The silence hung for a long moment. Smoke curled where Surtr had stood, the air still trembling with the memory of his roar. The courtyard was nothing but ruin, but in the middle of the rubble, something glowed faintly—burning against the dark like a fallen star.
Zeus stepped toward it, slow but steady. The others watched in silence. The light pulsed, alive in a way that was more than fire. When he crouched, he saw it clearly: Surtr's essence. The molten breath of his being, still raging in its heat. Alongside it, deeper, harder, lay the core—a shard of pure flame compressed to impossible density. Both hummed like hearts torn from a giant's chest.
Zeus stretched his hand. Lightning curled around his arm as he reached into the blaze and drew them out. The essence swirled like liquid fire in one palm, while the core, heavy as a mountain, burned in the other. Neither scorched him. They bent to him, surrendering their fury.
