Baldur Odinson:The light of Asgard

Chapter 5: The Path of Light and Magic

Baldur continued his training under Frigga's careful guidance, immersing himself in the art of Asgardian magic. It was not an easy path. Unlike his physical training, where instinct and power guided him, magic required patience. Control. An understanding of the forces beyond oneself.

Every day, he learned more—not just about his own power, but about the energy that flowed through the universe.

"Magic is a conversation, not a command," Frigga told him as they stood in the royal garden, surrounded by floating runes that pulsed with quiet energy. "It must be guided, not forced. The more you impose your will upon it, the more it resists."

Baldur closed his eyes, feeling the familiar warmth of light gathering in his palms. His natural ability had always been raw, unrestrained, like a wildfire waiting to spread. He had used it instinctively in the past—letting it explode outward, using it as both offense and defense.

But Frigga was teaching him something different.

Not how to wield light.

How to shape it.

It started small.

At first, she had him focus on refining his constructs. His hard-light weapons had always been solid and deadly, but crude in their construction, simple tools of force. Now, under Frigga's watchful eye, he learned to fine-tune their design, to form edges sharp enough to cut through steel, to maintain their durability without draining himself.

By the end of the second week, he could summon a perfectly balanced longsword—a blade of pure golden light, its edges humming with barely contained energy.

But magic was more than just weaponry.

He studied runes, the ancient symbols of Asgardian power, learning how they could enhance, protect, and amplify magic.

He practiced illusion techniques, bending light around his body to render himself nearly invisible, though he was nowhere near Loki's level of deception.

He honed his healing abilities, no longer just sealing wounds, but purifying injuries and restoring vitality. He learned to extend his golden light to others, mending bruises and even broken bones if he focused hard enough.

He was growing stronger.

More refined.

But he still wasn't satisfied.

Because magic alone wasn't enough.

The Training Grounds

As much as he loved magic, Baldur knew that he couldn't rely on it alone. He needed to meld it with his combat skills, to make it a seamless part of his fighting style.

That was how he found himself in the royal training grounds, standing across from a familiar figure—Sif.

Sif stood tall, her warrior's stance unshaken, her long dark braid resting over her shoulder. The sharp steel of her blade caught the sunlight as she rolled her wrists, warming up.

"You've been training with Frigga," she said, eyes appraising. "But can you use that magic in battle?"

Baldur smirked, golden sparks crackling at his fingertips. "That's what I'm here to find out."

Sif tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I hope you didn't expect me to go easy on you, prince."

"Never."

Baldur shifted his weight, feeling the power hum beneath his skin, his magic a quiet, steady pulse rather than a chaotic storm. He had spent weeks learning control—now, it was time to see if it would hold up in real combat.

Sif moved first.

Her sword slashed through the air with practiced precision, a downward strike aimed for his shoulder.

Baldur reacted instantly—his body became light, shifting and blurring out of her reach.

He reappeared behind her, already mid-motion, his foot swinging toward her back.

But Sif was a warrior through and through.

She anticipated his movement, twisting with inhuman speed, her blade shifting to intercept his attack mid-air.

Their weapons clashed, and Baldur felt the force of the impact ripple through his arms.

"You'll have to be faster," Sif taunted, stepping back before launching another precise strike. "And more creative."

Baldur grinned. "Oh, I can do creative."

He extended his hand, golden energy flowing outward. Instead of forming a sword, he created a chain of light, whipping it toward Sif.

The radiant weapon lashed through the air, aiming to entangle her, but Sif reacted instantly, slashing through the construct before it could tighten around her.

"You're relying too much on instinct," she chided. "Magic is more than just power—it's intent. What do you want the light to do?"

Baldur frowned slightly, her words resonating with what Frigga had been telling him. Magic had to be guided.

He took a slow breath, tightening his grip on his energy.

This time, when he summoned his light, he didn't just throw it outward—he focused.

He pictured the shape in his mind, a weapon not of brute force, but of perfect balance.

The energy flowed from him, coalescing into a long, slender sword, its edges glowing with intricate golden runes.

Sif's gaze flickered with approval. "Better."

Baldur tested the weight of the blade, feeling its stability, its precision. It wasn't just a weapon anymore—it was an extension of himself.

Sif lunged at him again, and this time, Baldur met her head-on.

He moved in a flash of golden light, his strikes quick and controlled, his movements precise. He dodged by milliseconds, retaliating with graceful arcs of his glowing sword.

Their blades clashed over and over, the sound ringing through the courtyard, until Baldur feinted at the last second, slipping behind her and bringing his weapon to her throat.

Sif froze.

Then, she smirked.

"Finally," she breathed. "You're getting it."

Baldur lowered his sword, his heart still pounding. He wasn't sure whether it was from exertion or the thrill of the fight, but one thing was clear—

He was improving.

Still, it wasn't enough.

He exhaled, his golden blade fading as he looked at Sif. "I need to get stronger."

Sif studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Then keep training. Strength comes with time, and mastery comes with experience. But remember—"

She sheathed her sword, stepping closer.

"A warrior isn't just measured by his power," she said quietly. "But by his understanding of the battles ahead."

Baldur looked past her, toward the sky, toward the endless cosmos beyond Asgard.

He knew there were greater battles coming.

And he would be ready.

No matter what.