Moonlight spilled across the dark sea, like a thin veil draped over the Abyss. The cold, empty ocean stretched beyond sight, yet this rocky islet stood like a beacon.
Waves crashed against the black reefs, washing over the shellfish clinging to them. Strands of seaweed occasionally snagged on sharp edges before the current gradually tore them apart.
A small stone house stood on the island, with a bonfire burning before its door. A circle of burly men surrounded the flames, boisterously drinking from large bowls, brawling with one another, and trading all kinds of boastful jokes—like killing a Frost Giant barehanded or riding a wild boar without a saddle.
Asgardian customs were much like those in Scandinavia. There was no weeping at funerals; instead, the dead were commemorated through revelry, drinking, and fighting.
The more one drank, the deeper the affection. Beating someone crippled—or being beaten crippled—made for the best memories, so long as no weapons were used.
It looked barbaric, but when one thought about it, it actually made sense. If someone tore off your arm at a funeral, then every time you saw that bare shoulder in the future—
"Oh, this was torn off at XXX's funeral."
The memory would stay vivid. Even decades later, it might still bring a knowing smile.
A bonfire, a small boat, a mountain of liquor, and a crowd of burly men—that was the funeral scene. Once everyone was drunk, the deceased's body would be placed in the boat and pushed out to sea, then set ablaze with flaming arrows.
It was just that Odin, the main figure of this "farewell ceremony," had not yet drawn his last breath, so they were only carrying out the first half of the ritual.
He was not by the bonfire either. He still held a fishing