The New Mexico sun beat down on the observatory's metal roof, and the heat distorted the distant desert horizon.
Thor sat on the edge of the rooftop, his long legs dangling in midair, ten stories high, his blond hair disheveled by the wind.
His blue eyes had lost their former sparkle, and he stared blankly at the sky, as if there were something there that only he could see.
Jane Foster stood not far away, watching the listless Thor, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her dress.
Daisy Louise frowned, wiped the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief, and asked in a low voice:
"What's wrong with him? Didn't you take him to find his hammer yesterday, all excited?"
"Judging from his condition, anyone who didn't know better would think you took him to get him neutered!"
Jane Foster sighed and lowered her voice:
"The situation is a bit complicated. To put it simply, we went to the desert last night—and there really is a hammer there."
"What?"
Upon hearing this, Selvig's eyes widened suddenly, and he nearly spilled the coffee he was holding, exclaiming in surprise:
"You mean Thor isn't crazy? That hammer really exists?"
"It exists! But Thor couldn't lift it. He tried three times, and on the last try, the hammer blasted him away!"
Upon hearing Jane Foster's words, Daisy Louise's face immediately showed a look of realization, and she said sympathetically:
"Oh, so he's impotent! That must be quite a blow to him. No wonder he looks like my golden retriever after it got neutered."
Ignoring Daisy Louise's runaway metaphor, Selvig fell into deep thought.
He adjusted his glasses, his gaze shifting between Thor and Jane Foster, and said hesitantly:
"This doesn't make sense… unless there's something really special about that hammer."
"Or… unless everything Thor said before is true? Like the sword in the stone—he really is the God of Thunder, but the hammer judged him unworthy?"
Upon hearing this, Selvig frowned, instinctively wanting to refute Daisy Louise.
But he swallowed the words back down his throat.
After all, given Thor's extraordinary—though admittedly unorthodox—wisdom, Selvig had essentially given up on viewing him as a mere fraud.
Moreover, the thunderstorms and energy bursts in the desert last night hadn't seemed like natural phenomena.
"It seems… I need to go take a look at that hammer."
Selvig stroked his chin and muttered to himself.
At that moment, Jane Foster tugged at his sleeve, looked at him imploringly, and said:
"Eric, can you help me talk to him? Could you comfort him?"
Selvig sneered and said:
"Jane, I'm a thermonuclear astrophysicist, not a family therapist. Besides, his problem is literally that he's been abandoned by his own magic hammer—how am I supposed to counsel him?"
"Tell him, 'Hey, cheer up—at least your hammer didn't get sucked into a black hole!'"
"Eric, you must have a way, right?"
"No! Even if I did, I wouldn't help him! Don't even think about making me say a single word to him!"
......…
That night, in a bar on the edge of the desert, neon lights flickered above the counter, reflecting the amber-colored liquor as if it were liquid gold.
Thor sat alone in a corner booth, his thick fingers unconsciously tracing the scratches on the wooden table—etched with profanities left by some drunkard years ago.
Bang!
Two cases of beer slammed onto the table, making the empty glasses bounce.
Selvig wiped the sweat from his brow; fine desert sand still clung to his graying temples. He deftly pried open two bottles, the foamy openings pointing toward the two men.
"You ever tried this?"
As the old professor pushed a bottle toward him, the condensation on the glass left a damp mark on Thor's palm.
Thor stared at the bubbling beer in his glass and said in a hoarse voice:
"No. We don't. In Valhalla, we drink mead."
He tilted his head back and took a large gulp, then suddenly frowned and said:
"This tastes… like horse urine mixed with wormwood."
Upon hearing this, Selvig grinned, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and said:
"It's okay—you won't be able to taste the difference after a few more bottles."
At that moment, the old-fashioned jukebox on the wall played a twangy country song, the dilapidated sound system occasionally crackling with static.
Thor's gaze passed through the glass window, looking toward the distant desert bathed in starlight.
After downing five bottles of spiked beer, Thor's tense shoulders finally relaxed slightly. Seeing this, Selvig wiped his mouth with his sleeve and asked casually:
"Speaking of which—how heavy is your hammer? You can't even lift it?"
"I don't know how heavy it is by Earth's standards, but Mjolnir's weight isn't what matters. Only those who are worthy can lift it."
Thor spoke calmly, beer dripping down his beard.
Upon hearing this, Selvig chuckled softly, opened another bottle, and said with a nostalgic tone:
"When Jane was eight years old, she firmly believed she was a Disney princess who'd run away. For the next three months, she communicated with people only by singing."
"Later, she discovered that real princesses don't steal strawberry pudding from the fridge. But that memory remains her most precious treasure—even though she'd fight anyone who brings it up now."
Thor frowned, puzzled, and asked:
"What are you trying to say? Asgard isn't fake! Nor is Mjolnir!"
"Of course not."
Selvig tapped the table and continued:
"But it's like Jane's princess dream—ethereal, intangible. No one but you has ever seen it."
Unlike others, Jane—after learning she wasn't a Disney princess—quickly fell in love with astronomy and physics, and through her own hard work became a world-renowned astrophysicist.
If she'd only complained about why she couldn't be a princess, she'd never have achieved what she has today.
"Failure is merely a stop along the way, not a milestone on the journey home. The true destination is never defined by where you fall, but by whether you choose to rise again."
"The wise see failure as a star map for correcting their course; only fools carve it into their epitaphs."
Upon hearing this, Thor froze, his beer bottle hanging midair.
The noise from the bar seemed to fade away, leaving only Selvig's hoarse mutterings:
"Maybe your father wasn't punishing you… maybe he was teaching you how to swim…"
Before he could finish, Selvig's head thudded heavily onto the table, and he immediately began snoring.
Thor shook his head, gently removed the wobbling bottle from his hand, and gazed thoughtfully at the starry sky outside the window.
"Swimming… Does Father… really think so?"
He murmured to himself and downed the rest of his beer in one gulp.
When the
bartender asked if they wanted help carrying Selvig out, Thor simply smiled and hoisted the drunken scientist onto his shoulder with one hand.
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