Chapter 221 – The Thorned Throne
The gates of Alfheim opened without sound, parting like silver mist before Alex as he stepped through alone.
No escorts. No declarations. No armor.
He walked forward under the gaze of a thousand hidden eyes. The pathways of the Sunleaf Court — living crystal and starlight-vines — lit faintly beneath his steps, unsure if they should reject or accept him. The air was rich with mana, but it recoiled slightly, like a trained beast uncertain of the intruder's scent.
High elves stood along the balconies, behind latticework grown from woven branches, silent and pale. Their golden eyes narrowed. Their ears twitched. Some whispered behind perfect hands.
That's the human?
He beat Apollo?
Impossible.
More likely a puppet. A lucky trick. A bluff wrapped in ceremony.
He did not react. He walked on.
Past the twin bridges. Past the groves of duskglass fruit that never ripened. Past statues of long-dead queens who had never been questioned.
The throne hall waited at the end.
It was alive — like everything else in Alfheim — shaped from a single tree whose bark shimmered like moon-polished pearl. Runes pulsed faintly on the pillars. The scent of ancient sap, of dreamwine and judgment, hung in the air like perfume too old to fade.
At the far end of the grand hall, beneath a living canopy woven from stars and mirrored blossoms, Queen Ao sat upon the Thorned Throne.
She was motionless. Crowned in breathless elegance. Draped in layers of woven ivy and thin strands of silverlight that shimmered with embedded law. Her presence alone could bend wills.
Vira stood beside her.
Still.
Composed.
Not in robes of war — but of tradition. Her cloak bore the sigils of the royal line, braided in gleaming emerald threads. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes — they were fire behind glass.
Alex stepped into the center of the hall.
He didn't bow.
He didn't speak.
The silence stretched.
Queen Ao studied him, one leg crossed over the other. Her voice, when it came, was as sharp as a blade left in snow.
"You walked into Olympus. You fought a god. You stole my daughter back."
No reaction.
"You've become a name passed like fire through noble halls. And yet there are still those who call it a lie. A trick."
She leaned slightly forward.
"Was it?"
Alex met her gaze.
"No."
Whispers stirred the edges of the court. Somewhere, someone hissed, "He dares—"
Queen Ao raised one hand.
Silence returned.
And then… she stood.
The movement was graceful, terrifying, like a storm that knew it didn't need to rage to destroy.
She stepped down from her throne.
"I didn't summon you here to challenge you."
Gasps rang out.
"I summoned you," she said, "to tell you something that no one in this room has the right to say but me."
She stopped in front of him. Just a breath away.
"You are worthy."
Even the air flinched.
"And I will not have my daughter waste her time on someone who must keep proving it to insects."
The room froze.
Even Vira turned to look at her mother, stunned.
Queen Ao's gaze didn't move. Her voice dropped slightly.
"But some... still require demonstration."
There was a flicker of light behind her.
A ripple in the shadows.
And from the right column stepped Serelith Sunleaf — the second daughter. Taller than Vira. Eyes colder. Her long silver hair bound in a coil that shimmered with ceremonial glyphs. She wore no crown, only thin armor layered with mana-thread — ceremonial, but deadly.
"I volunteered," Serelith said smoothly, her voice like dripping glass. "Not to disobey, but to clarify."
She smiled thinly at Alex.
"Come. Let us see if the rumors are true."
There was no formal announcement. No trumpet. No call to duel.
The platform grew itself — a ring of polished green stone blooming in the middle of the hall. Light gathered on its surface like dew.
Alex stepped onto it.
Serelith followed.
The court moved only to observe.
No one spoke.
No one warned her.
She raised her hand, and a blade of condensed light formed without incantation. Not summoned — grown — from the mana she carried in her breath.
"You will not find me as sentimental as my sister," she said coldly.
Alex didn't respond.
She moved first.
The air split.
She struck — a feint high, a sweep low, a false angle layered over a burning mana arc that twisted toward his ribs.
Alex stepped forward.
Not back.
Her blade missed his skin by less than a hair's breadth. His foot swept behind hers. A twist. A shift. She caught her balance — barely — and leapt back with grace born of centuries.
Three more strikes. Then ten.
Each one layered. Each one elegant. Each one deflected or dodged with effortless clarity.
No wasted motion.
No display.
Just precision.
Serelith snarled. "Fight me properly."
Alex lifted his hand. A single spell. Simple wind magic — something a student might cast.
It split the air.
Cracked her defense.
Shoved her back three steps.
The nobles gasped.
She steadied herself. Furious now. The runes on her arms flared.
She cast a rapid-fire array of pure light bolts — clustered and heat-twinned, ricocheting mid-air to close all escape.
Alex moved.
Only once.
A step forward.
The bolts curved.
Vanished.
The platform cracked beneath him — not from power, but from refusal. The world itself bent slightly to avoid hurting him.
Serelith charged.
He caught her blade.
With two fingers.
And didn't move.
Her knees hit the floor.
Not by force.
By disbelief.
His eyes didn't glow.
His aura didn't roar.
He simply was.
Serelith dropped the blade.
She couldn't speak.
The silence that followed was deeper than anything the court had known.
Alex turned.
And walked away.
Alex turned.
And walked away.
He didn't look back at her. He didn't speak to the court.
He stepped off the platform and stopped in front of Vira — eyes steady, breath calm, hands relaxed at his sides.
She looked at him, heart still taut, eyes searching his expression for the words she hadn't dared say aloud.
He met her gaze.
Then turned toward Queen Ao.
His voice was quiet, but it carried to every corner of the throne hall.
"Is this enough?"
The question dropped like a weight into still water.
No challenge.
No pride.
Just a simple question — clear, measured, final.
Queen Ao studied him in silence.
Then, after a long moment, she exhaled — a sound sharp and satisfied.
"It is."
She turned her gaze to the nobles, who now stood frozen — not in disbelief, but in silence forced by understanding.
"Let it be known," she said, voice like a decree etched into the bones of the realm, "that the human stands unbroken — and that I, Queen Ao, no longer question his worth."
Her eyes returned to Alex.
She smiled — a flicker, thin and cruel.
Not mockery.
Approval.
He had not begged.
He had not roared.
He had asked.
And been answered.
Alex gave a slight nod.
Not as a bow.
But as acknowledgment.
Then he turned back to Vira.
And for the first time, she smiled — just faintly, just enough.
Because he hadn't come here to prove himself to her.
He came because he remembered. And because he chose her.
And now… he had been seen.
Not just by her.
But by all of Alfheim.
A murmur rose in the hall.
Not loud.
But persistent.
Thin-lipped whispers behind emerald fans, sideways glances under sculpted brows, voices coiled with envy and disbelief. They did not protest openly — not yet — but the contempt was there, like rot beneath perfume.
Some nobles bowed their heads in silence, either out of fear or quiet respect.
Others did not.
Among them were the lords of several high houses — Sunthorn, Daevael, Letharel — ancient families with bloodlines almost as old as the royal line. They said nothing aloud, but the tension in their expressions was sharp. Condemnation cloaked in diplomacy.
And worse still… Vira saw it in their sons.
Eyes that had once followed her like moths to flame now narrowed with loathing.
Not because they had ever loved her.
But because they had wanted to possess her.
Now she was no longer a prize.
She was claimed — not by marriage, not by alliance, but by choice.
And by a human.
The shame twisted their expressions into masks of offense. One noble youth — slender, golden-haired, wearing a cloak of sea-crystal thread — whispered too loudly to his companion.
"So this is what the queen accepts now? Bare fists and base blood? No wonder the court grows soft."
Vira heard it.
She didn't move.
But something inside her snapped.
The vines along the pillars curled. The mana in the floor rippled once, like breath held tight.
She turned her head slightly — only slightly — and fixed her gaze on the boy.
He froze.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Her golden eyes blazed like judgment wrapped in flame.
Her voice was soft. Measured.
"Say it again."
The entire court stilled.
The boy opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Vira stepped forward once. The guards didn't stop her. Even Queen Ao said nothing.
"Speak, Alven Daevael," she said coldly. "Or will you let cowardice protect your pride today?"
He fell to one knee.
Whether in fear or collapse, it didn't matter.
She stared at him for a breath longer.
Then turned her back.
She walked to the center of the court and raised her voice so all would hear.
"If any among you believe I am to be bought, bartered, or silently auctioned — say so now. Do not hide behind your fathers' names or your grandfathers' glories."
No one answered.
"I will only say this once," she continued, eyes narrowing. "There is only one man in this world I will marry. One. And if that truth offends you—"
She smiled.
It was not gentle.
"—then may your bloodlines choke on the shame of your silence."
A single vine cracked through the floor near her heel — not as a threat, but as punctuation.
Some of the elders looked away.
Some clenched their jaws.
Queen Ao observed it all with the stillness of stone.
But her expression did not change.
And in the quiet that followed, Vira turned her eyes back to Alex.
He was still there.
Still calm.
Still watching her.
And this time — she didn't look away.
Because there was no shame in her heart.
Only hunger.
Only certainty.
Only the echo of one truth that pulsed through her blood like breath made into fire:
If I am to belong to anyone… it will be him.
No other. Ever.
Chapter 222 – The Prison Beneath the Lake
The echoes of Vira's voice still trembled in the branches of the high court.
Her declaration — that Alex was the only one she would marry — had frozen the chamber in a moment of absolute, undeniable silence. Even Queen Ao, seated upon her Thorned Throne, had let the quiet reign.
But silence in the noble courts of Alfheim was never still for long.
From the far side of the room, a voice rose — cold, clipped, dripping in veiled condescension.
"If worth is so easily declared… then let it be tested again."
The speaker was Lord Therandil of House Letharel, his robes woven from dusk-thread and jealousy. Behind him stood three sons, all born of beauty and bred for ceremony, their golden eyes sharpened by rejection.
Vira's gaze flicked toward them.
She said nothing.
She didn't need to.
It was Queen Ao who responded first — voice calm, but brittle as cracked glass.
"You question my judgment?"
Lord Therandil bowed slightly, his silver braid falling forward.
"Not your judgment, Your Radiance… only the finality of it."
Another noble stepped forward — Lady Nerisse of the Sunthorn Branch, her expression pinched with suppressed disgust.
"If this human defeated Apollo, then surely he could prove himself again. Something undeniable. Something even the gods would not dispute."
A pause.
Then, from her son — pale, lean, draped in mythsteel armor too ornate to ever see battle:
"Let him face Fenrir."
The words hit like a blade thrown into the heart of the court.
Even the stars above seemed to flicker.
Someone gasped.
A scholar dropped a memory-scroll and didn't bother to catch it.
Queen Ao's fingers curled on the armrest of her throne. Her tone, when it came, was laced with frost.
"Have you gone mad?"
"Not mad," said Lord Therandil, smiling slightly. "Merely thorough."
The name Fenrir was not spoken lightly.
The Wolf of Prophecy. The Beast of the Final Bite. The One Who Devoured Light.
Even now, across pantheons, across borders of belief, the very mention of his name caused gods to tighten their wards and priests to strengthen their oaths.
He had killed gods. And worse — he had changed fate.
"You propose we send him," Ao said, voice tightening, "to die."
"If he is truly as powerful as claimed," Lady Nerisse countered, "he will survive."
"And if he is not?"
"Then we lose a delusion," said Therandil's son. "And your daughter regains her clarity."
That was when Vira moved.
She didn't speak.
She didn't shout.
But the vines in the court recoiled from her presence.
A breath later, Queen Ao stood.
The court fell silent again.
But this time, it was not stillness.
It was terror.
Ao descended the steps of her throne. Her footsteps did not echo — they resonated. Each one stirred the roots beneath the chamber. She walked to the center of the court and faced the nobles who had spoken.
"The wolf you speak of was chained by the blood of gods and the tears of fate. His prison was built with the fire of Hephaestus and cooled in the blood of nine worlds. It is not a challenge. It is a curse wrapped in steel."
"And yet…" she turned her head, eyes falling on Alex, "you offer it… to him?"
Alex said nothing.
He stood, as he always did — calm, motionless, unaffected.
Queen Ao's voice dropped lower.
"Do you understand what you propose?"
"Yes," Alex said simply.
Vira turned toward him in disbelief.
Queen Ao's eyes narrowed. "You would go?"
"If this is the price for peace," he said, "then yes."
"Peace?" she echoed.
He met her gaze, steady.
"Not between us. Between her and the world that refuses to accept her choice."
The silence that followed wasn't shocked.
It was heavy.
Not from doubt — but from the sudden realization that he hadn't flinched.
Not once.
Queen Ao turned to the court.
"You want a trial? Then I name it."
She raised her hand. A spell circle ignited above her palm — glowing emerald, carved in the runes of the old forest tongue. Images flickered into view, cast in spiraling light: black volcanic stone… steam-veiled water… a lake shrouded in mist and silence.
"Lake Mývatn. Iceland."
Gasps rippled through the room.
"The Wolf's Maw lies beneath it. A prison built in secret — by Norse and Greek hands, watched only by silence, sealed by the last known fragment of Gleipnir."
"And he stirs."
A ripple passed through the air — not magic, but memory.
As if something had heard its name.
"The chains are weakening," Ao continued. "The beast dreams of freedom. If it breaks free… the world will burn again."
"And you want me to stop it?" Alex asked quietly.
Ao's smile was thin.
"I want you to prove to them," she said, without looking back at the nobles, "what I already know."
Alex nodded once.
"Then I'll go."
Vira stepped forward.
Her voice was sharp and laced with something dangerously close to fury.
"No."
All eyes turned to her.
"This isn't a test. It's murder dressed in ritual. You don't need to prove anything—"
"It's alright," Alex said.
His voice was calm.
But something in it made even the roots beneath the court go still.
He didn't say it to reassure her.
He said it like a promise.
And Vira, proud as she was, felt her throat tighten.
He was doing this… not because he had to.
But because he would rather face a god-killing wolf alone than let her carry the weight of doubt from those who were never worthy to question her.
Queen Ao raised her hand once more.
The spell seal twisted.
And then—
The gate opened.
The image of Lake Mývatn sharpened — dark water, black stone, rising steam.
And something far, far below…
Breathing.
Waiting.
Watching.
The queen's voice rang like iron on wind.
"Then go, Alex Elwood. Enter the Maw of the Wolf. And return…"
"...if fate dares to let you."
Chapter 223 – The Thread She Tugged
The Well of Urðr did not ripple today.
Not with time. Not with fate. Not even with the usual murmurs of the gods.
Because someone had unplugged the weave.
Or more accurately... someone had yanked it just enough to let something bad slip loose.
Skuld sat atop one of the root-arches, swinging her legs with bored delight, her golden hair catching the drifting starlight that hung like dew. A mirror spun lazily above her palm — not made of glass, but of possibility. It shimmered and twisted, sometimes reflecting the past, sometimes the potential future.
Now?
It showed a lake.
Dark. Cold. Icelandic.
And something deep beneath it was starting to snarl.
"Oops," she giggled.
Verðandi, across the temple chamber, didn't even look up.
"What did you break this time?"
"Not break," Skuld said, voice light and syrupy. "Just... unstuck a little."
Urðr, the eldest of the three, continued weaving ribbons of memory, her hands pausing only slightly.
"Fenrir?"
"He needed a stretch," Skuld hummed. "He's been asleep too long. Bad for the back."
Verðandi finally looked up, eyes narrowed. "You know what happens if he wakes fully."
"Mmhmm," Skuld nodded, golden eyes gleaming. "He eats things. Big things. Like gods. And sunrises."
"So why," Urðr said slowly, "did you touch his seal?"
Skuld stopped swinging her legs.
She leaned back on her palms and looked up — past the temple canopy, past the tree, past the stars and time and story — toward a point only she could see.
"Because he's going."
The mirror above her hand shifted.
And there he was.
Alex Elwood.
Standing on the edge of the court of the Sunleaf Queen, just after accepting the test. His posture relaxed. His magic sealed. His presence quiet and unreadable.
But Skuld saw it.
Saw everything.
The threads that should have pulled him — didn't.
The fates that should have choked him — snapped.
He wasn't walking along destiny's path.
He was skipping beside it, hands in his pockets, humming a song only he knew.
She tilted her head, grinning wider.
"They still haven't figured it out," she whispered. "Not the elves. Not the gods. Not even the clever ones."
Verðandi sighed. "He's just a mortal."
"No he's not," Skuld chirped, kicking her heel.
The mirror flashed again — this time, showing an image from the past.
The man in black armor.
Silent. Precise. Wielding impossible force. Cutting through corruption in Antarctica like a god slicing shadow from light.
"It's him," she whispered. "Same presence. Same silence. Same scent."
"You're certain?" Urðr asked quietly.
"Mmhmm."
Skuld plucked a petal from the threadline beside her and let it fall into the Well. It burned up before it touched the water.
"I saw it in his eyes. The ones who lose everything always have that look."
"So what do you want?" Verðandi asked flatly.
Skuld smiled.
A slow, dangerous smile.
"I want to know how much of it is him. Not the armor. Not the floating toys. Not the pretty lights. Just him."
Her golden eyes flared with mischief.
"So I tweaked the seal. Just enough. Now Big Puppy will wake up just a little earlier."
She giggled.
"And if Alex uses his tech to survive — well, poof, mask comes off. Elves scream. World panics. Fun times."
"And if he doesn't?" Verðandi asked.
Skuld's eyes gleamed.
"Then I get to see what happens when the man who walks outside of fate fights the beast who was fate's end."
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees.
"Either way… it's going to be delicious."
Urðr spoke quietly.
"You're playing with something dangerous."
"I am something dangerous," Skuld said sweetly.
The mirror spun faster.
And below it — buried under ice and stone and cursed metal — a low, rumbling growl echoed through the world like a heartbeat of Ragnarok long delayed.
Skuld tilted her head again.
"Wake up, Fenrir."
"Your guest is coming."
And she giggled.
Again.
The mirror finally vanished from her hand, folding into dust and sparkles that faded into the Well's mist. Skuld stretched her arms high over her head, spine arching like a cat's, her golden hair swaying down her back in silky waves.
She looked, in that moment, like a child on a summer afternoon — barefoot, innocent, half-asleep with sunlight in her eyelashes.
But no god was fooled by that illusion.
Not anymore.
They knew better.
Across the realms — from the vaulted thrones of Olympus to the divine gardens of Takamagahara — the name Skuld was spoken in careful tones.
Playful.
Mischievous.
Naughty, yes.
But not in any way that was harmless.
Skuld's games were not pranks.
They were experiments — trials of chaos dressed as amusement.
She once reversed a god's shadow and made him argue with it for a century.
She convinced a storm goddess to wed her reflection, and then watched with a grin as the wedding collapsed into inter-realm war.
She laced a moon with pollen once. For no reason. Just to see if it would make the dreams of the sleeping shift a little funnier.
And yet…
No one stopped her.
Because stopping her meant provoking her.
And that was worse.
Even among the gods, she was unpredictable. Untouchable. Not because she was violent, or powerful in the traditional sense — but because of what she knew.
Skuld could see the future.
Not all of it. Not always clearly. But when she chose to look… the threads bent.
She saw outcomes that others could not. Saw endings that had not yet begun. And, on certain days, she could touch those threads. Pluck them. Tie them in knots.
Or worse — cut them.
Many gods pretended she was harmless.
Few believed it.
Some offered her sweets, trinkets, riddles, or songs just to keep her in good moods.
Others went still when she laughed.
Because her laughter meant something had already started — and that she probably wasn't going to explain what.
Skuld knew it, too.
She knew they feared her, even as they smiled at her. Even as they called her little star or the youngest Norn or golden-eyed trickster. She had heard every nickname:
"The Thread-Knotter."
"The Fate That Smirks."
"Destiny's Broken Smile."
She had never denied them.
And why should she?
Fear was so much more honest than worship.
She liked honesty.
It made people easier to mess with.
Leaning over the root now, she traced a circle in the air and opened a tiny viewing portal again — smaller than before, just the size of a pebble.
Through it, she watched Alex walk toward the teleportation gate.
His stride was calm.
His mind, unreadable.
His magic, sealed.
Skuld pressed a finger to her lips.
"What will you do when the cage breaks?" she whispered. "When you can't use your precious technology, and the wolf tries to tear out your spine?"
Her smile widened.
"Will you fight like a god?"
"Or die like a human?"
She giggled again, softly this time.
And all across the divine realms, several gods paused in their daily rituals — not because of any loud event, not because of prophecy or thunder…
But because they felt it.
A quiet prickling of warning.
The kind that came not from disaster…
…but from Skuld laughing at something they hadn't seen yet.
Chapter 224 – The Silence Before the Howl(Revised)
The wind was sharp.
Colder than it should've been, even in Iceland. The kind of cold that wasn't just weather — it was a presence. Something ancient. Something that had waited too long beneath the earth and was finally breathing again.
Alex stood at the edge of Lake Mývatn, his coat fluttering gently in the breeze. Steam rose from scattered fissures in the ground, casting shifting shadows over dark volcanic stone. The water was unnaturally still.
Then the ground rumbled.
Not a tremor.
A warning.
He stepped forward slowly, eyes scanning the lake's surface — and then it happened.
A jagged crack split the earth wide, a deafening roar shook the valley, and something titanic surged from the lake like the rising of a mountain given life.
Chains shattered like thunderbolts snapping from the sky.
The creature that emerged was not just a wolf.
It was Fenrir.
Eyes like voids rimmed in molten silver.
Fur blacker than the night between stars, thick as iron-threaded shadow.
Claws like monoliths.
Teeth long enough to pierce palaces.
She rose, step by step, water and earth cascading from her body as she pulled herself free from her chained pit — carved with divine seals that now cracked, sputtering in failure.
A low breath left her throat — not a snarl, not a growl.
A warning.
And the clouds above parted.
The gods watched in silence.
So did the elves.
Back in Alfheim, the Sunleaf Court stood still around the projection mirror. Nobles who had scorned Alex only hours ago stared in horror as the beast towered above the lake — impossibly large, unbearably ancient.
"He's dead," someone whispered.
But Vira didn't say a word.
Because the light faded…
And Alex was still standing.
Unharmed.
The shadow of Fenrir loomed over him — yet he hadn't moved. Hadn't raised a weapon. Hadn't flinched.
Alex looked up at the beast. Calm. Unshaken.
And spoke.
"I didn't come here to kill you."
The wolf's breath hissed out in a plume of steam and contempt.
"Then you are the first fool I've met in an age."
Her voice was not spoken — it rumbled through the air like a storm made of memory and bone.
Alex kept his tone level.
"You've been asleep a long time. I get that. But I'm not your enemy."
The wolf's golden eyes narrowed.
"Do you know how long I've waited to break these chains?"
Alex's fingers twitched slightly at his side — but only from the ambient magical pressure.
"You don't have to start with destruction," he said. "Maybe things can end differently this time."
Fenrir let out a deep, low sound.
Not a laugh.
Something lower.
"Spoken like one who has not been betrayed by the sky."
A pulse of mana rolled outward from her chest. Earth cracked in a spiral. Trees collapsed on the mountain ridge behind them.
"That day," Fenrir rumbled, "they bound me in lies, wrapped prophecy around my neck like a leash, and then asked me to stay silent."
"So tell me, little one… what peace do you offer me now?"
Alex didn't answer right away.
He was thinking.
Quickly.
His options were few — and his restraints many.
He couldn't use his armor.
Couldn't use tech that would expose who he really was.
He could only rely on his body.
His magic.
And his mind.
He didn't want this to end in violence. Not yet. There had to be a path forward.
But…
As Fenrir took a step forward — cracking the rock beneath her paws, causing a tremor that flattened several boulders into dust — Alex realized the truth.
This wasn't a negotiation.
Not today.
Fenrir wasn't attacking because she needed to.
She was waiting.
Testing.
If Alex ran, he would die.
If he begged, he would be devoured.
And if he hesitated—
Another tremor split the mountain face.
"Enough talk," Fenrir said, lips curling back over teeth long enough to cast shadows.
"Let me see if there is anything in this world strong enough to stand before me."
Alex sighed softly.
The wind caught his breath.
And then—
He stepped forward.
Not back.
No armor. No weapons. No tech.
Just him.
His eyes met Fenrir's.
"Alright," he said quietly. "We'll do it your way."
Behind him, the ground began to glow — a faint array forming under his feet, not of science, but of ancient, elegant magic.
Runes woven with gravity. Threads of wind. Condensed force shaped into invisible pressure.
He raised one hand.
And the wolf smiled.
Not kindly.
But eagerly.
Because this was no longer about prophecy.
It was about whether Alex Elwood could survive Fenrir's wrath.
And as the first clash loomed — gods and elves alike held their breath.
Skuld?
She was laughing.
Already.
Fenrir lunged.
The air cracked.
She didn't move like a beast — she moved like a cataclysm. One heartbeat there, the next — already upon Alex, her jaws wide enough to bite through a fortress in a single snap.
Alex didn't dodge.
Didn't flinch.
He simply stepped — not even back, just sideways — with a fluid grace that seemed absurd in the face of such overwhelming force.
Fenrir's fangs collided with the ground where Alex had just stood.
The mountain shook.
Stone exploded.
The lake behind them rippled violently before half of it vaporized from the shockwave.
A second later, the beast spun and unleashed a roar.
Not sound.
Not breath.
A shockwave of hatred — pure force wrapped in cursed breath, carried on winds that once toppled gods.
Alex raised a hand and whispered a single, nameless spell.
The air warped.
The shockwave bent around him — crashing into the mountains behind with enough force to shear off the peaks. Trees were flattened in every direction. The projection mirrors in Alfheim shuddered violently before stabilizing.
Then came the claws.
Each one moved like falling stars — trails of burning friction, glowing with compressed magical heat. They tore across the battlefield in wide arcs, carving open the earth in glowing fissures that sparked with hellfire and frost.
One claw hit Alex's position directly.
Dust erupted.
Stone cracked.
For a moment, the screen in Alfheim turned white with pressure distortion.
"Dead," someone whispered.
But Vira didn't blink.
And she was right.
Because when the smoke cleared—
Alex was still there.
Completely unharmed.
Not a single tear in his coat.
Not a scratch on his skin.
His hair drifted slightly in the wind, but that was all.
He had simply stepped between the attacks.
Not warped.
Not blinked.
Just… stepped, guided by perception too fast for the eye to follow.
Even Fenrir paused.
Her eyes narrowed.
She opened her jaws again — wider this time — and summoned a breath attack.
Not elemental.
Not simple.
This was primordial entropy.
A dark flame lined with curse-etched script that devoured mana, flesh, spirit, and meaning.
Alex didn't counter.
He drew a sigil in the air with two fingers — quick, sharp, effortless.
It bloomed into a barrier of translucent geometry — impossibly complex.
The breath slammed into it.
And died.
Not deflected.
Not absorbed.
Erased.
A ring of scorched land erupted in every direction, but Alex stood at the center — untouched.
Miles around them cracked, shattered, collapsed.
Volcanic rifts opened.
Avalanches fell.
Tremors rippled outward in concentric waves — so intense they were felt across the sea.
In the high towers of Norway, alarms rang.
In Vatican catacombs, sacred mirrors trembled.
In Vanaheim, Freyja stepped to a window and narrowed her eyes.
But in Alfheim…
The nobles stared in stunned silence.
All of them.
Even the arrogant ones.
Even the sons of the houses who had demanded this trial.
Because the battlefield looked like the end of the world — blackened, torn, cracked, smoldering.
And yet…
He still stood there.
Straight.
Breathing quietly.
As if he were out for a walk.
Vira's lips curled, ever so slightly.
A smirk of pure vindication.
Alex looked up at Fenrir.
The wolf growled low — not in anger.
In acknowledgment.
And Alex said calmly,
"Are you done?"
The wolf didn't respond.
Because she wasn't.
Not yet.
But somewhere, buried deep behind those burning golden eyes…
For the first time in eons—
Fenrir was curious.
Chapter 225 – The Fist That Spared the World
For a long moment, neither moved.
The battlefield was still — if only in awe of what had just failed to kill him.
Steam drifted across the fractured ground. The wind circled low, careful not to offend the silence.
And then Fenrir spoke.
Not with hatred.
Not with pride.
But with quiet respect.
"You're strong."
Her golden eyes narrowed, but there was no contempt left in them. Only the glint of recognition — the way a beast might look at another who understood survival not as instinct, but as choice.
Alex didn't smile.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
The question wasn't meant to mock. It was simple. Honest.
A final warning.
Fenrir tilted her massive head slightly, baring her teeth in something that might have once been called a smile.
"Yes," she said. "I am."
Alex didn't speak again.
He moved.
He didn't blink away with light or vanish in wind — he simply disappeared from where he had stood.
And appeared with his fist already buried in her chest.
He held back.
Gods help her — he tried to hold back.
But even restrained, the force of the impact wasn't a punch.
It was a collapse.
Space bent. Light fractured.
The air twisted in on itself, forming a visible black ring that snapped out from the epicenter like a pressure wave carved from gravity.
Then came the sound — delayed by how fast the force had traveled.
A single thunderclap.
No flash. No flame.
Just power.
It struck the land like judgment.
In Alfheim, the projection mirror wavered once — then shattered into fragments of starlight as the shockwave passed through the leyline.
The ground quaked.
The Crystal Gardens cracked.
In the throne chamber, Queen Ao gripped the arm of her throne as the vines behind her shuddered in terror. Servants fell. Nobles screamed.
Vira stood completely still.
Eyes wide.
Breathing shallow.
Her heart knew before the shaking stopped.
He did it.
In Vanaheim, Freyja looked up from her scrying bowl just in time to see the bloom of force ripple across the fabric of the upper world like a stone dropped into glass.
The walls trembled.
The wind recoiled.
"...That wasn't divine," she whispered.
"That was him."
On Mount Olympus, cups fell from silver tables.
Apollo winced from where he sat slumped on a marble step, still recovering.
Zeus stepped into the open and looked eastward.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The gods felt it.
All of them.
Something stronger than prophecy had just moved.
Back at Lake Mývatn, Fenrir didn't scream.
She didn't cry out.
Her body simply shut down.
One moment, she stood — massive, proud, feral.
The next, she crumpled like a mountain whose spine had been broken by time itself.
The ground split under her body as it hit.
Entire shelves of volcanic rock gave way.
And the crater expanded.
Then silence.
Real, terrible silence.
An hour passed.
Wind returned.
Cinders fell like ash-snow from the edge of the burnt treeline.
The lake had receded to half its size, steaming as if ashamed of its own survival.
Then—
A low groan.
Fenrir stirred.
She blinked, slowly.
Everything hurt.
Not in the way gods hurt. Not like betrayal. Not like memory.
This was something else.
This was pain.
Earned. Honest.
She opened her eyes to the smell of blood — not her own — and turned her massive head.
Alex sat beside her.
Kneeling. Quiet.
He was wrapping his right forearm with a length of cloth. His fingers moved without urgency — efficient, methodical.
A few bruises. Some gashes. Burns laced along his knuckles.
Nothing life-threatening.
But enough to prove he hadn't walked away untouched.
She blinked again.
"You… took damage?"
Alex looked up and met her gaze.
His voice was calm.
"A little."
Fenrir snorted softly. Even that sound disturbed the loose stones nearby.
She tried to move — and winced.
"That wasn't a little."
Alex didn't reply.
He just finished the wrap, tied it off, and poured a small trickle of clean water from a flask over his hands.
Wiped the blood from his palm.
He didn't say "I told you so."
He didn't gloat.
Didn't grin.
He just looked at her.
Not as an enemy.
Not even as a beast.
Just… another soul tired of being misunderstood.
"You're awake," he said gently.
Fenrir stared at him, her breathing still ragged.
"You could've killed me."
Alex's voice was even.
"That was the point."
She blinked.
Then frowned.
He stood.
Not with arrogance.
But with exhaustion that hadn't yet reached his bones.
"I didn't come here to prove how strong I am," he said.
"I came to show you I didn't have to be your enemy."
Silence again.
But not cold.
Not angry.
Just silent.
Fenrir closed her eyes for a moment.
Then, softly:
"You really are strange."
Alex looked toward the horizon — toward where the sun had started to rise again through the smoke.
"Yeah," he said.
"I get that a lot."
The wind shifted again.
Not sharp now, but tired. Like the earth had exhaled after centuries of holding its breath.
Alex stood in silence, watching the horizon burn orange through ash and haze. The world was slowly remembering how to be quiet again.
Behind him, Fenrir stirred.
Her massive body shifted as she lay half-curled in the crater. Every breath sounded like the wind trying to push a mountain uphill. She wasn't trying to rise — not yet. Just watching him.
"You have questions," she said finally.
Her voice had lost the iron edge. It was quieter now. Rough with memory.
Alex glanced over his shoulder, then stepped toward her, stopping near the edge of her shadow.
"Yeah."
"Ask."
He hesitated only a moment.
"Why were you sealed?"
A silence followed — not defensive, but heavy.
Then, Fenrir's golden eyes slowly narrowed. Not at him. At the world.
"Because I was born with the wrong blood."
Alex didn't respond.
She went on, her voice low.
"Loki was my father. Everyone knows that part. But what they forget — or pretend to forget — is that I had nothing to do with what he did. When the gods declared him an enemy, they turned their eyes on everything that carried his name."
Her claws twitched against the stone.
"I was sleeping," she said. "In a cave beneath the northern wind. I hadn't seen war. Hadn't touched a city. I hadn't even howled."
Her voice turned bitter.
"They came in golden armor, smiling, offering peace. Promising safety. They said they needed to study me. That it was just temporary. They used soft voices. Words meant to bind before the chains ever touched me."
Alex stood still.
Listening.
"I didn't understand at first. I was young. Quiet. I thought—maybe I could earn their trust."
"And then I saw the chains."
A tremor of power moved through her body, instinctive — a memory not forgotten.
"I fought," she said flatly. "Too late. They called it a rampage. Said I was out of control. But what else could I do when they lunged with magic and steel and ropes made of lies?"
Alex's jaw tensed.
She looked at him now, gaze direct.
"So they chased me. Hunted me across the ice. Across the sea. Until they dragged me down and buried me beneath this lake. Sealed me with words I never spoke and fears I never fed."
"And then the stories began."
She turned her head toward the sky — where stars still lingered beyond the thinning smoke.
"They said I was destined to end the world. That I had my father's treachery in my blood. That I couldn't be trusted."
She closed her eyes.
"So they made me the thing they were afraid of."
Alex said nothing for a moment.
Then, softly:
"You didn't deserve that."
A long silence.
Then—
A low, rumbling sound escaped her throat. Not a growl.
Not quite a laugh.
"You're the first person who's ever said that."
Alex sat down on a broken ledge near her, dusting off a flat piece of stone as if they weren't sitting at the epicenter of divine violence.
"Then they're overdue for correction."
Fenrir opened her eyes again — and for the first time, her gaze wasn't guarded.
Not entirely.
"You're different, Alex Elwood."
"So I've been told."
A beat passed.
Then, quieter—
"So… what happens now?"
Alex looked up at the rising sun.
The red light painted both of them in shadow and warmth.
"Now?" he said. "You rest. And then…"
He paused.
"You decide if you want to walk free — or if you want me to break the chains completely."
Fenrir stared at him.
And for the first time in a thousand years… she didn't feel like a monster.
She felt like a person.
Someone who had just been seen.
Chapter 226 – What Cannot Be Undone
Alex stood in silence at the edge of the crater, surrounded by ruin.
Scorched stone.
Split mountain ridges.
A lake drained into ash and silence.
The remains of their battle were too vast to measure — like a titan had carved his wrath across the land and left the wound open. Entire miles had been turned to dust. Valleys reshaped. The land itself looked wounded, as if creation had flinched.
And it was his fault.
Even if he hadn't wanted it to be.
Even if he had held back.
Alex raised his hand.
The sky was still. The wind paused.
He didn't chant. He didn't draw a circle.
He commanded.
Time bent.
The clouds above them slowed, then spun backward — not visibly, not dramatically — but in rhythm. The air itself rewound, memory bleeding back into the present.
The stone uncracked.
The trees, vaporized by Fenrir's flame, regrew in an instant — leaves curling in reverse, roots stitching back into the ground.
The water of Lake Mývatn surged forward, pulled not by gravity, but by history — refilling the basin as if it had never boiled away.
The scorched valleys reshaped.
The broken cliffs reformed.
Mountains pulled themselves back together.
The tremors stopped.
Everything… rewound.
Far away, in the divine realms, gods rose from their seats.
In Vanaheim, Freyja stood without a word, her knuckles pale as she gripped her staff.
In Olympus, even Zeus paused.
"Who...?" he whispered.
In the deep temples of Amaterasu's sunward realm, the light dimmed slightly — not in fear, but in awe.
Because this wasn't divine magic.
It wasn't even within the bounds of godhood.
This was raw time — reversed not in parts, but as a planetary layer.
And in Alfheim, the nobles who had demanded this trial stood frozen, staring at the projection mirror.
They had seen the destruction. They had seen the wolf fall.
And now they watched the world heal itself around the man they'd scorned.
"This… this shouldn't be possible," someone whispered.
"Even the gods can't reverse this scale of damage."
"Not unless they burned their soul."
But Alex had not burned.
He had breathed.
Back in the Elven Court, the mirror shimmered — and then flickered once before Alex stepped directly into the chamber through a quiet portal of folded space.
No spectacle. No lightshow. Just arrival.
He stood alone before the Queen, before the nobles, before Vira.
His coat was still stained in places. His hand still wrapped in bandages. But his gaze…
It silenced the room.
He faced Queen Ao and bowed his head slightly — a show of respect, not submission.
Then he spoke.
"The trial is finished."
No one interrupted.
"I will not kill the wolf."
Gasps rippled through the court like a storm held just behind the throat.
Ao's eyes narrowed. But she didn't speak.
Alex continued.
"She was not guilty."
"She was imprisoned for blood that was not hers, punished for fear that was never her own. The rampage they feared — they caused it."
His voice was calm.
But every word struck.
"She didn't ask for freedom. So I gave her the choice."
"She chose peace."
One of the nobles stepped forward, pale. His lips trembled.
"And you… left her?"
Alex turned to him, expression unreadable.
"No."
A pause.
"I will take her somewhere else. Somewhere she can sleep. Walk. Breathe. Without being hunted or sealed."
He looked back toward Queen Ao.
"You wanted her destroyed. You wanted me to prove myself through her death."
"I proved it by sparing her."
Silence.
Not one voice rose.
Even the proudest nobles felt it — the weight of truth in the room.
Alex turned, preparing to walk away again.
But then he paused.
"Next time," he said, his voice low, "don't call it a trial if the outcome was already written in your heads."
The portal shimmered shut behind Alex as he left the Sunleaf Court.
But he didn't return home.
Not yet.
Instead, he stepped once through space — and reappeared back at the rim of Lake Mývatn.
The world had been restored. The earth no longer wept. The scars of the battle were gone. Only the memory lingered in the quiet ripple of the water and the faint scent of burnt air clinging to the wind.
Fenrir lay at the lake's edge, watching the horizon in silence. Not chained. Not snarling.
Free.
But still alone.
She turned her massive head when he returned.
"You came back."
Alex nodded, walking slowly toward her.
"I said I would."
She didn't respond at first. Just watched him — as if trying to understand why he still hadn't run, or judged, or turned away.
He stopped a few steps from her.
Then asked, plainly:
"Do you want to leave this world?"
She blinked.
Not in confusion — in hesitation.
But only for a breath.
"There's somewhere else?"
"Yes," he said. "A place where the gods don't watch. Where no one knows your name. You could walk without being feared. Sleep without being hunted."
He paused.
"Start over. If you wanted."
Fenrir stared at him for a long moment.
Then, without flinching:
"Yes."
No fear. No questions. Just certainty.
Alex turned his palm over, revealing the symbol burned softly into the back of his right hand — a sigil of elegant twilight lines and starlit curves.
It shimmered faintly as he whispered:
"Ciel."
A soft glow pulsed beneath the skin.
Then came her voice — gentle, refined, and laced with curiosity.
"You're calling me in the middle of nowhere, covered in wolf breath. Did something happen?"
"I want to bring her in," he said. "Fenrir."
A short pause.
Then:
"A whole wolf?"
"Yes."
Another pause. Then a light, amused sigh.
"If it's you, I trust your judgment. Let her in."
The sigil flared once — then dissolved into a radiant gate, flickering with magic that pulsed in strange harmonics, like the boundary between two entirely separate realities.
Alex looked back at Fenrir.
"Come."
She rose slowly, her massive form towering once again — but this time not with threat. Only with presence.
She stepped forward.
And the world did not shake.
As she passed through the gate, her form blurred, folding into a shape that could enter — not quite wolf, not quite woman, not quite divine.
Just Fenrir.
Free.
Alex followed.
And the gate closed behind them, leaving only the lake.
Silent.
Peaceful.
Unbroken.
She rose slowly, her massive form towering once again — but this time not with threat. Only with presence.
She stepped forward.
And the world did not shake.
As she passed through the gate, her form blurred, folding into a shape that could enter — not quite wolf, not quite woman, not quite divine.
Just Fenrir.
Free.
Alex followed.
And the gate closed behind them, leaving only the lake.
Silent.
Peaceful.
Unbroken.
The other side of the portal opened not into a city, nor temple, nor throne room.
It opened into wildness.
Vast, untamed nature stretched endlessly in every direction — sweeping plains of silvergrass under a lavender sky, distant forests that breathed with mana, and mountains carved not by time but by ancient creatures long gone. There was no sign of human life. No roads. No walls. No cities.
Only one thing stood out.
A massive black fortress in the far distance, rising from the earth like a monolith. Its walls were silent obsidian, but glowing lines of soft blue light pulsed across its surface in slow, elegant patterns — circuits woven with magic, not code.
It didn't hum.
It watched.
Fenrir stared, eyes narrowing as her instincts prickled.
"What is that?"
Alex stepped beside her, voice calm.
"A fortress I built to resist threats from outside this world."
"From space?" she asked, still watching the structure warily.
"From beyond space," he said. "Corruption. Invasion. Things most worlds never survive."
Her gaze lingered on the glowing lines — the quiet power beneath them.
"Will it try to fight me?"
"No," Alex replied. "I'll program the entire system to recognize you as safe."
He looked at her fully now, expression sincere.
"No drones. No weapons. No constructs will harm you. Not here. Not ever."
Fenrir blinked once.
The wind blew across the fields, warm and clean.
She turned back to the horizon.
And for the first time in her long, hunted life…
She let herself breathe.
Chapter 227 – Even Fate Can't See Everything
The gate shimmered open once more above the branches of Alfheim.
The elves felt it before they saw it — a ripple of mana that didn't belong to their realm, smooth and silent, but unmistakably foreign.
Alex stepped through.
Unhurried.
Untouched.
He looked almost exactly as he had before — save for the fresh bandages on his right arm and a faint shimmer of time magic still fading from his coat. The nobles instinctively stiffened as he entered the Sunleaf Court, but none dared speak.
Queen Ao sat once more on her throne.
Vira stood near her, arms folded, her expression unreadable — but her eyes fixed on him from the moment he stepped through.
Alex didn't kneel. He didn't speak right away.
He walked forward, stopping before Queen Ao and meeting her gaze.
"Is that enough?" he asked calmly.
The words were simple.
But the weight behind them was not.
He had faced a god-eating wolf. Defeated her. Reversed the destruction she caused. And left no trace of violence behind.
Not even divine magic had ever undone that much damage in so little time.
The court remained silent, though it rippled with unspoken questions.
No one knew what had become of the wolf.
Only that she was no longer on Earth.
Not even the gods could sense her now.
Queen Ao looked at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she gave a single nod.
It wasn't just permission.
It was acknowledgment.
And somewhere behind her, one of the nobles who had once scoffed at his name lowered his eyes.
Alex turned his gaze to Vira.
She met it — and for once, didn't look away.
Far from Alfheim, beyond the branches of the World Tree and outside the fold of time-favored space, Skuld watched the reflection of events spin across her mirror.
At first, she was smiling.
Watching Alex reappear in the Elven court with that same maddening calm — as if he hadn't just upended the power dynamics of an entire continent.
But then the image shifted.
She rewound the projection. Again. And again.
Her smile faded.
Because something was missing.
No matter how far she reached, how many threads she traced — the moment Fenrir vanished, so did her connection to the event.
She narrowed her eyes and muttered, irritated:
"Where did you take her…?"
The mirror didn't answer.
Because it didn't know.
And that was impossible.
Skuld could see into places the gods feared to look. She could twist outcomes, pull fate taut like string. Even her older sister, Verðandi, could touch destiny in ways that defied prophecy.
But this?
This wasn't just hidden.
It was outside.
She leaned forward, golden eyes narrowing with dangerous curiosity.
"I saw him reverse the damage," she whispered. "I felt it — the whole region stitched back together like a wound that never bled."
Her fingers tapped the mirror's surface.
"Even Urðr couldn't reverse more than a few miles without unraveling something."
She wasn't angry.
She wasn't amused.
She was shocked.
And for Skuld, that was rare.
"You're not supposed to be able to do this."
Then she sat back slowly, a grin starting to return — but this time, it was sharper.
"So… where exactly are you hiding, Alex Elwood?"
And this time, the mirror stayed silent.
The court had long since dispersed.
The nobles returned to their estates, the guards to their posts, and the advisors to their whispering alcoves — all pretending not to glance toward the Queen's daughter as she stood unmoving in the hall, eyes fixed on the door Alex had exited.
Vira didn't follow immediately.
She waited.
Made sure no one would see her go.
Then she stepped quietly through the ivy-woven archways, her boots silent on the marble paths that circled the high towers of the Sunleaf Court.
She found him where she expected.
A balcony near the west gardens — private, shadowed, open to the sky.
Alex stood with one hand resting on the railing, watching the sunset stain the clouds in gold and violet. The air carried the scent of glowing moss, nectarfruit, and old stone warmed by magic.
He didn't turn when she approached.
Didn't speak.
He just waited.
Vira stopped behind him.
The silence stretched.
Then—
"Where did you take her?"
Her voice wasn't sharp. Not cold. But something older — the sound of a question that had been weighing against her ribs since the moment he returned.
Alex turned his head slightly, enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye.
"Somewhere safe."
She frowned.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the truth."
He turned fully then.
Their eyes met.
"I didn't want anyone finding her again," he said softly. "Not the gods. Not the ones who made her a monster before she ever had the chance to be anything else."
She looked away for a moment. The sky burned gold behind her hair.
"You didn't have to go that far," she muttered.
"Didn't I?"
The quiet held for a beat.
Then she stepped forward.
Closer.
Not demanding.
Not proud.
Just… close.
"You could have come back first. Before you left. You could have told me what you were going to do."
Alex tilted his head.
"Would it have changed anything?"
Vira didn't answer.
Her hands were tight at her sides.
"I just…" she began, then stopped. Her lips thinned. Her voice dropped.
"I thought I understood you."
Alex watched her, silent.
"But you keep doing things I never expect," she said. "Things that make no sense for someone like you."
"Maybe I'm not someone like you think."
"No," she said quietly. "You're not."
Another pause.
Then, softly:
"You're better."
The wind moved through the trees below.
And for once, she let go of it — the weight, the titles, the shield of pride she always wore.
Vira reached forward.
Gently.
Her fingers brushed his.
He didn't pull away.
So she leaned closer.
Just enough.
And kissed him.
No fire. No drama.
Just quiet.
Warm.
Certain.
The kind of kiss you don't give as a reward or promise — only as truth.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were faintly pink.
"That doesn't mean I forgive you," she said softly.
Alex gave the faintest smile.
"I didn't ask for forgiveness."
"Good," she said, turning slightly — but not letting go of his hand.
"Because I'm not done with you yet."
And beside the garden of thorns and golden fruit, under a sky that finally looked soft again…
They stood together.
No titles.
No trials.
Just her hand in his.
Chapter 228 – The Question Beneath Her Smile
The garden balcony faded into soft dusk.
Alex and Vira remained there longer than they needed to. No words. Just the weightless hush of wind in the ivy, the distant rustling of enchanted leaves, and her fingers still wrapped around his hand.
They didn't speak of gods or wolves or trials.
For a while, that was enough.
Eventually, they moved — slowly, quietly — into one of the private royal paths that wound through the elevated gardens. Vira led him. She didn't say where they were going. Alex didn't ask. The warmth in the air was enough.
It could have stayed that way.
But of course, it didn't.
They passed through a quiet archway of woven crystal roots, stepping onto a moonlit terrace surrounded by glowing vines and the quiet trill of nightbirds.
That's when she asked.
"Can I ask you something real?"
Alex stopped.
There was something about her voice — casual on the surface, but edged beneath. Like a blade half-sheathed.
"Of course," he said.
She looked ahead. Didn't face him at first.
"Do you… actually have a harem?"
Silence.
Like glass shattering inside his mind.
Alex blinked.
"What?"
She turned now — slowly — golden eyes gleaming not with jealousy.
But with calculation.
"I asked," she said in a tone laced with far too much calm, "do you really have a harem?"
A drop of sweat rolled behind his ear.
"I—"
"Don't lie."
She stepped closer.
"I investigated your background."
Alex's brain immediately began racing.
"Wait, you what—?"
"It wasn't hard," she said flatly.
She tilted her head.
"You were close with several girls even when you were young. You probably forgot some of them."
Alex's mouth opened slightly.
But no sound came out.
"Some are noble. Some aren't," she continued, as if reciting a file. "Some you met again recently. Some… might have waited for you."
Her voice dropped an octave.
"So I'll ask again."
She looked him directly in the eyes now — no room for escape.
"How many?"
Alex swallowed.
Hard.
"Vira…"
"How many members," she said slowly, "are in your harem?"
"..."
"Don't lie."
A moment passed.
Then another.
Alex looked away, hand rubbing the back of his neck.
He sighed, shoulders dropping.
And then he answered.
"...Yeah."
"Yeah what?"
"Yeah… six."
The words landed like a spark in still water.
Vira blinked once.
Then smiled.
Sweetly.
"I see."
Alex winced.
Because he knew that smile.
It wasn't relief.
It was war prep.
And she hadn't even raised her voice yet.
Not once.
Vira's smile didn't waver.
Not even slightly.
"Six," she repeated. "Alright."
She stepped forward once more, now close enough that Alex could see the glint in her eyes — like sunlight off a sharpened blade.
"Then tell me their names."
Alex's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
He looked like a man who'd just realized the floor beneath him was made of enchanted quicksand.
"You're not going to let this go, are you."
"No," Vira replied sweetly. "I'm going to commit them to memory."
"Why?"
"So I know who I'm better than."
He exhaled — long, slow — then raised his right hand.
A shimmer passed across the back of it: two symbols appearing in tandem, one gold and one silver, glowing with quiet, intricate magic.
"Come on," he muttered.
The golden sigil pulsed once — and Ciel appeared beside him.
The silver pulsed next — and Morgan stepped forward from the ripple of air, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Vira blinked.
Ciel smiled gently.
Morgan did not.
Alex gestured awkwardly between them.
"This is Ciel. She's the… well, the will of World Frontier. She's not from Earth — the world she's bound to was once a living world, and I… made her a vessel so she could have a life of her own."
Ciel gave Vira a respectful nod.
"It's an honor."
"You're very pretty," Vira replied flatly.
"Thank you. So are you."
Then Alex gestured toward the other girl.
"And this is Morgan. She's my childhood friend — from before everything. We… met again recently."
Morgan said nothing.
She just looked Vira over with that cool, glacial stare that didn't quite count as hostility — but wasn't exactly approval either.
"She's also in the harem?"
"Yes," Alex admitted.
"Wonderful," Vira said through a smile that could slice granite. "That makes three."
Alex cleared his throat.
"The others aren't here."
"Names," she said again.
"You already know Mircella," he muttered.
"The vampire princess. Right."
"And Queen Ileana… her mother."
Vira's eye twitched. Just slightly.
"Of course."
"Then there's Hanabi and Airi," Alex added. "Airi… friends. Just… classmates. From Japan."
"Just classmates," Vira repeated, eyebrow arching. "And they joined your harem because…?"
"It's complicated."
"Everything with you is complicated."
Alex raised his hands.
"Look, I didn't plan this—"
"No. You just woke up one day and became everyone's soulmate."
He paused.
Then turned slightly to Ciel and Morgan.
"Can I get some help here?"
Ciel smiled serenely.
"You're doing fine."
Morgan crossed her arms tighter.
"This is your mess."
Alex groaned.
Vira tilted her head, golden hair catching the wind.
"So," she said. "That's six."
Her smile turned razor-sharp again.
"Do you plan to stop there?"
Alex hesitated.
And suddenly, the night air didn't feel so warm anymore.
The silence stretched again.
Alex could feel the weight of all six names lingering in the air like a fragile spell — one wrong word and it might shatter.
He took a breath.
"It… it was an emergency," he said finally. "I didn't plan any of this. But if the other girls from my childhood still care about me — still love me — I'll… I'll think about it."
Vira's gaze sharpened slightly.
Alex continued, voice quiet now.
"I don't hate them. I like them. Even if I can't remember everything."
Vira watched him carefully, lips slightly parted.
He expected an outburst.
Didn't get one.
Instead, she said:
"Okay."
Alex blinked.
"Wait. Okay?"
She nodded, too calmly.
"It's fine."
"You're not mad?"
She smiled faintly.
"I said it's fine. I'm a little angry."
He opened his mouth.
But before he could speak, she stepped forward — until she was so close that even Morgan narrowed her eyes in wary instinct.
Vira looked up at him, golden eyes burning like polished topaz in the twilight.
"But what I want most," she said, voice low and clear, "is for you to know this."
"I'll surpass them."
Alex blinked.
"What?"
"Every one of them. Now and in the future."
Her hand pressed lightly against his chest.
"I'll become your legal wife. Not a mistress. Not a background character. Not a forgotten childhood promise."
Her smile turned into something beautiful and devastating.
"They can have their little titles. Concubines. Companions. Lovers."
She leaned in closer, lips brushing near his ear.
"But when the story ends… I'll be the one standing beside you."
Then she pulled back, expression serene.
Alex stood frozen.
Even Ciel looked… quietly impressed.
Morgan scoffed and turned away.
"Arrogant elves," she muttered under her breath.
But Alex couldn't speak.
Because somewhere inside…
A small, unshakable part of him believed her.
Chapter 229 – The First Move (18+)
Night fell across Alfheim.
The lantern-glow of the crystalline towers shimmered softly against the leaves, casting golden reflections through the canopy. Magic threads whispered along the branches, shielding the kingdom in silence.
Alex lay on the bed the Queen had prepared for him — alone, for now.
The room was elegantly quiet, more royal than he liked: high ceilings of silver-carved wood, curtains stitched with sunleaf threads, a scent of moonflowers on the breeze. He hadn't changed yet. Still fully clothed, lying across the blanket with one arm behind his head, eyes staring at nothing.
His thoughts weren't on Fenrir.
Or Skuld.
Or even the gods.
They were on her.
"I'll be the one standing beside you."
He sighed.
And just as he was about to sit up—
Click.
The door opened.
He turned his head—
And froze.
Vira stepped in without a word, her golden hair loose over her shoulders. She wore a green and gold lace nightgown — regal, yet delicate, fitting her figure in a way that struck somewhere between battlefield confidence and bridal certainty.
She didn't speak.
She just reached behind her and locked the door.
Alex sat up instinctively.
"Vira—"
She crossed the room in three steps, pushed him back onto the bed with both hands, and kissed him — not shyly, not hesitantly.
But with fire.
And purpose.
His breath caught.
Her lips lingered against his as she whispered:
"I already told you."
Another kiss. Deeper.
"The others can fight for their places."
Her eyes burned down at him — fierce and clear.
"But I'm claiming mine."
She leaned in until her hair curtained them both.
"The night is long."
The lanterns dimmed.
With a swift motion, she leaned down and captured his lips in a passionate kiss, her tongue demanding entry as she tasted the sweetness of his surrender. Alex's hands found their way to her hips, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her desire through the thin layers of their clothing.
Vira broke the kiss, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she straddled him. "Let me undress you, my love," she whispered, her fingers deftly working the ties of his breeches. She peeled the fabric away, revealing the stiff length of his cock, standing proud and ready for her.
Alex watched, entranced, as Vira began to disrobe, each piece of lace falling away to reveal more of her flawless skin. Her breasts, full and pert, were tipped with nipples the color of ripe berries, begging to be kissed, sucked, and adored. She slid the dress down her hips, exposing the thatch of emerald curls between her legs, the evidence of her arousal glistening in the dim light.
Positioning herself over his throbbing member, she met his gaze, a wicked grin playing upon her lips. "Are you ready to be mine, Alex?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
In response, he bucked his hips, desperate to feel the tight embrace of her pussy. Vira chuckled, a sound that was both beautiful and cruel, as she reached down to guide him inside her. She was wet, so deliciously wet, and as she slowly lowered herself onto his cock, Alex felt the world around him blur into a haze of pleasure.
The initial penetration was a sweet burn, a stretching sensation that made Vira gasp, but as she adjusted to his girth, the discomfort melted away into pure ecstasy. She began to move, her hips undulating with an ancient rhythm that seemed to be encoded in her very being. Alex lay still, his body a vessel for her pleasure, as she rode him with an intensity that left them both breathless.
"Don't move," Vira commanded, her voice laced with lust. "This is my dance, my conquest. You are mine, Alex, and I will take my fill of you."
Her words were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that raged within him. Alex could feel the pressure building, a tightening in his balls that signaled his impending release. But he would not succumb, not until Vira granted him permission.
She was a vision above him, her emerald hair cascading down her back, her golden eyes ablaze with desire. Her pace quickened, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as she chased her climax. And then, with a cry that echoed through the chamber, she came, her pussy clenching around his cock as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
The sensation of her orgasm triggered Alex's own release, a powerful surge that flooded her womb with his hot seed. He groaned, the sound a testament to the exquisite agony of their union, as he filled her to the brim, marking her as his main wife in the most primal way possible.
But Vira was not finished with him. She dismounted, her eyes gleaming with a feral hunger as she lowered her head to his still-hard cock. "Mmm, your cum mixed with mine," she murmured, her tongue darting out to lap at the combined fluids that leaked from her core. "It's delicious, my love. A new favorite drink."
Alex watched in awe as she licked him clean, her mouth a hot, wet haven that seemed to worship his dick. She took him into her throat, her movements swift and sure, as she sucked him with a fervor that bordered on obsession. The sight of her so eager, so unashamedly wanton, was almost too much for him to bear.
"Fuck, Vira," he grunted, his hands fisting the sheets as she worked her magic. She hummed in response, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. He was close, so damn close, and when he came, it was with a shout of surrender, his cum pumping into her mouth as she swallowed every last drop with relish.
Vira sat back, licking her lips with a satisfied smirk. "I think I might enjoy squeezing your semen out every morning," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief. But she wasn't done with him yet. With a swift, fluid motion, she straddled him once more, her pussy still slick with their mingled releases.
"I want to feel you again, Alex," she breathed, positioning him at her entrance. "I like the warmth of your seed inside me. It's a reminder of who I belong to."
With that, she impaled herself upon his cock, her walls contracting around him as she began to ride. The sensation was indescribable, a wet, sloppy fuck that was as much about possession as it was about pleasure.
Vira's fantasies spilled from her lips, a vivid tapestry of debauchery that she wove with her words. "Imagine tying some of your harem members to the chairs," she suggested, her voice a sultry whisper. "Make them watch us, make them see the ecstasy on our faces as we prove my superiority over them."
The image sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through Alex's veins. He could picture it, the other women bound and helpless, their eyes wide with envy as they watched Vira claim him, body and soul.
She increased her pace, her breasts bouncing with each thrust as she chased another climax. Alex could hold back no longer. With a final, powerful surge, he came, his cum once again filling her waiting womb.
Spent and sated, they collapsed onto the bed, their bodies still intimately connected. Vira's laughter, light and carefree, filled the room as she snuggled against him, her emerald hair a stark contrast to his chest.
"You are mine, Alex," she murmured, her voice soft with contentment. "And I am yours. Forever."
And as they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the afterglow of their lovemaking, there was no doubt in either of their minds that they were exactly where they were meant to be. In the heart of a realm where magic thrived, they had found something truly extraordinary—a love that was as powerful as it was passionate, a bond that would endure for all eternity.
Morning.
Warm light filtered through the leaves outside. Birds sang softly, as if aware they were trespassing on something delicate.
Alex stirred.
The first thing he felt was warmth beside him. The second was the scent of honeysuckle and pride.
He opened his eyes—
Vira was already awake.
Golden eyes watching him, cheek resting on one hand, her expression unreadable except for the slightest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Good morning," she said.
Just that.
Nothing more.
But her tone said everything else.
Chapter 230 – The Morning After Victory
The morning sun poured through the woven branches of the high garden canopy, casting soft golden light across the room. Threads of birdsong drifted in, carried by a gentle breeze that fluttered the embroidered curtains.
Alex sat at the edge of the bed, shirt halfway buttoned, his hair still slightly tousled. His eyes were focused firmly on the floor — as if avoiding eye contact with reality itself.
Across the room, Vira stood before the mirror, fastening the last ribbon of her emerald-green robe. Her posture was elegant, effortless… and absolutely radiant with smug satisfaction.
"You're awfully quiet this morning," she said, her voice like a purr wrapped in silk.
Alex cleared his throat.
"I'm just… thinking."
"About last night?"
He didn't answer.
That was enough.
She turned, hands resting on her hips, head tilted just slightly.
"You know," she said with unmistakable pride, "for someone with six harem members, you're very shy."
Alex covered his face with one hand.
"Vira…"
"Was it…" she leaned forward with a mock whisper, "…your first time?"
His ears turned red.
"No comment."
Vira beamed, striding confidently across the room, stopping just in front of him. She bent slightly, her hair cascading over her shoulder.
"I got your first time," she said with a triumphant smile. "Me. Not a goddess. Not a vampire queen. Me."
Alex groaned into his hands.
Then—
From the back of his right hand, the gold and silver sigils shimmered briefly.
A low tremble of mana followed.
Morgan's voice rang out, sharp and furious, muffled by containment:
"I. Was. Here."
Alex blinked.
Ciel's voice followed — calm, clear, gently amused:
"You weren't supposed to be."
"You locked me inside! I could hear everything! I couldn't look away! That elf smirked at the mirror! She knew!"
"I told you not to interrupt. You agreed to the rule."
"I didn't think he'd—Ugh!"
Vira folded her arms, her smirk undisturbed.
"So the jealous one finally speaks."
Morgan's voice hissed:
"You planned this."
"I won this."
Alex stood, still half-red.
"Okay, enough! Both of you."
Ciel's symbol pulsed again.
"Should I release her now?"
Alex hesitated, glancing at Vira — who smiled sweetly and said:
"Let her out. I want to see her face."
"Don't you dare—!"
But the symbol gleamed.
And Morgan began to materialize.
Still flushed with fury.
Still fuming with humiliation.
And Vira?
She just crossed one leg over the other.
"Good morning, silver girl. Sleep well?"
Morgan's growl could have shattered a mirror.
The light flared once more on Alex's right hand.
From the golden sigil, Ciel emerged in a gentle shimmer of starlit ribbons — radiant as ever in her flowing white and violet robes, her bare feet just above the floor, not quite touching it.
She landed softly between Morgan and Vira, raising one hand.
"Morgan," she said gently. "That's enough."
Morgan stopped mid-step, her icy mana bristling but held back. Her silver hair fluttered around her face, her eyes sharp and burning — not with jealousy.
With rage.
"You locked me in," she hissed at Ciel.
Ciel's voice remained calm.
"Because I knew what you would do."
"You didn't even let me look away."
"You needed to learn control."
Morgan's jaw tightened. Her fists clenched.
"You're defending her?"
She didn't glance at Vira. Didn't need to. Vira was still standing at Alex's side, robe tied neatly, confidence practically radiating from her posture.
"That elf planned everything," Morgan spat. "She timed it. She smirked at me through the mirror."
Ciel said nothing.
Vira didn't deny it.
Morgan stepped closer — not to Vira, but to Ciel.
For a second, her voice dropped, not icy… but shaking.
"It should have been you."
Ciel blinked slowly, her expression still serene.
"I don't—"
"Don't pretend not to understand," Morgan snapped. "I don't care about being the first. I never did."
She turned, glaring at Alex — then looked away quickly, as if it burned too much to keep eye contact.
"I'm angry because his first time wasn't with the one person worthy of it."
Her voice softened, but her words sharpened.
"You're the one I recognize. The one I accept. The only one I'd ever kneel to."
Silence fell over the room.
Ciel's expression faltered — just slightly.
Even Alex's breath caught.
Vira raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. Not yet.
Morgan's voice returned to its usual frost.
"And instead of being with you… he gave it to her."
Vira stepped forward, smile fading.
"Careful, little silver. You're in my kingdom now."
Morgan didn't flinch.
"This has nothing to do with kingdoms."
She looked at Ciel again, quiet now.
"I accepted the harem. I accepted him loving more than one."
"But not like this. Not with you locked away while someone else claimed what should've been yours."
Ciel lowered her hand slowly.
"It wasn't mine to claim," she said softly.
Morgan turned away.
"Then you're kinder than I am."
And in that moment, for all her pride and cold, aristocratic cruelty…
She looked heartbreakingly young.
Alex took a slow breath.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.