shoulder lightly. "We'll keep up. You don't have to do this alone."

I smiled slightly. "I know."

For the first time since arriving in Valhalla, I allowed myself a small moment of peace.

Tomorrow, the training would continue.

And I would be ready.

---

The training grounds of Valhalla had seen many warriors rise, fall, and rise again. Today, we were among them.

Tyr and Siegfried weren't taking it easy on us. Every session was a brutal test of discipline, adaptability, and survival. And as expected, Darius was outperforming all of us.

"Move faster, Orion!" Tyr barked as I barely blocked Darius' shield bash. The force behind it sent a shockwave through my arm. I had fought monsters, giants, and even Fenrir's Bloodspawn—but nothing hit as hard as a son of Ares with a shield.

Darius grinned, his red-tinted armor gleaming under Valhalla's golden light. "C'mon, sky-boy. You're slowing down."

I gritted my teeth and countered with my spear, aiming for his exposed side. He twisted at the last second, using his shield to redirect my strike and immediately went for my ribs.

I dodged—barely.

Before I could react, his sword was at my throat.

"Dead," Siegfried called out, arms crossed.

I cursed under my breath, lowering my spear.

Erik whistled from the sidelines. "Damn, Darius. Save some humility for the rest of us."

Darius smirked. "You'll get your turn, Erik."

Tyr turned to me. "Orion, your reactions are good, but you hesitate against stronger opponents. If you can't overpower them, you must outthink them."

Siegfried nodded. "Darius isn't just strong—he's precise. He doesn't waste movement. You, however, rely too much on brute force when you should be strategizing."

I exhaled sharply. "Then let's go again."

Tyr's lips curled into a smirk. "Not today."

Instead, he turned to the rest of the team.

"Next test—a full-team spar. Orion leads. If he wins, we move forward. If he fails..." He let that hang in the air.

Erik grinned. "Finally, some fun."

I clenched my fists. I had trained, learned, adapted. Now it was time to prove it.

The moment the match started, I was already losing.

Darius didn't hold back. He and Khaled moved first, striking from two opposite angles—a master of brute force and a master of speed.

I twisted away from Darius' shield bash but took a slash from Khaled's scimitar along my side. Not deep, but enough to remind me that I was outnumbered.

Then Freya and Ingrid joined the assault.

Freya's swordplay was flawless, keeping me on the defensive, while Ingrid waited for my weak spots, aiming for calculated strikes. Erik? He was holding back—for now.

I needed to act fast.

I feinted toward Khaled but suddenly shifted toward Ingrid instead. My spear lashed out, forcing her to dodge. In that second of imbalance, I spun and slammed my shield into Freya's ribs.

She grunted, stumbling back. One down—briefly.

"Not bad," Ingrid muttered, resetting her stance.

Darius smirked. "Still too slow."

He lunged.

I barely blocked, but his raw power sent me skidding backward. I needed something more. I needed god-mode.

I reached for it. Called for it.

Nothing.

The delay cost me. Khaled struck from the side, sweeping my legs out from under me.

I hit the ground hard.

Darius placed his sword at my throat. Again.

"Dead," Siegfried said.

Silence.

Then Erik snorted. "That was embarrassing."

I groaned. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."

Tyr crossed his arms. "You relied on power again. And when that failed, you reached for your divine blood. But you do not control it yet."

Siegfried nodded. "Until you can control all your strengths—including your instincts, your tactics, and your godhood—you will not surpass Darius."

I let out a slow breath. I hated losing. But they were right.

After a day of getting our asses handed to us, we did what all warriors did.

We drank.

The feasting halls of Valhalla were alive with laughter, the clash of drinking horns, and the smell of roasted meat. My body still ached, but I'd live.

Erik slammed a mug down on the table. "Alright, let's settle something—who in this room could actually take on Darius one-on-one?"

Freya smirked. "Orion, if he ever figures out how to use his divine power properly."

I scoffed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Darius raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You planning on beating me anytime soon?"

I grinned. "Give me time."

Erik smirked. "Until then, let's just accept that Darius is our current champion."

Khaled chuckled. "Noted. But even champions can lose their edge."

Darius shrugged. "I'll keep training, then."

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "You're all ridiculous."

The table erupted into laughter, insults, and good-natured rivalry. This was what it meant to be warriors—not just fighting together, but growing together.

I raised my drink. "To training. To war. And to the bastards who'll regret ever facing us."

The mugs clashed together.

Tomorrow, we would train again. But tonight, we were just warriors.

---

This is the 6th chapter