99. Mighty Thor and Suling's Determination

Thor's consciousness flickered back to life, his mind sluggish and foggy as though he were emerging from a deep, dreamless sleep. The first thing he noticed was the cold, biting wind that whipped against his face, carrying with it the scent of salt and sea. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and he found himself staring up at a bleak, grey sky. Dark clouds churned overhead, ominous and foreboding, a stark contrast to the spaceship hall of Alfa that he was so familiar with.

But something was wrong. The air was different, heavier somehow, and when Thor tried to sit up, his body felt... off. He could feel the weight of unfamiliar armor pressing against his chest and shoulders. His limbs, once bursting with divine strength, now felt oddly restricted, as though they were bound by something he couldn't quite place.

He tried to move his hand, to grasp Mjölnir out of instinct, but there was no familiar rush of power, no connection to the mighty hammer. Instead, his fingers were greeted by cold steel—he was holding a spear, not Mjölnir. His heart pounded in his chest as he lifted the spear, examining it with a sense of dread creeping over him. This was not his weapon.

With a deep breath, Thor looked down at himself, and what he saw made his blood run cold. He was clad in plain, functional armor, devoid of any ornamentation or sign of status. His once golden hair was shaved close to his scalp, and his muscular frame, though still powerful, was thinner, more wiry. Panic surged within him as his hand drifted lower, beneath the armor, to where he knew his most sacred parts should be. His face went pale.

"No," he muttered under his breath, eyes wide in disbelief. He patted his groin again, frantically this time, as if hoping the first time had been a mistake. But it was no mistake. His manhood was gone. Thor, the mighty God of Thunder, the Prince of Asgard, the Avenger—had no private parts.

"By Odin's beard, what is this madness?" Thor whispered hoarsely to himself. His voice was quieter than he remembered, as if even that had been muted in this strange new world.

He staggered to his feet, feeling the weight of the spear in his hand, the tightness of the armor, the unfamiliar balance of his body. His surroundings were equally disorienting. He was in a city, that much was clear, but it was unlike any city he had ever seen. The streets were narrow and winding, lined with tall, ancient buildings of stone that looked as though they had stood for centuries. The people that milled about were all garbed in drab, worn clothing, their faces hard and weathered. This was not Midgard, nor was it Asgard. This was somewhere else entirely.

As Thor took in his surroundings, the reality of his situation began to sink in. He was no longer in his own body—this was someone else's. But whose? And where was he? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of marching feet, a rhythmic, unyielding cadence that echoed off the stone walls of the city. Thor turned his head, and his heart nearly stopped.

A column of men was marching toward him, their faces expressionless, their heads shaved, their bodies clad in armor identical to his own. They carried spears like his, and their steps were perfectly in sync, disciplined and rigid. Thor recognized them instantly because of unknown memory inside his mind.

The Unsullied.

Thor's jaw dropped as the realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. He was in the body of an Unsullied soldier, one of the famed eunuch warriors of Essos. The thought was almost too absurd to comprehend. Him, Thor, a warrior god, reduced to the form of a slave, a man without his most cherished parts. He almost wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it.

Thor's thoughts whirled, a mix of panic, disbelief, and—somewhat inexplicably—humor. Of all the fates that could have befallen him, this was not one he would have ever imagined. He couldn't help but think of Loki, his mischievous brother. This was exactly the sort of thing Loki would find hilarious. "Ah, Loki," Thor muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "If you could see me now..."

North, bear Island.

In the cold, dimly lit hall of Bear Island, a young girl lay asleep on a grand, fur-covered bed. The soft crackling of a nearby hearth provided the only sound in the otherwise silent room. As the flames danced, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, something strange began to stir within the girl.

Suling's consciousness, drifting in a state of limbo since the moment her soul entered this world, suddenly snapped to life. The sensation was like being submerged in icy water, jolting her awake with a gasp. Her small, delicate body shuddered as she opened her eyes, the dark, deep eyes of Lyanna Mormont. But behind those eyes now lay the mind and memories of Suling, a powerful cultivator who had never imagined finding herself in the body of a child.

For a moment, she lay still, overwhelmed by the flood of sensations and memories. The smell of wood smoke, the softness of the furs beneath her, the rough texture of the stone walls—it was all so vivid, so real. And then came the rush of memories that were not her own. Lyanna Mormont, the fierce and loyal leader of Bear Island, her unyielding spirit, and the weight of responsibility she carried for her people. Suling could feel it all, as if she had lived it herself.

Slowly, Suling sat up, her small hands gripping the edge of the bed. She looked down at her body, now small and childlike, and felt a pang of discomfort. This was not her form, not the body she had known and honed for years. But there was no time for self-pity. She needed to understand what had happened and why she was here.

As her mind cleared, she began to think of the others—her team, the comrades who had been with her on so many missions. Were they here too? Did they wake up in bodies not their own? The thought of Ron, her boyfriend, filled her with a mixture of hope and fear. What if he was here, but trapped in some form just as disorienting as hers? What if he wasn't here at all?

She remembered Ron's easygoing smile, the way he could make her laugh even in the direst of situations. He had a way of turning everything into a joke, even when they were facing impossible odds. But what would he think of her now, in the body of a little girl? Would he even recognize her?

The thought of being separated from him, of not knowing if he was safe, made her heart clench. She had always been strong, had always been the one others relied on, but now, in this foreign body and world, she felt a vulnerability she hadn't known in years.

But Suling was not one to dwell on fear. She pushed the emotions aside, focusing on the task at hand. She would need to navigate this world carefully, playing the role of Lyanna Mormont while seeking out her team.

Suling took a deep breath, standing up from the bed with renewed determination. She might be in the body of a child, but she was still herself, still Suling.

And With a final glance around the room, she steeled herself. It was time to become Lyanna Mormont, not just in body but in spirit. The North would have its fierce Lady of Bear Island, but behind those sharp eyes and cutting words, it would be Suling who was pulling the strings. And she would not rest until she had found Ron and the others, no matter what it took.