At the edge of the village, Odin waited.

  The wind moved through the Sawtooth peaks behind him, carrying the scent of pine and smoke, the weight of approaching autumn.

  Even after three months, Marty had never grown used to Odin’s presence.

  Odin gestured toward the hall, where a fire burned low in the center hearth. “Come.”

  Marty’s gaze traveled to the walls.

  His eyes fixed on one of the many shields hanging on the walls. It was worn, bore the marks of battle, but the paint had not yet faded. The edges had not yet cracked with time.

  His great-great-grandfather’s shield.

  Thor, the 35th.

  Marty swallowed.

  He could still feel the weight of those hands on his head.

  Odin studied him for a moment, then turned to the head of the long table, near the fire. Upon it lay something new—a shield of fresh, unblemished wood, its iron rim gleaming in the firelight. It was round, plain but solid, carved with a single sigil.

  The hammer of Thor.

  And beneath it, carefully etched into the grain—?? - thirty-six.

  Marty stared at it.

  Odin lifted the shield, turning it so Marty could see it clearly. “You have fought well. You have learned much. But what you are now—” his single eye gleamed in the dim firelight “—is only the beginning.”

  Marty hesitated, then stepped forward. His fingers closed around the rim, feeling the smooth wood, the weight of it.

  It was his.

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  His own.

  Odin’s voice was quieter now. “Your predecessor did not fall because he was weak.”

  Marty looked up.

  Odin turned back to the fire. “He fell because Loki was hunting him. And because his weapons—his true weapons—were scattered, hidden where even he could not reach them.”

  The embers crackled, sending flickering light across the walls.

  “Before he died, Thor 35 lost or hid the tools of his power.” Odin’s voice shook with buried frustration. “Some were hidden some time ago. Mj?llnir—hidden when he first realized that he was faltering and could not preserve its safety. Others—” his gaze flickered back to Marty “—he concealed in the final days before his death, when he knew Loki was closing in.”

  Marty’s grip on the shield tightened. “What are they?”

  Odin stepped closer. His voice lowered, as though speaking of something that could hear its own name.

  “The Járngreipr. The iron gauntlets. The first and most vital piece. Without them, you cannot wield the hammer when it is found.”

  His single eye burned with a hunger that made Marty shiver.

  “The Megingj?re—the belt of strength—was hidden as well. Without it, your strength and power will remain as they are now, but with it…” Odin’s jaw tightened, and for an instant there was something in his tone—longing, regret, want. “…with it you will be truly mighty indeed.”

  He exhaled, almost a growl. “Then there were others. The Stríesk?rr, the chariot that carried him across the skies—lost when he was forced to abandon it. The goats, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, abandoned or hidden, we know not where. All hidden before Loki could take them.”

  Marty exhaled slowly.

  Odin’s single eye gleamed. “Each was part of his strength. Each must be recovered.”

  A silence stretched between them.

  And then Odin continued. “Some may still be within our grasp. Others…” His voice grew distant. “Others may have been taken. Lost.” His single eye met Marty’s. “But they must be found. Before Loki finds them.”

  Marty clenched his jaw.

  His predecessor had known. Had hidden them, knowing that Loki would seek to twist them to his own ends.

  And now it fell to him to find them.

  “Well,” Marty muttered, “at least it’s a straightforward plan.”

  Odin chuckled—low, distant, like thunder in far off mountains, “You will find, Lille-Tor, that nothing about your path will be straightforward.”

  Marty swallowed. He had no doubt that was true.

  Odin stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but not heavy. “Go. You have learned much. Now, you must see if you have truly learned it.”

  Marty exhaled. Then, gripping the shield tightly, he turned toward the door.

  Thialfi clapped a hand on his back. “Come on, gutta mi. Time to go home.”

  The gauntlets.

  The belt of strength.

  And relics scattered across the world before Loki could claim them.