The secluded valley was serene, the air crisp and fresh. Birds chirped rhythmically in the distance, as if trying to soothe any unrest in the hearts of those who ventured here. But for some reason, every step Daniel took seemed to weigh heavier on his chest, the stillness pressing down instead of offering relief.
While Loki was likely battling the Avengers aboard S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Helicarrier, Daniel had come alone to this quiet mountain forest, about a hundred kilometers northwest of Berlin.
At one point, he had imagined how he might respond if Nick Fury ever extended an invitation for him to join the Avengers.
He would've declined.
Despite once fighting beside them, Daniel had no interest in becoming part of that world. He was a relic of a darker time, a survivor of Hydra's horrors during the Second World War. Getting too close to the so-called "heroes" didn't sit well with him.
Truthfully, he didn't see them as friends. Stark and Thor had shared a battlefield with him, but camaraderie didn't equal trust. They were comrades in arms, not companions of the soul.
If Bruce Banner saw Daniel, he might transform on the spot out of instinct.
Then there was Captain America—Steve Rogers. They'd fought on opposite sides during the war, multiple times. Even now, Daniel wasn't sure Rogers wouldn't sense something... off. Best to stay far from him.
Black Widow was just as unreachable. Natasha had never struck Daniel as someone interested in friendship. She walked a fine line between loyalty and pragmatism, and she always seemed to serve her own interests first.
Hawkeye was perhaps the only one Daniel wouldn't mind. But even he was bound by duty.
And so, while Fury and the Avengers were caught up in their struggle with Loki, Daniel finally had the freedom to pursue something deeply personal—something that had been waiting over a century.
This forest once held a secret base, long forgotten. Before World War II broke out, the Third Reich had gathered its elite here—scientists, mystics, soldiers—all hidden away from Allied eyes. While Germany drew attention to itself across Europe, from Poland to France and the Low Countries, this place remained untouched.
Daniel had arrived here before that chaos erupted. Back then, he was known as Werner von Reinhardt, assistant to Dr. Erskine, who was then overseeing the original super soldier program.
When Erskine escaped the Nazis, nearly killed by the furious Red Skull, Daniel's life hung by a thread. But fate intervened. He crossed paths with the sorceress Amora, who saved him—and in time, taught him the ancient art of rune magic.
Everything had started here. After World War II, Amora vanished, and Daniel was cast into Jotunheim.
Decades passed. The world changed. But this forest endured, now more lush than ever.
When Daniel first began studying rune magic, Amora had guided him to this very place. Because of his natural affinity for wood magic, she instructed him to draw power from an ancient oak, hundreds of years old. Back then, the Earth's magical currents were weak, nearly inert. Few could even form a magical foundation, let alone walk the path of a mage.
Despite the odds, Daniel succeeded. With that oak tree as a conduit, he established his foundation. It seemed like a great gift at the time.
But magic never gives without taking.
It was only after Daniel advanced to the legendary realm that he discovered the truth—his fate had been bound to that oak. Their lives were connected in a way that transcended the physical.
This bond didn't mean that if Daniel stubbed his toe, the tree would ache—or vice versa. It was deeper, subtler.
He had gained a profound advantage. So long as the oak still lived, Daniel could not truly die. Even if mortally wounded, he had a high chance of resurrection—his soul anchored to the ancient tree.
But it came at a cost.
If the oak was ever destroyed, Daniel wouldn't die instantly, but the damage would be catastrophic. A wound to the tree would shake him to his core. And if the tree was ever completely wiped from existence, Daniel's chance at resurrection would vanish with it.
On the surface, it seemed he had won the magical lottery. But any sorcerer worth their salt would recognize what this really was: a fate tether. Whoever understood this connection could, in theory, control Daniel entirely—through the tree.
And there was only one person with both the knowledge and the power to exploit it.
Amora.
She had given him everything—the magic, the survival, the path forward. But she had also ensnared him. He couldn't break the bond without destroying the tree. And only a being stronger than Amora could sever the connection without destroying him in the process.
Standing before that towering oak now—its trunk wide as a house, branches stretching ten meters across—Daniel felt both a sense of warmth and deep unease.
The roots ran so deep they likely reached the mountain's heart. It had stood through centuries of war, storms, and famine. Even when the forest was plundered during the fall of the Reich, somehow this one tree remained untouched.
The spell circle around it had long faded, but Daniel could still feel traces of Amora's energy lingering in the soil. The enchantment hadn't fully dissipated—it had maybe a year or two left. That alone told him what he needed to know.
Amora was still alive.
She had vanished after the great battle to seal Hela, thousands of years ago. She never returned to Asgard. Odin had sent hunters after her, even Thor had clashed with her. But she survived.
Time had transformed the Earth, but to an Asgardian like Amora, sixty years was barely a moment.
To Daniel, his situation now resembled a lich—an immortal whose essence was bound to a phylactery. As long as this oak existed, he could return from the brink. But it also meant his "fate box" was here, in plain sight. He could be manipulated at any time—by Amora.
Only someone stronger than her—perhaps the Ancient One, or the elusive Merlin—could undo that. Maybe Loki, with his talent for trickery and lies, posed a risk too.
That's why Daniel kept an eye on Loki. If Amora ever decided to work with him, and Loki learned of this connection, things could get... dangerous.
He pulled out his wand—a smooth, white-brown oak relic that slid effortlessly from his sleeve. The moment it left his hand, it resonated with the massive tree. A cyan light pulsed outward from the wand, then streamed into the oak's core. Moments later, the light returned.
It was clear now. Amora's gift had a hidden cost. A leash disguised as a blessing.
Worse, the oak had a limited lifespan. Its magical influence capped Daniel's potential. Had he not broken through to the legendary realm using the Frost energy in Jotunheim, he might have remained forever beneath that threshold—stunted, confined.
In fact, if he'd stayed on Earth, the stagnant magical environment alone might've held him back for centuries. Only if he'd waited another 200 years, until the oak matured further, might he have progressed on his own.
In that sense, Amora had tried to help. She gave him a path—albeit a narrow, controlled one. She wanted a powerful tool, not a free mage. A weapon like Skurge the Executioner, not an equal.
Daniel resented that.
But now, things were different. He had reached the legendary realm once through frost. Even if his strength had dropped below that level upon returning to Earth, the Mjolnir had restored it. He had power again.
Still, against Amora, he stood little chance. She'd ascended to godhood over a thousand years ago, even if Odin never granted her divine status. She'd warred with the All-Father for centuries across the Nine Realms. Even without Asgard's blessings, she was formidable.
And Daniel with the Mjolnir ... he wasn't sure he could take her.
But maybe he wouldn't have to. The Chitauri invasion was coming. And with it, the world would be turned upside down.
If Amora wanted to act, she'd have to do it soon.