MTL NOVEL Chapter 3: Chapter 2:Journey to Midgard
Chapter 2: Journey to Midgard
Baldur had never seen anything quite like Midgard.
Asgard was grand, beautiful, a place of shimmering golden towers and vast landscapes of unparalleled majesty. Every corner of the realm felt like it belonged to legends, where the air itself carried the weight of divine history.
But Midgard?
Midgard was alive.
The moment he stepped through the Bifrost and landed in the mortal realm, Baldur felt a thrill unlike anything he had experienced before.
This world wasn't just a kingdom of warriors or scholars—it was chaos and creation woven together, cities bursting with people who knew nothing of the cosmos beyond their sky.
To them, the gods were stories. Myths.
And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of a bustling village of humans, disguised in simple traveling garb, eyes alight with endless curiosity.
For years, Baldur had suspected the truth.
This world—this reality—was different. Whether it was the MCU, a comic version of Marvel, or something entirely new, he needed to be sure.
There were too many questions that had been gnawing at him:
• Did Captain America exist yet?
• Was SHIELD operating in secret?
• Were the Infinity Stones already in motion?
If he was going to prepare for what was coming, he needed to understand this world.
And what better place to start than the realm of mortals?
Thor often spoke of Midgard with a mix of amusement and disdain, seeing it as a world of fragile creatures unworthy of Asgardian attention.
But Baldur saw something else.
He saw a puzzle.
A puzzle that, if solved, could mean the difference between life and death when the real threats came knocking.
Odin, of course, would never approve of his little excursion.
Venturing to Midgard was not forbidden, but Baldur was still young—far from a warrior, far from a seasoned traveler in his father's eyes.
So, naturally, he went anyway.
He had "borrowed" a cloak from the royal chambers—simple, dark, easy to blend in. Unlike Thor, who preferred armor and grandeur, Baldur had no interest in standing out.
With a few words of persuasion (and possibly some hard-light illusions), Heimdall had allowed him to pass through the Bifrost undetected.
"Do not cause trouble, young prince," the Gatekeeper had warned, though his golden eyes glowed with something close to amusement.
"Me? Cause trouble?" Baldur had grinned. "Have a little faith in me, Heimdall."
A pause. A smirk.
"…I will be watching."
And with that, the world shifted, the cosmos bending and breaking as Baldur hurtled through the realms—until, with a flash of blinding color, he landed in the heart of Midgard.
Baldur had chosen his landing site carefully—Norway.
If this world was anything like the MCU or Marvel in general, Norway was one of the most significant locations tied to Asgardian legend.
And sure enough, as he wandered through the ancient ruins of forgotten Viking settlements, he saw them—symbols of Odin, carvings of Yggdrasil, faded runes depicting the battles of old.
But he needed something more concrete.
It was one thing to see Norse history recorded by mortals—it was another to find evidence that the world he knew from movies and comics actually existed.
That was why, when he reached a small town near the coast, he made his way to the nearest library.
Thor had often dismissed Midgard as a world of steel and weakness, but Baldur knew better.
Midgard was knowledge.
And if there was one thing he could count on, it was that humans were obsessed with recording everything.
The library was quiet, warm, filled with the scent of ink and parchment.
He ran his fingers over the spines of books, tracing their titles. Many were in modern languages he barely understood, but his Asgardian mind absorbed knowledge quickly.
He found sections on mythology, on history, on war.
And then—
There it was.
A historical record of World War II.
His eyes scanned the pages, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw the name printed in ink:
Captain America.
His hands tightened around the book. He read further.
Steve Rogers. The Howling Commandos. The fall of Hydra. The disappearance of the super-soldier in 1945.
It was real.
It was all real.
This wasn't just a world inspired by myths. This wasn't some vague "Norse fantasy."
This was Marvel.
Maybe not exactly the MCU. Maybe not exactly the comics.
But something close enough.
And that meant—
Thanos. The Infinity Stones. The wars to come.
It was all in motion.
A weight settled in his chest.
Even though he had suspected it, seeing it with his own eyes made it real.
He wasn't just living in Asgard, playing the role of a young prince in a golden kingdom.
He was living in a world that, sooner or later, would be thrown into chaos.
And he had two choices.
He could pretend none of this mattered, that he was just another Asgardian meant to live in peace and luxury.
Or—
He could get stronger.
Because if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that the Marvel Universe was a place where the weak didn't survive for long.
And Baldur Odinson?
He had no intention of dying a second time.
He left the library with a plan forming in his mind.
He had confirmed it—this was the world of heroes and monsters, of gods and titans.
And that meant he had work to do.
He needed to master his powers. Not just train, but truly push his limits.
Speed. Strength. Light manipulation. Healing.
If he was going to make a difference—if he was going to ensure that Asgard didn't fall, that Thanos didn't wipe out half the universe—
Then he had to become more than just Baldur Odinson, prince of Asgard.
He had to become something far greater.
And so, with the stars of Midgard shining above him, Baldur took his first step toward a future he would forge with his own hands.