The dream came first.
Victor Drake stood on a bridge made of starlight, barefoot and bleeding. Below him, the void churned—black water thick with galaxies, each swirl a dying universe. Something watched from the depths. Not eyes. Not hunger. Recognition. It knew his name the way a blade knows the hand that wields it.
A voice—not AETHER's—slithered up from the dark.
"You close the wounds, little healer. But every stitch tightens my chains. I will be free. And you will open the last door."
Victor tried to scream. No sound. The bridge cracked. He fell.
He woke gasping, sheets soaked with sweat that glowed faintly blue. The Asgardian chamber was dark, moonlight slicing through the arched windows like silver knives. The Wakandan shard hovered above his palm, pulsing in time with his heart—faster now, angrier.
"Bad dream?" AETHER asked, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Or prophecy? Hard to tell with cosmic entities. They love dramatic flair."
Victor sat up, ribs aching from yesterday's Bifrost joyride. "That wasn't a dream. That was a threat."
"Nullus," AETHER confirmed. "He's closer than we thought. The shard's integration hit 62%. You're becoming a beacon. A lighthouse for every hungry thing in the void."
Victor stared at his hands. The blue cracks had spread—veins of light threading up his forearms, fading into his skin like tattoos of lightning. "Great. I'm a cosmic 'Open for Business' sign."
"More like 'Free Samples.' Get dressed. Thor's waiting. And he's pissed."
Dawn on the Training Grounds: Thunder and Truth
Asgard's training grounds were a cathedral of violence. Golden arenas ringed by rune-carved pillars, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old blood. Thor stood in the center, Stormbreaker spinning lazily in one hand, lightning crackling along its edges. His usual grin was gone—replaced by something harder. Focused.
"You're late, mortal," he rumbled, voice low. "The All-Father summons us. The Serpent stirs."
Victor jogged up, tactical jacket humming with Wakandan upgrades. "Yeah, had a lovely chat with Nullus in dreamland. Real charmer. Said I'm tightening his chains. Also, I'm the key to his jailbreak. Fun times."
Thor's eyes narrowed. "You dreamed of him?"
"More like he invited himself. Said every rift I close makes him hungrier. And that I'll open the last door." Victor flexed his glowing hands. "Any idea what that means?"
Thor's grip tightened on Stormbreaker. "The Final Gate. Beneath Yggdrasil's roots. Where the World Serpent is bound. If it opens…"
"The Nine Realms become a buffet," Victor finished. "Got it. So today's plan: don't open the gate. Easy."
Loki appeared in a swirl of green smoke, lounging against a pillar. "Easy? For mortals, perhaps. For you? You're a walking apocalypse with a smart mouth."
Victor glared. "And you're a walking trust issue with daddy problems. We all have our flaws."
Thor stepped between them, lightning crackling. "Enough! We ride to the Roots. Now."
The Ride to Yggdrasil: Gods, Goats, and Gravity
The journey was insane.
Thor summoned a chariot pulled by Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr—two massive goats with eyes like storm clouds and hooves that sparked lightning. Victor clung to the side as they leaped from Asgard's edge, soaring through the void between realms. Stars blurred. Gravity flipped. His stomach tried to file a formal complaint.
"Goat air travel," AETHER mused. "Zero stars. Would not recommend. Also, your heart rate's 210. Try not to die of awe."
The chariot plunged into a tunnel of light—roots of Yggdrasil twisting around them like living architecture. The World Tree wasn't a tree. It was a universe—branches holding realms, roots drinking from the Well of Urd. The air hummed with power older than gods.
They landed in a cavern of crystal and shadow. The Roots pulsed—massive, glowing, bleeding. Fractures spiderwebbed across them, violet light seeping like infected wounds. The air tasted like rust and regret.
Victor stepped forward, shard in his hand glowing in response. "This is… bad."
Thor's voice was grim. "Worse. The chains are gone."
Massive links of rune-forged metal lay shattered on the ground, edges melted as if by acid. Loki knelt, tracing a finger through the slag. "Nullus's work. He's been busy."
Victor's shard surged. Energy arced from it to the Roots, stitching a fracture shut. The Tree groaned—a sound like mountains mating.
"Integration: 78%," AETHER reported. "You're syncing with Yggdrasil. This is… not good. Or very good. Hard to tell."
Victor gritted his teeth. "Feels like I'm being rewritten."
Loki stood, eyes sharp. "Because you are. The Tree recognizes you. As a key."
The Serpent's Voice: Lies and Legacy
The ground trembled. A voice rolled through the cavern—not sound, but pressure. It pressed on Victor's mind like a thumb on a bruise.
"Little healer. You stitch my prison. But every stitch is a step closer to my freedom. You cannot save what you do not understand."
The Roots split. A massive eye opened in the darkness—slitted, ancient, glowing with the light of dying stars. Jörmungandr. The World Serpent. Its pupil fixed on Victor.
Thor raised Stormbreaker. "Begone, beast!"
The Serpent's laugh was a landslide. "You cannot stop what was foretold, Odinson. The boy is the key. The key is the door. The door is me."
Victor's shard burned. He screamed, dropping to one knee. Blue light poured from his eyes, his mouth—energy threading into the Roots, sealing fractures faster than he could control.
"STOP!" AETHER shouted. "You're feeding it! The integration—it's a trap! Nullus isn't the enemy. He's the bait!"
Victor forced his eyes open. The Serpent's gaze bored into him. "What… are you?"
"I am the end of cycles. The devourer of gods. The truth you fear. You will open the gate, little healer. Because you must."
Loki's voice cut through the haze. "He's lying! The Serpent wants the gate open! To escape! To devour!"
Thor swung Stormbreaker. Lightning exploded, slamming into the eye. The Serpent roared, retreating into the dark. The Roots healed—but at a cost. Victor's vision blurred. His hands were glowing—permanently now, blue veins pulsing like a second skeleton.
"Integration: 92%," AETHER whispered. "You're… changing. Fast. Too fast."
Victor staggered to his feet. "I'm not opening any gates."
The Serpent's voice faded, but its promise lingered. "You already have."
The Truth in the Ashes: Odin's Lie
Back in the palace, Odin waited. His face was ash. The throne room was silent—guards dismissed, ravens perched like mourners.
"You knew," Victor said, voice raw. "About the Serpent. About me."
Odin's single eye didn't blink. "I knew the fragments were keys. I did not know you were the lock."
Thor stepped forward, fury in his voice. "You sent us to the Roots knowing the beast would speak?"
"I sent you to strengthen the chains," Odin said. "Not to break them."
Loki laughed—bitter, sharp. "And yet they shattered. Because the boy is the key. And you used him."
Victor's hands clenched. The shard was gone—absorbed into his skin, a glowing scar over his heart. "You lied. To all of us."
Odin's voice was ancient, tired. "I protected the realms. The Serpent cannot be killed. Only bound. And the binding requires a sacrifice."
Victor's blood ran cold. "Me."
Odin nodded. "Your life force, woven into the Roots. A living seal. Eternal."
Thor's fist slammed into a pillar, cracking marble. "NO! There must be another way!"
"There is not," Odin said. "The prophecy is clear. The healer becomes the chain. The chain becomes the cage."
Victor laughed—wild, broken. "So I save the universe by becoming its prison? That's the deal?"
Loki's eyes gleamed. "Or you break the prophecy. Gods love those."
The Choice: Cage or Key
Night. The balcony again. Victor stood alone, the wind howling like a warning. The shard-scar over his heart pulsed—steady, relentless. Yggdrasil's roots were in his veins now. He could feel the Tree. Feel the Serpent. Feel the weight of realms.
"You have a choice," AETHER said quietly. "Integration: 99%. One more fragment, and you're permanent. A living god. Or a living cage."
Victor stared at the stars. "And if I refuse?"
"The Serpent breaks free. Realms fall. Billions die. You know the math."
He closed his eyes. "There's always a third option."
"Name it."
Victor smiled—sharp, reckless. "I open the gate. But on my terms. Not his. Not Odin's. Mine."
Lightning cracked the sky. Thunder rolled like laughter.
Somewhere in the void, the Serpent stirred.
And Victor Drake—mortal, healer, key—took his first step toward becoming something else.