The God of Valor

Chapter 16: Chapter 15



As the final scores were tallied, Algrim stepped forward to address the arena. Dressed in his dark, imposing armor that gleamed under the sun, the commander's presence alone was enough to silence the crowd. His deep, commanding voice resonated through the grounds, effortlessly cutting through the remaining murmurs of anticipation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Algrim began, his piercing gaze sweeping over the contestants and the spectators alike, "the time has come to announce the results. After careful consideration of the scores, we have determined which competitors will advance to the final round." He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

Hannah Abbott shifted nervously on her feet, tugging at the hem of her sleeve. Her cheeks were still flushed from her earlier turn, but she kept her chin up, trying to brace herself. Next to her, Leif Ragnarson stood with his arms crossed, his jaw tight but his stance steady. Both knew the competition had been fierce.

Algrim's dark eyes landed on them. "Hannah Abbott," he said, his tone formal yet not unkind, "and Leif Ragnarson, I regret to inform you that your journey in this competition ends here. You will not be moving on to the final round."

A soft ripple of murmurs ran through the crowd, but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of applause. Damara and Giffard Abbott shot to their feet, clapping vigorously. Damara's face shone with pride as she called out, "We're so proud of you, Hannah!" Beside her, Giffard nodded, his grin warm and supportive. "You gave it your all, my dear!" he added, his voice carrying just enough for Hannah to hear.

Hannah turned toward the stands, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. She waved shyly at her parents, her disappointment softened by their unwavering encouragement. "Thanks, Mum, Dad," she murmured under her breath before stepping away from the line.

Leif, on the other hand, stood rooted for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. His mind replayed his missed shots, but instead of dwelling on them, he exhaled slowly and nodded. Turning to leave the field, he caught sight of Astrid in the stands, her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted, "You'll get 'em next time, Leif! You're still my favorite twin!"

He snorted softly, shaking his head. "I'm your only twin," he muttered, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. As he walked off, he gave Astrid a mock salute, which she returned with exaggerated flair.

Algrim's voice boomed again, reclaiming the crowd's attention. "Let us honor their effort and determination," he said, gesturing toward the two departing contestants. The applause swelled in response, the crowd recognizing their contributions to the competition.

As the noise subsided, Algrim's expression hardened slightly, his tone growing more authoritative. "Now, to those who remain," he said, his gaze shifting to the contestants still on the field, "prepare yourselves. The final round will test not only your skill but your endurance and precision under extreme conditions. The targets will be set at their maximum distance—only the most disciplined among you will prevail."

The announcement sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd, while the remaining contestants exchanged tense glances. In the stands, Loki leaned back, grinning slyly as he remarked to Thor, "Now this is where things get interesting."

Thor crossed his arms, his eyes scanning the competitors. "It will be a true test of skill," he admitted. "Let's see who rises to the challenge."

Algrim stepped back, his presence still looming large over the arena. "Contestants," he declared, his voice cutting through the chatter, "take your positions. The final round begins shortly."

As Hannah and Leif disappeared into the sidelines, the stage was set for the competition's climactic finale.

The final six contestants stood at the ready: Skadi, Viggo, Astrid, Bjorn, Sigrun, and Susan. Their expressions were as varied as their approaches to the competition. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, the crowd's chatter hushed to a faint hum as they leaned forward in anticipation. This was the moment the archers had trained for, their last chance to leave an indelible mark on the tournament.

Algrim's voice rang out, deep and commanding. "Contestants, prepare yourselves. The final round begins now."

Skadi Culsdottir, her dark braid swaying slightly as she adjusted her stance, was the first to step up. Her calm demeanor belied the fire in her hazel eyes. She exuded quiet confidence, her small frame radiating an intensity that drew murmurs from the crowd. Astrid leaned toward Susan and whispered, "You know, I almost feel bad for that target." Her playful smirk suggested otherwise.

Skadi ignored the commentary, raising her bow with precise, deliberate movements. As she drew the string back, her muscles taut like a coiled spring, she muttered under her breath, "Let's see what Odin's golden boy thinks of this." With a swift release, the arrow cut through the air, a silver blur that struck dead center of the distant target. A resounding thwack silenced the crowd for a moment before applause erupted.

Bjorn, towering and broad-shouldered, let out a low whistle. "Impressive," he rumbled, crossing his arms. His fiery red hair gleamed in the sunlight, his grin as sharp as the blade at his hip. "But let's see if she can do it again."

Susan Bones was next. The Hufflepuff alumna adjusted her auburn ponytail, her green eyes narrowing as she stepped forward. She exhaled slowly, gripping her bow tightly. "No pressure, right?" she muttered to herself, earning a chuckle from Astrid. "Just the fate of my pride and self-worth hanging by a thread."

"Relax, Bones," Astrid quipped, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously. "Worst-case scenario, you miss, and we all pretend not to notice."

Susan shot her a mock glare before drawing her bow. Her form was steady, her breathing measured. With a release as smooth as silk, her arrow sailed through the air and landed just shy of the bullseye. The crowd cheered warmly, recognizing the skill required for such a shot. Susan stepped back, a mixture of relief and frustration on her face. "Not bad," she muttered, "but I'll take better next time."

Viggo Ullrson followed, his stoic expression betraying little emotion. His chiseled features and piercing blue eyes made him look every bit the warrior his lineage suggested. He glanced at the target, then at the cheering crowd. "Let's not keep them waiting," he said, his voice calm yet firm. He nocked his arrow with practiced ease, the muscles in his arms flexing as he drew the bowstring. When he released, the arrow struck just outside Skadi's bullseye, splitting the ring cleanly.

Astrid leaned toward Sigrun and murmured, "He always has to make it look effortless, doesn't he?"

Sigrun, with her cascading red hair and sharp emerald gaze, shrugged. "It's what he does," she replied, her tone light but her fingers drumming anxiously on her bow. "Let's see if it's enough."

Bjorn stepped up next, his movements deliberate and powerful. Unlike the others, he didn't rush to nock his arrow. He took his time, surveying the distance with a calculating gaze. "Everyone's playing nice," he said loudly enough for the others to hear, "but I think it's time to raise the stakes." With a dramatic flourish, he loosed his arrow, and it thudded into the target just outside Viggo's mark. The crowd roared, appreciating the flair.

"That's one way to make an entrance," Astrid remarked dryly, though her grin betrayed her amusement.

Finally, it was Sigrun's turn. The fiery-haired archer strode to the line, her every step brimming with purpose. She rolled her shoulders, her bow glinting in the light as she prepared her shot. "You're all too slow," she teased, earning a chuckle from Bjorn. Her draw was swift, her release seamless. The arrow sailed true, landing neatly alongside Susan's mark.

As the round continued, Astrid was the last to approach. She flipped her braid over her shoulder, her demeanor as lighthearted as ever. "No pressure, huh?" she said aloud, earning a chuckle from the crowd. She winked at Skadi. "Just aiming for the stars—or, you know, the target."

Her stance was relaxed, but when she nocked her arrow, the playful facade dropped. Her focus sharpened, and the smile disappeared. She loosed the arrow with startling precision, and it struck just shy of Skadi's bullseye. Astrid stepped back, a pleased smirk returning. "Close enough," she said, casting a look at Bjorn. "Think you're still ahead?"

Bjorn's laugh boomed across the field. "Only until my next shot."

The crowd roared in approval, the camaraderie and competition between the contestants adding a layer of excitement to the tournament. Algrim stepped forward, his face betraying a hint of approval. "The final round will only grow more challenging. Prepare yourselves, contestants. The true test begins now."

The crowd quieted as Algrim stepped forward, his deep voice carrying over the arena. "After careful evaluation, we regret to announce that Sigrun Volstaggsdottir will not be moving on to the next round."

A ripple of disappointment swept through the stands, but Sigrun, standing tall despite the announcement, nodded with a composed expression. Her fiery red hair caught the light as she slung her bow over her shoulder and stepped away from the line, her emerald eyes calm but reflective. She had given it her all, and it showed in the way she carried herself, proud even in defeat.

Bjorn, her older brother, was the first to meet her. "Hey, Sig," he said, pulling her into a warm bear hug that nearly lifted her off the ground. "You were brilliant out there."

Sigrun snorted, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Brilliant, but not brilliant enough," she replied, her tone wry. "You'd better win now, or I'm never letting you live this down."

Bjorn laughed, his booming voice full of affection. "Don't worry, little sister. I'll win it for both of us—and then I'll gloat for years to come."

"Charming," Sigrun said dryly, though the fondness in her voice was unmistakable. She punched his arm lightly. "Just don't miss. I don't want to explain to Father why you ended up in second place."

As if summoned by her words, Volstagg appeared, his larger-than-life presence impossible to miss. The boisterous Asgardian warrior was grinning from ear to ear, his red beard practically glowing in the sunlight. "That's my girl!" he bellowed, striding toward them with arms outstretched. "You've made your old man proud, Sigrun!"

Sigrun turned to face her father, her calm demeanor softening as he enveloped her in a hug so enthusiastic it could have cracked ribs. "I didn't win, Father," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

"Win? Pah!" Volstagg pulled back, holding her at arm's length with a broad grin. "Victory isn't just about trophies, my dear. It's about heart, and courage, and showing those pompous lot over there—" he gestured dramatically to the remaining contestants "—that the Volstaggsdottir name stands for excellence!"

Sigrun chuckled, shaking her head. "You always know how to make a loss sound like a win."

"Because it is a win!" Volstagg declared, clapping her on the shoulder with a hand that could likely flatten a boulder. "You've shown skill, grace, and the fiery spirit of Asgard itself. Now, go on and enjoy the feast I've been planning for the real champions—you and Bjorn!"

Bjorn smirked, crossing his arms. "You mean the feast you'd planned for yourself, right, Father?"

Volstagg feigned offense, clutching his chest. "How dare you accuse me of such things, boy? It's for the both of you! And perhaps just a small plate or two for me. Or three."

Sigrun laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Well, as long as there's enough for everyone. But I'll be cheering for you, Bjorn. Don't let us down."

Bjorn's grin turned serious for a moment. "I won't," he promised, his blue eyes glinting with determination. "For you. And for the family."

With one last squeeze from Volstagg and a playful shove from Bjorn, Sigrun made her way to the sidelines, her head held high. The crowd gave her a warm round of applause, a recognition of her effort and spirit. Though the tournament would continue without her, Sigrun knew she had left her mark—and her family couldn't be prouder.

The moment Astrid's name was called, the crowd fell into an anticipatory hush. She stepped up to the line with her usual mix of confidence and calm, her blonde hair catching the light as the breeze toyed with it. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto the distant target, her expression one of fierce determination. Leif, already sitting on the sidelines after his earlier elimination, leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly together as if he could will her to succeed.

"You've got this, Astrid," he muttered under his breath, though the words were for himself more than anyone else.

Astrid nocked her arrow with a steady hand, her fingers brushing the bowstring as she drew it back. She let out a slow, measured breath, her focus narrowing until the world seemed to fall away, leaving only her and the target. The crowd held its collective breath as she released the arrow.

It flew true, slicing through the air with precision—until it veered ever so slightly at the last moment, embedding itself just shy of the bullseye. The audible gasp of the crowd mirrored Astrid's own sharp intake of breath. She closed her eyes briefly, composing herself as the judges confirmed the miss.

From the sidelines, Leif shot to his feet, clapping loudly. "That was still incredible!" he called, his deep voice booming over the murmurs of the crowd.

Astrid turned, catching his gaze. She offered a small, rueful smile, her hands gripping her bow tightly. As she stepped off the platform, the applause from the crowd followed her, a mix of respect and sympathy for her effort.

Leif was the first to reach her as she joined the eliminated contestants on the sidelines. "Almost had it," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. "And honestly? You made it look good. That last shot? Just the tiniest gust of wind, I swear."

Astrid sighed, though her lips quirked up at the corners. "It's fine, Leif. Really. I came further than I thought I would. But next time…" Her eyes glinted mischievously as she poked him in the chest. "…you're joining me in the finals, not sitting here making excuses for me."

Leif laughed, holding up his hands. "Oh, believe me, I plan to. Just didn't want to make everyone else look bad this year."

She rolled her eyes but chuckled softly, her tension easing under his easy humor. "You keep telling yourself that."

The siblings found a spot to watch the rest of the competition, Astrid settling down with her head held high. Despite the disappointment, she knew she'd given her all—and that, as always, she'd have Leif by her side, no matter the outcome.

Susan stepped up to the line, her freckled face glowing with a mixture of calm determination and quiet nerves. Her fiery red hair caught the light as she tucked it behind her ear, her bow steady in her hands. She took a deep breath, letting the crowd's murmurs fade into the background. Somewhere in the stands, her friends were cheering her on, their voices carrying through the air.

"Go, Susan! You've got this!" Luna Lovegood called out dreamily, waving an oversized flag that she'd charmed to shimmer with the Hufflepuff crest.

"Susan Bones," Draco Malfoy drawled from beside Luna, his arms crossed but his silver-grey eyes focused on the target. "Try not to embarrass us too much, yeah?" His tone was teasing, but there was no malice behind it—just the kind of banter he couldn't help throwing at his friends.

Hannah Abbott, sitting on the edge of her seat, shot Draco a glare. "She's already made it further than you would, Malfoy. So zip it."

Draco smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Touché."

Neville Longbottom leaned over to Susan's empty seat and cupped his hands around his mouth. "You're brilliant, Susan! Just breathe and take the shot!"

Susan's lips twitched at their voices, her confidence bolstered. She nocked her arrow, inhaling deeply as she lined up her shot. For a moment, everything stilled. Her focus narrowed to the target, and her world shrank to the taut string in her fingers and the distant bullseye.

She released.

The arrow flew true, cutting through the air with precision—but at the last second, it dipped slightly, embedding itself just short of the mark. A collective sigh rippled through the crowd, followed quickly by a round of warm applause for her effort.

Susan lowered her bow, exhaling a shaky breath as her shoulders relaxed. She turned to face the stands, her friends already rising to cheer her.

"That was brilliant, Susan!" Luna called, now waving the flag enthusiastically. "Really, I think you've inspired the Wrackspurts to give up archery altogether!"

Draco rolled his eyes but clapped politely, muttering, "Good shot, Bones. You tried."

Hannah reached the edge of the stands as Susan walked toward her, her arms already open. "You were amazing out there, Su! Honestly, I don't know how you kept your hands from shaking."

"Thanks, Han," Susan said, her voice soft but warm. "I just wish I could've nailed that last one."

Neville gave her a supportive grin as he joined them. "You've got nothing to be disappointed about. Making it this far is huge."

Susan smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Thanks, Nev. I'm just glad I didn't trip over my own feet walking up there."

"Imagine if you had," Draco quipped, stepping up to the group. "I'd never let you live it down."

"Good thing I didn't, then," Susan shot back, a playful glint in her eye.

As she rejoined her friends in the stands, Susan sat down with her head held high. Despite the sting of elimination, she knew she'd given it her all, and with her friends' unwavering support, she couldn't help but feel proud.

Bjorn stood at the line, his broad shoulders squared and his expression focused as the final contestants ahead of him took their turns. His fiery red hair, tied back in a tight braid, shimmered in the sunlight, and his stance was that of a warrior—strong, poised, and ready. He had come a long way in the competition, and the pride of his family weighed on him like a steady force.

"Steady now, lad," Volstagg's booming voice echoed from the stands. The large warrior clapped his hands together with pride, the sound a resounding thud that drew attention from those nearby. "Your heart's in the right place, and your aim's not bad either! Just let the arrow do the work."

Bjorn nodded, his lips twitching into a half-smile as he glanced toward his father. He could feel Volstagg's gaze on him—full of pride and confidence, even when Volstagg had been known to take on battles far greater than a mere archery contest. Still, his encouragement was always a beacon in moments like these.

The wind whispered through the arena as Bjorn took his shot. The crowd collectively held its breath. His arrow flew with precision, slicing through the air, but it fell just short of the target's bullseye, grazing the outer ring. A collective murmur of admiration and sympathy rose from the crowd as they witnessed the razor-thin margin that had kept him out of the final round.

Bjorn, ever stoic in the face of defeat, straightened his back. He gave a small nod of acceptance as his eyes scanned the crowd, grateful for their cheers. The applause was thunderous, and for a moment, it felt like a victory in itself. His father's hearty voice rose above the rest.

"Bjorn Ragnarson! You've made us proud! A fine shot, lad!" Volstagg's voice thundered over the cheering crowd, his giant hand raised in the air as he gave his son a deep, approving nod.

Bjorn raised his arm in acknowledgment, his lips curling into a satisfied grin. "Thank you," he said softly to the crowd. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of pride—he had fought hard to get here, and that alone was enough to hold his head high.

Sigrun, having already been eliminated earlier in the competition, was waiting at the edge of the stands, arms crossed but with a proud glint in her eyes. She stepped forward, placing a hand on her brother's shoulder as he made his way back from the line. "It was a great shot, Bjorn," she said with a smile, her red hair shining like the sunset. "You nearly had it. No shame in that."

Bjorn shot her a wry grin. "Close, but no bullseye. Could have been worse, I guess. At least I didn't completely miss the target."

"True," Sigrun teased, raising an eyebrow. "But you're lucky you've got a father who'll never let you forget it." She laughed, and Bjorn joined her, shaking his head.

Volstagg, now standing beside them, laughed loudly, his chest rumbling. "A fine archer you are, son. A fine warrior. But this is just one battle. We have others to fight, yes?"

Bjorn nodded, the weight of his father's words settling in. "Next time," he said, eyes narrowing with determination.

As the competition continued, Bjorn and Sigrun stood together, watching the remaining contestants with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. Though they weren't in the final showdown, they were part of something greater. The legacy of the Ragnarsons ran deep, and that was enough to keep their spirits high.

The air was thick with anticipation as the final two contestants—Skadi and Viggo—stepped forward, their eyes locked on each other in silent understanding. The tension between them was palpable, an almost tangible force that rippled through the crowd. The warriors in the stands held their breath, waiting for the showdown to begin.

Algrim, his tall form commanding attention as he stepped to the center of the arena, raised a hand to silence the crowd. His voice, deep and strong, reverberated across the coliseum, filling the space with its weight.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his tone steady and authoritative, "we have reached the final round. The last two contestants standing are Skadi and Viggo. They will now face each other to determine who will be the Champion of Asgard." His voice rang with an undeniable gravitas, as though the very fate of Asgard hung in the balance. He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in.

"May the best warrior win."

The crowd erupted in cheers, a mixture of excitement and respect for the two formidable contestants.

Skadi stood tall, her posture as straight as a tree in the winter winds. Her eyes, the color of glaciers, narrowed as she regarded Viggo, her lips curling into a slight, confident smile. There was a chill about her that matched the frost of her homeland—her every movement deliberate, controlled, as if she was made of ice itself. The bowstring she held in her hand felt like an extension of herself, and the silent fury behind her gaze was enough to freeze anyone in their tracks.

Viggo, standing opposite her, was the picture of intensity. His tall, muscular frame exuded strength and grace, and his green eyes were locked on Skadi with unwavering focus. He was the embodiment of determination, the very essence of a warrior. His posture was confident, but there was no arrogance in the way he stood—only the quiet intensity of someone who knew what was at stake. His bow felt almost like an extension of his soul, and his mind was focused solely on the task at hand.

With a deep breath, Viggo steadied himself, his grip on the bow tightening as he silently prepared for the challenge ahead. He wasn't just here to compete—he was here to win, and nothing was going to distract him from that goal.

Skadi's lips parted slightly, and her breath formed small clouds in the cool air. "This will be interesting," she murmured softly, her voice carrying the coolness of the northern winds, as if the very words she spoke could freeze the air around her.

Viggo met her gaze and smirked, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. "Let's see who's truly worthy of Asgard's crown," he said, his voice steady but with a fire that matched the intensity of the moment.

The two stood in silence for a moment, their eyes never leaving each other. The weight of the competition pressed down on them, but neither flinched.

With a swift motion, Algrim gestured toward them. "You may begin," he declared, his voice booming across the arena. The final test had begun.

Viggo took a step back, pulling an arrow from his quiver with fluid precision. The crowd watched in awe as he nocked the arrow, his movements sharp and practiced. With a single motion, he drew the bowstring back and released the arrow with deadly accuracy. It flew through the air, striking the target with a loud thud, landing just outside the bullseye.

The crowd cheered, impressed by the precision of the shot. But Viggo didn't seem satisfied—his focus was unwavering, his eyes already locked on the target as though it was a personal challenge.

Skadi's turn came next. She moved with the grace of a predator, her body fluid and controlled as she nocked her own arrow. Her movements were deliberate, each step measured. She took a deep breath, her icy blue eyes fixed on the target. With the same cool determination she had shown throughout the competition, she drew the bowstring back and released.

The arrow cut through the air like a blade, hitting the bullseye dead center with a sharp, resounding thunk. The crowd erupted into applause, but Skadi's expression remained impassive, her face a mask of cold concentration.

Algrim nodded, clearly impressed. "Skadi's shot is a perfect one," he announced, his voice rich with admiration.

Viggo, clearly not one to back down from a challenge, looked at her with renewed respect. "Impressive," he said, his voice steady but with a touch of admiration. "But this won't be the end of it."

Skadi gave him a small, enigmatic smile. "I expect no less," she replied, her voice cool but tinged with a quiet confidence.

The tension in the arena could be cut with a knife as they prepared for their final shots. Both warriors knew that the outcome of this contest would determine who truly deserved the title of Champion of Asgard. The air was thick with anticipation as the crowd waited to see which of these skilled archers would emerge victorious.

The atmosphere in the arena was electric as Skadi stepped into position, her posture straight and confident, exuding an aura of quiet strength. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, were fixed on the distant target. The frigid wind tugged at her hair, but she paid it no mind—her focus remained solely on the bullseye ahead. With the grace of a seasoned warrior, she drew her bow back, the taut string singing in the air as she exhaled slowly. In a fluid, practiced motion, she released the arrow. It flew like a streak of ice, cutting through the air with deadly precision, and struck the center of the target with a satisfying thunk. The crowd erupted in applause, the sound echoing across the arena.

Skadi didn't break her stance, her expression as cold and resolute as ever. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile, acknowledging the applause with nothing more than a slight nod. Her work was done. But she knew the challenge was far from over.

The focus now shifted to Viggo, the son of Ullr, the God of the Hunt. The youngest of his siblings, yet clearly no less skilled. He was tall, with broad shoulders and an aura of raw strength, but it was the quiet intensity in his eyes that commanded attention. With a slight flick of his wrist, Viggo removed an arrow from his quiver, his movements swift and fluid, like a predator preparing for the hunt. His eyes locked onto the target—he had trained for this moment his entire life, and he would not let it slip by.

Viggo took a deep breath, his body stilling as he measured the distance. The wind barely seemed to touch him as he drew the bowstring back, the muscles in his arm flexing with the strength of an archer born to the bow. His focus was unwavering, his every sense honed to perfection. Then, with a decisive release, the arrow flew from his fingers, a blur in the air. It sliced through the space with breathtaking speed, the tension of the moment so thick that the crowd seemed to hold its breath.

The arrow struck the target—but not just anywhere. It hit dead center, splitting Skadi's arrow in half with a precise, clean cut. A gasp rose from the crowd, followed by a roar of amazement and admiration. The shot had been nothing short of perfect, a display of unparalleled skill.

Skadi stood still for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she said nothing. There was no anger in her expression—only respect. She had seen what he could do, and she knew, in that instant, that the competition had found its victor.

Algrim, his tall frame casting a commanding presence in the center of the arena, stepped forward. His deep voice boomed across the space, cutting through the cheers.

"A remarkable display of skill from both contestants," he said, his gaze flicking between Skadi and Viggo. "Each of you has proven yourselves worthy of the title. But alas, there can only be one Champion."

The audience quieted in anticipation, every eye fixed on Algrim. He was a figure of authority, standing like a mountain before them. His next words would decide the fate of the day.

Algrim's eyes softened just slightly as he looked at Skadi, then turned to Viggo, a nod of approval in his gaze. "It is with great honor that I declare the Champion of Asgard," he announced, his voice ringing with finality, "to Viggo, son of Ullr."

A tidal wave of applause followed, louder than anything that had come before. The crowd leapt to their feet, chanting Viggo's name in a thunderous roar. His expression was one of quiet pride, but also humility. He had won, but the weight of the victory was not lost on him. He stepped forward, raising his bow in acknowledgment to the crowd, his posture strong, but his heart tempered by the knowledge that this victory was not his alone.

Skadi, standing a few paces away, allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection. She could have won. She had been so close. But in the end, it was Viggo's moment, and she knew that no amount of bitterness would take away from his skill.

With a deep breath, Skadi turned toward Viggo, her face impassive, but the respect in her eyes was unmistakable. She walked toward him, offering a hand. "Well shot," she said, her voice low but steady, a hint of approval in her words. It was a rare admission, but she knew it was deserved.

Viggo's smile was small, but genuine. He took her hand firmly, giving it a brief shake. "You're a hell of an archer," he replied, his tone appreciative but respectful. "It was an honor to compete against you."

The crowd's applause continued to swell, but Algrim's voice cut through the noise once more. "The Champion of Asgard has earned his title today, but let us not forget that every one of these warriors is a champion in their own right. To all the contestants, we thank you for your skill, your courage, and your unyielding spirit."

Viggo turned once more to the audience, raising his arms in triumph as they cheered. And though Skadi stood in the background, watching with a quiet, calculating gaze, there was no mistaking the admiration in her eyes. The competition was over, but the journey for both of them had only just begun.

The air was still thick with anticipation as the final round of the contest came to a close, and the applause for Viggo's victory gradually faded into a respectful hush. The crowd stood, their eyes turning toward the towering figure of Odin, whose presence alone seemed to command the very winds to still. His gaze swept over the gathered spectators, his expression unreadable, yet there was something about the way he lingered on Viggo that spoke of a deeper recognition.

Odin's eyes, sharp and knowing, studied the young warrior with an air of both pride and curiosity. His reputation as a master of the bow, born of Ullr's bloodline, was well-earned, but Odin had seen many skilled warriors in his time. Still, there was something in Viggo's posture—a quiet strength, a grounded humility—that set him apart.

The Allfather stepped forward, his figure as imposing as ever, draped in his flowing cloak of midnight blue. His long beard flowed like silver waterfalls, and his one-eyed gaze carried the weight of ages, but there was a spark of something more—perhaps pride, perhaps something even older, but certainly admiration. His voice, when it rang out, was deep and resonant, like thunder rolling over the mountains.

"Viggo, son of Ullr," Odin began, his words measured, each syllable a mark of both gravity and respect, "your skill and precision with the bow have proven you to be a true marksman of Asgard, worthy of this great honor."

The crowd, still enraptured by the moment, fell into a hushed silence as Odin raised his hand. In a fluid motion, he summoned forth a magnificent longbow—its craftsmanship impossible to ignore. It gleamed under the sunlight, a symbol of both power and majesty, forged from the very bones and sinew of a legendary Bilgesnipe. The bow hummed with latent energy, as if imbued with the might of Asgard itself, its polished wood gleaming like the surface of a well-forged blade.

The crowd collectively gasped, their eyes wide in wonder as the bow materialized before them. It was a gift worthy of a champion, a weapon fit for a god.

Odin's voice, now carrying a solemn reverence, continued. "I present to you this special longbow," he declared, his voice a steady rumble of power, "forged from the very essence of our realm's mightiest beasts. May it serve you well in your future endeavors, and may your aim always be true, just as your heart is steadfast."

Viggo stood still, his chest rising and falling in quiet awe. The bow's presence was overwhelming, its energy almost tangible in the air. He could feel the weight of its power, a force that seemed to call to him on a deep, primal level. He reached out slowly, as if afraid the moment might slip away. His fingers closed around the smooth wood, and he felt a connection, as though he were taking up something that was both ancient and eternal.

The crowd watched, mesmerized, as the son of Ullr, the new champion, held the legendary bow in his hands. His eyes flicked up to meet Odin's, and in that moment, there was a deep understanding between them—an acknowledgment that this was more than a contest, more than just a victory. This was a turning point, a gift of unimaginable power bestowed upon someone who would shape the future of Asgard.

Viggo, still kneeling before the Allfather, bowed his head in profound respect. His voice was steady, though there was a tremor of awe behind it. "Thank you, my lord Odin," he said, his words carrying the weight of sincere gratitude. "I will carry this gift with honor, and I vow to wield it as a true warrior of Asgard. You have my eternal thanks."

Odin nodded once, his gaze softening with the briefest flash of warmth. "You are welcome, son of Ullr," he replied, his voice as firm as ever. "May you always remember that true power comes not from the bow, but from the heart that wields it."

With those final words, Odin turned and raised his hand. The crowd, who had been holding their breath in reverence, erupted into thunderous applause. The sound of their cheers rang through the arena, a cacophony of praise for the young warrior who had earned his place among the legends of Asgard.

Viggo stood slowly, the bow still resting in his grasp, its power a tangible presence in his hands. He held it aloft, feeling the weight of the responsibility it represented. The cheers of the crowd washed over him, but in that moment, all he could hear was the steady beat of his own heart, the sound of a warrior ready to fulfill his destiny.

With a final glance at Odin, Viggo smiled, a small, humble expression that reflected the man he was—strong, but never arrogant; proud, but never boastful. He had earned this moment, and he knew that his journey had only just begun.

As he raised the bow high, the sun gleamed off its polished surface, casting a radiant light across the arena. And as the cheers of Asgard rang in his ears, Viggo made a silent vow to honor the bow, the gift of the Allfather, and the realm he now called home.

---

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