#freyr1

The next Sunday came quickly. Franco, @franco-gold94, packed the finished flag into a golden satchel, while Freyr shouldered the polished steel pole. Outside the hut, a faint mist rolled in from the trees, thick with the scent of pine and promise.

The hike to the summit had begun.

Golden Mountain loomed high above the compound, its peak sometimes hidden by clouds, sometimes haloed in sun. This was no ordinary walk. This was ascent.

Franco kept a steady pace beside the god. Sweat formed on his brow, but he welcomed it.

“Didn’t expect the ‘flag mission’ to be cardio,” he said with a small laugh, adjusting the strap across his shoulder.

“You carried heavier burdens in your training, golden bro,” Freyr replied, his voice calm but strong. “This one... is for the team.”

Franco gave a nod. “For the team,” he echoed, more serious now.

They passed a few bros on their morning jogs. Some paused to salute. Others just gave nods of silent respect. Word had gotten around about the crafting. About the goal.

As the terrain steepened, Freyr looked ahead, then back at Franco.

“You know,” he said, “this peak used to be sacred to storms. Lightning struck here with fury. Trees wouldn’t grow near the crown. But it can be reclaimed.”

“Reclaimed?” Franco asked.

“For the Golden Army,” Freyr said. “For sunshine. For certainty. For glory born from steady hands.”

By midday, they reached the clearing at the summit.

The sky above swirled, blue and white in motion, as if watching. Golden winds circled the clearing, brushing their uniforms. Franco looked out across the view, fields, towers, stadiums, all below them.

“This is it?” he asked, chest rising.

Freyr stepped forward and knelt, carving sigils into the rocky ground with the pointed edge of the pole. Glowing lines followed his strokes, sparking then cooling.

“Yes,” Freyr said. “Here the soil shall hold our mark. The Golden Army flag will rise, and the skies will remember.”

Franco pulled the flag from his satchel. The golden fabric shimmered in the wind, the emblem of stag and laurel pulsing with life. He glanced at Freyr, heart thudding.

“You ready?” Franco asked, eyes on the pole.

“I’m always ready,” Freyr said. Then he paused. “But this, this isn’t my moment alone.”

He offered the base of the pole to Franco.

Franco took it, breath catching. “Then let’s plant it together.”

He knelt. Freyr gripped his shoulder. “Now.”

The pole struck the earth with a deep, resonant thud. The clearing fell silent. For a breath.

Then, light.

Golden light erupted upward, spiraling like a vortex. The flag unfurled itself, snapping into the wind, the fabric glowing with every thread. Thunder rolled in the far distance, but here, sunlight broke through the clouds like a curtain parting for a performance.

Franco shielded his eyes, jaw slightly open.

“It’s... beautiful,” he whispered.

Freyr stood with arms crossed, eyes reflecting the golden flare.

“It is blessed,” he said.

Two days later.

The Golden Stadium was packed. The stands overflowed with bros in shining kits. On the field, drills and scrimmages played out in perfect rhythm. Not a drop of rain. Not a hint of wind.

Franco leaned on the railing, watching a younger bro nail a long-range shot into the upper corner of the goal.

He smiled.

Freyr joined him, wearing a relaxed cream-white cloak over his godly form. His eyes scanned the field.

“They play smoother now,” Franco said. “Clear heads. Clear skies.”

Freyr nodded. “No divine interference. Just divine condition.”

Franco turned to him. “And it all started with two things, steel and fabric.”

“No,” Freyr said. “It started with unity.”

He looked out again, voice soft.

“Now every match will begin with our flag raised. Not as a weapon. Not as domination. But as a promise: the weather is fair, the grounds are blessed, and the fight is worthy.”

Franco gave a small nod, eyes focused forward.

“Then that’s what we made, Freyr.”

“A field that listens,” Freyr replied. “A stage for greatness. A symbol that says, this place... belongs to the Golden Army.”

The summit glows. The banner flies. What began with sweat and steel now echoes across the whole Golden Army. Franco and Freyr’s handcrafted legacy stands tall, weather-proof, storm-defiant, golden as unity itself.

Check out Franco's page for Chapter 1: The Finest Handcraft

Join those who rise for more than themselves. Train, craft, compete, and become sacred muscle with the Golden Team.