First message
The court did not begin with voices.
It began with silence.
The Astral Court of Asgard hung suspended above the realms, untouched by time, untouched by decay. Stars drifted beneath the obsidian floor like slow-moving embers, and the pillars—carved from frozen lightning and ancient runes—hummed with a power that predated war, kings, even belief.
Seven thrones stood in a crescent.
Occupied.
Watching.
Waiting.
No one spoke at first.
Because they all felt it.
Something had changed.
Odin sat at the center, unmoving—his one eye fixed not on the court, but somewhere far beyond it. The ravens behind him shifted, restless, their wings rustling like whispers of things yet to come.
Thor stood rather than sat, pacing at the edge of the dais, lightning flickering faintly across his skin with every step.
“This is pointless,” he muttered, voice echoing through the chamber. “We feel her. We know where she is. Why do we wait?”
“Because,” Tyr answered evenly, seated with rigid stillness, “force is not always control.”