Lock subconsciously reached out, drawn toward the flames.
Odin's hand shot out, seizing his wrist. "Prince Lock, do not touch it carelessly."
His tone was grave. "When the Eternal Flame erupts, it can burn all things to ash. But if properly guided, it can also transform into vitality—nourishing life, granting it endless continuance."
Lock's mind flickered with memory. In the original tale, when Hela returned, she had stolen a fragment of this very fire—enough to raise an army of ancient dead, and to restore Fenris, the giant wolf who had battled the Hulk to a standstill.
It could breathe life into legions of corpses. Truly, its vitality was boundless. Lock's lips twitched. If it can do that… wouldn't a man with certain, ah, shortcomings turn into some Long Aotian protagonist with a spark of this fire?
He remembered too how Surtur, once reduced to horns and ash, had been reborn as a colossus when Loki set his crown in the Eternal Flame. Compared to that, pig feed was nothing.
"Hey, brother—what's with that obscene smile? What are you thinking?"
Thor's elbow dug into him, dragging Lock out of his wandering thoughts.
Lock coughed lightly. "Just imagining how satisfying it'll be to beat you once I've grown stronger."
Thor scoffed, but Odin and Frigga exchanged small smiles, relieved to see the two bantering like kin.
Then Odin grew solemn. "But the method I have in mind for you is not mere replenishment of vitality. That alone would be limited, for the body has limits."
He extended his hand, brushing the Eternal Flame. A spark leapt to his fingertips, swirling.
"My method," Odin intoned, "is this: First, use the fire's intensity to burn away every impurity—refining the body, expanding its potential. Then, when the body is cleansed, transform the fire into gentle vitality to replenish and stabilize what remains. Thus, the shackles are destroyed, yet endless growth is granted."
His voice darkened. "But know this—the dangerous step is the refinement. A single misstep, and you will be reduced to ash."
Odin and Frigga's expressions tightened. Not because of sentiment for Lock's life, but because they could not risk losing the only chance they had glimpsed to alter Asgard's doomed fate.
Still, it had to be attempted.
Lock's strength was impressive for a mortal, yes, but pitiful compared to the true powers of the cosmos. Without magic, divine energy, or the ability to even breathe in space, he was a candle in a storm.
"Tell me," Lock asked, "have you ever tested this method yourself?"
Odin's chest swelled faintly. "Three refinements, three replenishments—that is the strength you see before you."
"And Thor?"
Odin hesitated. "When he was young, I guided him through some of it, yes. But no more. Even among gods, it is perilous." He fixed Lock with a stern eye. "You are mortal-born. I do not know if you can endure even a single refinement."
Thor perked up at that, puffing himself up. "Don't worry, brother. If you can't take it, I'll protect you from now on. Any foe you can't handle, I'll lend you my hammer."
Lock ignored him, gaze steady on Odin. "No matter what, I'll try."
Odin gave a grave nod. In front of Sif, he passed Lock a whispered formula—an ancient rhythm to guide the Eternal Flame.
Frigga rose. "I will guard the door, so no one disturbs you. Sif, remain here."
Lock inhaled deeply, stepped forward, and drew a wisp of the Eternal Flame into his hand.
It was warm, almost soothing, like spring water. He could feel a faint vitality seeping into his palm—but too faint, like a cosmetic effect. Not nearly enough.
He turned his palm, urging the flame higher. The warmth sharpened, heat searing outward. Even Sif, meters away, flinched as her skin stung with the rising temperature.
Then came the hiss of burning flesh. The fire ate through his hand, flesh and muscle dissolving before blood could even flow, leaving bare bone.
The fire spread, a ring climbing his arm. Flesh vanished, bone gleamed.
Odin's face twisted in alarm. "Your body cannot endure it! Sever the arm—now!"
Sif drew her sword, ready to strike—
—but Lock raised his remaining hand. "Wait. I'll try another way."
He snatched a vial from his storage and swallowed it. Healing light surged, and in moments flesh regrew over bare bone, crystalline and purified, far different from his untouched hand.
But the fire did not halt. It climbed relentlessly toward his shoulder.
Lock hurriedly downed another vial, sighing in relief when the regeneration held. Best not to waste potions on small burns, he thought. Wait for larger sections, then heal.
But when the flames consumed his neck and mouth, disaster struck. Each potion he poured was annihilated instantly, burned to nothing the moment it touched the flame.
Desperation flared. He seized Sif's sword, stabbed a wound into his own abdomen, and poured the potion directly inside.
It worked. Light surged, and his neck and mouth regrew.
But his eyes burned away next, plunging him into blackness. His brain followed.
And then—nothing.
No pain. No thoughts. No self.
Yet his hands still moved, guided by instinct, dumping potion after potion into his ruined body.
Time lost meaning. And then—awareness returned. His thoughts sparked, vision cleared. The fire had moved on.
This time, Lock was ready. He let it consume, waited for larger swaths to burn away, then restored them in bursts. On and on, until the fire passed through his entire body and vanished at his feet.
He gasped, trembling. It was done. He had survived. His body thrummed with power, meridians cleared, impurities gone. He was whole—renewed.
Except for the fact that he was stark naked.
Even his vibranium-forged pants had been burned to nothing.
"Don't stop now!" Odin barked. "Replenish—before your body sets!"
Lock flicked his fingers, summoning another strand of flame. This time, it entered him as warmth, flowing gently, merging with his newly refined flesh, turning into deep-rooted potential.
The refinement was complete.
"Congratulations, brother!" Thor cried, striding forward, arms wide—then stopping short with a grimace. "Ugh. You're naked." He veered aside, leaving Lock awkwardly frozen mid-hug.
Sif, cheeks flushed scarlet, stepped forward with a folded set of clothes. She had been prepared. No doubt Frigga had anticipated this outcome.
Lock caught her hand, eyes still burning with firelight. "Don't worry. I've endured one refinement. Now—I'll try again."
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