Within the first moments of their landing upon the surface Thor’s skin had been slick with sweat…and it did nothing to cool him even now. The air was as a furnace around him, thick enough to bite off in chunks if he tried, he thought.
Thor cared little in that moment.
His leathers were cloying and the air so hot that it was almost too difficult to breathe, but nothing could deter his enthusiasm at the prospect of this quest.
Something in his blood sparked at the idea he had, the idea that had brought Asgard’s first prince and his two companions to the shifting, near-liquid surface of Muspelheim. He had only heard stories, vague, fragmented, and brief, but each of them more fantastic than the last, and now he was one step closer to making them real and tangible. One step closer to a way to make his own mark.
His uncles had fought here, the location of the last of their great exploits, and standing on the same ground as his kin had done so many years ago resonated something strange and almost reverent within him. It would only have been better if he could have had Loki with him… but his brother had refused.
Still, he would walk in their footsteps. He would retrieve their remains, and more than that, he would fulfill a legacy–upon his return he would best them, and be proven a hero himself.
The thought almost made the heat bearable.
Thor turned to Sif and Balder where they trailed behind him. For once, Sif was pulling up the rear and not Balder, and Thor lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise at the sight. “The two of you are so slow. Why such long faces?”
“My dead grandmother could hike faster than you.”