Motionless atop Sleipnir, Odin kept his weathered hands steady on Gungnir's shaft as the confrontation unfolded before him. Purple fire burned in his single eye, the accumulated wisdom of eons drinking in every detail like a scholar studying an ancient text. The All-Father's expression revealed nothing—not approval, not concern, merely the patient calculation of one who had orchestrated the rise and fall of countless heroes across the millennia.
Huginn shifted restlessly on his shoulder, obsidian feathers ruffled with anticipation. Yet Odin's gaze never wavered from Adam, studying what he had come to recognise as chaos given mortal form—a walking contradiction that defied every law the All-Father had helped write into reality's foundation. Something almost predatory lurked in his stillness, the patience of a spider waiting at the center of a web that had taken centuries to weave.
