Asgardian Princes

I was sitting cross-legged on my dorm bed, surrounded by textbooks and notes, when I felt it again—that strange tingling under my skin. It had been happening more often lately, like tiny sparks of energy dancing just below the surface. My heart raced as I tried to ignore it, to focus on my paper. Maybe it was just stress. Finals week had a way of making you feel like you were unraveling. But then it happened. The air around me shimmered, like heat rising from pavement in the summer. My breath hitched. "Oh no," I whispered, too late. A surge of power I couldn’t contain tore through me, and the room twisted and stretched around me like I was falling through space. Suddenly, I wasn't in my dorm anymore. I blinked, trying to steady myself. Cold stone beneath my hands, the scent of something old and powerful in the air. My eyes widened as I took in my surroundings—massive, gilded columns, and banners fluttering in a non-existent breeze. The ceiling arched impossibly high above me, adorned with intricate designs of stars and constellations. I was in a throne room. But not just any throne room. Asgard.