The morning in Asgard had a rhythm all its own.
It wasn't hurried like ordinary commercial capitals, nor too solemn like cities built solely for ostentation. It was a strange balance—alive. Strax walked down one of the central avenues as he stretched without ceremony, arms raised, back cracking slightly, a long sigh escaping as if he were waking not from sleep, but from an entire chapter.
"Hm..." he murmured. "This grew fast."
The sun illuminated the city at a comfortable angle, reflecting off the light stone structures mixed with enchanted metal and ancient wood. Asgard did not follow a single architectural style. It was a sum of influences: solid foundations, functional towers, open areas designed for circulation and coexistence. Nothing seemed designed just to impress—everything had a purpose.
And that was new.
When Strax founded Asgard, it was a gamble. A strategic point. An experiment in organization. Now... it was a real city.
He walked more slowly, observing.
