Just like the man walking down the street, beneath the icy surface of Norway's January roads, the warm winds of spring crept inland from the sea. In the coming days, the seemingly endless winter—reminiscent of an apocalyptic calamity—would be slowly pushed back from the southern lands. The forest god Víðarr and the nature god Váli would sow greener and lusher plants than ever before, and life would once again sing across the land.
But in Oslo, spring's delicate tendrils had yet to reach. The pale sun overhead cast feeble warmth, and all signs of renewal remained trapped beneath the ice.
And just like this man, striding along the pavement, his short gray-white hair was slicked back, though a few lifeless strands drooped over his broad forehead. His eyes held a gleam of contentment. Neither his deliberately kept stubble nor the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes aged him too much. If anything, the biting cold air invigorated him, making his gaze even sharper.
A light snowfall had graced the city last night, and by morning, the melted flakes had turned into a treacherous layer of black ice.
His steps were brisk and sure-footed as he took long strides over the icy patches. From the sturdy heels of his black leather shoes to the tousled gray-white hair swept by the wind, he stood precisely one hundred and eighty-three centimeters tall. His powerful arms, concealed beneath a gray wool coat, carried the same strength as the incoming ocean breeze. His well-tailored dark attire was not only warm but also exuded a mature masculinity—enough to attract women with a penchant for older men.
Kaecilius was looking forward to meeting the person he had come to see.
He walked up to a street-side café, where the awning had kept a patch of pavement dry. There, his guest stood waiting.
The man before him was slightly slimmer but equally tall. A black coat, casually draped over his shoulders, partially obscured his frame.
Unlike Kaecilius, the young man radiated an undeniable vitality. Three massive gemstones of different hues gleamed on his fingers, yet they did nothing to make him look gaudy. The muscles beneath his crisp white shirt did not make him appear brutish either. Instead, paired with his deep-black suit and tie, they only accentuated his enigmatic presence.
Long, slightly wavy black hair was tied back, though a few playful curls danced across his forehead in the wind. A charming smile remained ever-present on his lips.
Just barely visible at his waist, secured by a silver-buckled belt, was a long, slender object—something he could draw at a moment's notice with his right hand.
"My child."
Kaecilius opened his arms and pulled the young man into a firm embrace. For a brief moment, they truly looked like father and son.
This child had been his emotional anchor atop the lonely, snow-capped mountains. He had watched the boy grow into a man, enroll in university, date a few women. He had seen him study magic, learn to drive, and immerse himself in scientific knowledge that most ordinary people would never comprehend.
Solomon chuckled and patted Kaecilius on the back. He didn't mind being addressed in such a way.
"You've got a belly now, Kaecilius."
After stepping back, Solomon raised an eyebrow at him. Kaecilius' American English accent had changed slightly, now carrying the crisp freshness of glaciers and pastures.
"It's only been a few months. How did you end up like this?"
"The Allfather is an excellent hunter, and Frigg is far too generous a hostess," Kaecilius replied with a grin.
He pulled out a wooden chair from the café. The aged chair groaned under his touch—just as it had for over a century, performing the same duty day after day.
Solomon sat down as well, his deep-black wool coat draping over the chair's back. Beneath it, a silver-plated, slender black scabbard rested at his side, accompanied by a smaller one on the other.
The same artistic craftsmanship.
Both hidden beneath his coat.
Kaecilius hung his own coat over his chair. "If you ate nothing but venison, bear meat, and salmon every day—and barely moved because of the cold—you'd end up like me too," he said. "You can't blame me alone. The Allfather has a belly too. It proves nothing."
"Asgardians can't sit still, but that's no excuse for skipping exercise."
When the server brought their coffee, Solomon didn't immediately bring up their mission.
Previously, Solomon had been too busy with his studies at Oxford, so the Ancient One had assigned someone else to accompany the Allfather. Naturally, Kaecilius—one of Kamar-Taj's finest sorcerers—had been given the cushy assignment.
Christmas and New Year's had been spent in the icy wilderness of Scandinavia.
It had been like an extended vacation, giving him time to truly relax.
The vast, breathtaking landscapes had done wonders for his mood.
Solomon pushed his coffee aside.
He despised coffee—absolutely loathed it.
Norwegian ferry coffee was just as atrocious as American coffee.
But before coming here, he had already thought of a more enjoyable way to spend time with Kaecilius.
His money had been well spent, and the café was more than happy to accommodate his request.
The older sorcerer raised an eyebrow as Solomon, with an exaggerated flourish, conjured a bottle of crystal-clear liquor.
The server arrived with four glasses and a large bottle of soda water. Two tall glasses were filled with ice, while two smaller ones were meant for stronger spirits.
In this country, drinking was perfectly normal—even strong liquor was widely appreciated.
As Solomon poured the nearly syrupy, frozen-clear vodka into the small glasses, Kaecilius didn't hesitate to pick his up and down it in one go.
Under his expectant gaze, Solomon followed suit, finishing his drink in a single swig.
The vodka hit their stomachs like ice blocks, sending shivers through their guts.
But within seconds, the alcohol took effect.
A pleasant warmth spread through them, as if a well-tempered brazier had been placed inside their bellies.
Kaecilius exhaled deeply.
"For Odin!" he toasted cheerfully.
"The next one's for Frigg."
Kaecilius nodded in satisfaction.
Solomon was growing into a proper man.
Perhaps it was just one glass.
Or maybe five.
No one could tell.
Perhaps the northern wind urged them to drink every last drop.
Neither Solomon nor Kaecilius intended to hold back.
The vodka was poured over ice, mixed with soda water.
How many rounds they drank, no one knew.
Between smoked fish and sausages, between chocolates and cheese balls, glass after glass of strong liquor flowed, accompanied by endless conversation—including Solomon's recent joint exam.
By the time they finally decided to leave, Solomon remained perfectly sober.
Only Kaecilius continued reminiscing, rambling about the foolish things Solomon had done as a child.
The young man listened with a smile, never interrupting the older sorcerer.
The alcohol in his bloodstream was just right—warm and perfect for conversation.
It was undeniable—Kaecilius had indeed played a partial fatherly role in Solomon's childhood.
Teaching the boy to sneak drinks, build snowmen, and pelt the ever-serious Mordo with snowballs.
Solomon was deeply grateful.
Kaecilius had been a great father figure, even though they shared no blood.
Of course, it helped that Solomon had been an exceptionally well-behaved child—utterly unlike normal teenagers. He had no interest in second-hand goods, death, noise, or chaos.
"What's the mission?"
Kaecilius finally asked after draining a paper cup of vodka mixed with orange juice.
Solomon shook his head and lazily repeated the Ancient One's instructions.
Kaecilius glanced at the young sorcerer, curious.
"It's just a scavenger hunt."
Retrieving relics left behind by past deities was basically trash collecting.
When the old pantheons had departed Earth, they often left behind trivial artifacts—things with minor magical properties, but ultimately useless.
Like Aphrodite's clothes, which she never wore—or promptly removed.
Rumor had it Athena had burned them.
Solomon never dared to ask for details.
Of course, if ordinary people got their hands on such things, it would cause problems.
And it was Kamar-Taj's job to clean up those messes.
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