In the days before Ragnarok, when the gods still strode boldly through Midgard and Jötunheim alike, Thor, the Thunderer, sought not just foes to fight—but glory to match his name.

The giants whispered of a beast so vast it circled the world. Its tail in its mouth. Its breath poison. Its name—Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent. Born of Loki’s blood. Hater of Thor.

And Thor, as ever, heard this and grinned.

So one day, he set out to sea with the giant Hymir, a bitter, beard-frozen fisher of whales.

“You’ll not fit in my boat,” Hymir said. “You’ll scare the fish.”

“Then I’ll catch something bigger,” Thor replied.

He disguised himself as a young man—though no cloak could hide the fire in his beard or the strength in his arms.

At dawn, they rowed far into the deep, past the cries of gulls, past the kelp-strangled shallows, to waters so dark even the sky looked afraid to touch them. Hymir baited his hook with minnow and scale. But Thor? Ha! He tore the head from a great black ox—and jammed it onto his line.

“If I want a beast,” said Thor, “I feed it blood.”

They cast their lines. And the ocean stirred. And then—A tug. A pull. A rending of the sea itself. Jörmungandr rose. Its eyes glowed like twin moons drowned in madness. Its jaws opened, wide enough to swallow cliffs. Its breath boiled the waves. Thor braced his legs, wrapped the line round his arms, and pulled. Pulled with the strength of mountains. Pulled until the boat cracked. Pulled until the serpent’s head broke the surface—and the god and the beast stared into each other’s fury.

The sea it split with thunder's roar,

The serpent rose, the god leaned o'er.

Hook in jaw and wrath in eye,

The world held breath beneath the sky.

Hammer sang, but fate held fast,

For not all wars are meant to last.

One blow stayed, by giant’s hand,

And so the beast escaped the land.

Thor reached for Mjölnir, his mighty hammer, to crush the serpent’s skull and end fate early. But Hymir, pale with terror, cut the line!

The serpent sank. The waves closed. And Thor’s roar echoed through every sea cave in Midgard. He hurled the coward giant overboard. The boat drifted back, splintered and steaming. And in the depths, Jörmungandr twisted on…Waiting. Knowing. For the battle still to come.

And so the two enemies parted—not with peace, but with promise.

One day, at Ragnarok, they shall meet again. Thor will strike with Mjölnir, breaking the serpent’s spine. And Jörmungandr will spew poison, filling the god’s lungs. Each shall slay the other. But not on that day. Not yet.

Blood for bait and wrath for rope,

Thor cast deep his iron hope.

But fate is sly, and giants pale,

And so the beast yet guards the pale.

Storm and serpent, god and tide,

Shall meet again, where worlds collide.

Till then, the sea keeps secrets tight—

Of thunder's hand and serpent's bite.

Skål for the sea! Skål for the serpent! Skål for the Thunderer, whose fury shook the waves.