I blink away sweat as it runs down from my brow, flowing over the inner corners of my eyes and trailing along my nose, dripping from its tip onto the metal floor below. My hair clinging to my forehead and curling over my cheeks, I slowly push against the floor, hands supporting my weight. My arms protesting and muscles pumped, my core burning, I release a sharp breath, quietly counting, "...One nintey-nine." I lower a final time, holding the position, shoulders fixed, then gradually rise, "Two hundred."
Fingers spread below me, I level my breathing and calm my heart, my daily exercise helping to alleviate the relative boredom of the journey, a day and a bit passing. Motioning my passively swimming chi, I run it through my system, healing the accumulated micro tears and internal rubbing, rebuilding and strengthening muscle, my set completed.
Pulling my outstretched legs in one at a time, feet placed under me, knees drawn in, I stand, shaking my arms as I rotate my neck, working out the slight ache. I look over to the cockpit as I summon a dark blue towel from my ring, wiping at my face and feeling the soft loops scrub at my skin, dabbing at my neck and clearing my sweat. A quick cleaning spell cast with a small gesture, the towel and surrounding area sanitised, I store it back inside and stare out beyond the panes.
The back of Thor, his head slightly down as he operates the ship, sits wide and strong in the pilots seat, the system before him operating in perfect balance. Buttons pressed and alight, switches flipped and activated, I decide to address a lingering thought, stepping to him, my bare feet walking across the cold, smooth metal.
Tying my hair up, I stop behind Thor, feeling as his attention shifts to me, and lean against the side of his seat, one hand bracing, then hesitantly start, "So..." He makes an adjustment on the control panel, a change felt through the composition of the ship, "How's things?"
Thor pauses, turning slightly to look up at me, then back to what he was doing, saying, "Speak what you wish to know, Sarah."
Sighing, I push off his chair and take the left seat behind, lowering myself into it and sitting sideways, then stare down between my short-covered legs. Eyes peering into the floor, their focus blurred as I think, I finally raise my head to the patient Thor and ask, "What's happening with Loki?" The quite humming of the engine fills the silence, the energy of the universe gliding over the hull, a constant curtain in my awareness, when I apologise, "I didn't mean to put a strain on your relationship."
Thor, staring ahead, the cosmos pressing against the glass, replies, a small shake of his head, "No..." He softly issues, "No." He repeats, strength coming back into his voice. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, his opinion of Loki no doubt tied around, "My brother..." he starts, before, "Loki is a man of contradictions, a great mind afflicted by doubts and a lacking sense of purpose, a god of mischief and trickery unable to think beyond petty schemes, but I always thought..."
He trails off, a second of silence, then skips ahead, gathering himself, "After Sakaar and Ragnarok, I'd finally started believing our bond could be repaired. We are the last of our family, the final surviving gods of Asgard, we should be better than we are." The rumble of his voice deepens, a long hidden sadness starting to creep into his words, "And yet again, when all is lost and with no home to return, he could not help but continue his games."
A friction of tightening grip on the steering of the ship draws my eye from the side profile of Thor, his skin pressed white as he endures, persevering, "My brother has achieved a great many things in his long life, from battling the foes of Asgard, to using to his snaked tongue for the gain of the realm. But, the one thing that will remain forevermore out of his reach..." I push off on to my knees as he breaths out a shaky release, crouching beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing to comfort,
"Is trust."
I release him, drawing my hand back, and observe, his feelings ringing true and resonating, an impulse rising in me as I empathise, causing me to, "Thor." I call, the god, his single eye wet, turning to look down at me with unknown, millennia-old emotion in its depths, "I can't begin to grasp the complications of yours and Loki's history, no ordering of words sufficient enough to encapsulate it."
I stare into his eye, conveying the light of my spirit, a soft smile at the corners of my lips as I say, "So, instead, I'm going to share with you something I've never told another soul." His godly soul visible in the core of his gaze, encompassing more than his physical form, I reveal,
"My parents used to beat me."
The depths deepen, an abyssal, instantaneous rage threatening to explode forth, when I return my hand to his shoulder, a touch of chi rolling over my fingers, "It's okay," I whisper, "there is nothing to be done." I stroke his skin, his muscles tense, "There is no foe to fight." He slowly calms, his boiling anger lessening, now a contained storm waiting to break, "Blood is something you are born into, Thor, but that doesn't equal family. There are more ways to hurt in this world than comprehendible by the unwittingly ignorant.
"A day may pass in peace, dreadful anticipation controlling you, night rolling into the next light, this one equally still. You start to settle, feeling, for the first time, what quiet is, an hour spent without dread, a false sense of security growing, a sickening, in-reach hope just beyond the next second. And then," I wet my lips, a lump forming in my throat, my nose tingling, "reality reasserts its hold."
He says nothing, a sad understanding on his face as he sits with me, a sharing of pain and history, waiting until I'm ready. His hand climbs and clutches mine, nothing extra added to the gesture, nothing needed, when I resume, "Family is something you choose, no matter the circumstances of your birth. Don't let your past dictate your future, Odinson, you are not chained to your present; allow yourself to breath."
My words linger, the cockpit calm, a release of previously unspoken scars wrapping around us, when Thor speaks, his voice near-silent, "...Thank you." I smile up at him, pushing up to stand, his eyes following my own, and run my fingers through his hair. The moment fading, a reassurance shared, a blinking, flashing, white light on the console sees Thor leaning forward in his chair, my fingers sliding free as tells, "We've arrived."
He lifts his head, the pane of the windows coming alive, an alien software, full of incomprehensible numbers and letters, displaying the blue outline of multiple, giant rings. I peer at it, taking in the magnified view of Nidavellir, the Alderson disk megastructure circling a contained, controlled neutron star, and fill with awe.
The closer we get, its true magnitude slowly being revealed, filling our vision, the more the tattoo on my left arm starts to heat, the Vermilion Bird sealed within reacting to the star. I stroke it, wondering as to any possible, more direct connection beyond the conceptual, then turn away, moving to the back of the ship as Thor confusedly states, concern in his tone, "Something's wrong. The star's gone out... and the rings are frozen."
I pause between steps, back facing him, and close my eyes, what little spark of hope I had fading, our arrival too late to change the outcome. Calming myself, I open my eyes and pull my clothes from my ring, a plain, dark-grey tracksuit, and ask, sliding off my shorts and removing my top, "And I hazards that's unusual?" I thread my limbs into legs and sleeves, zipping up to the bottom to my chin, then slip my feet into a pair of white trainers, the laces tying with a flick.
Thor answers, the ship starting to bank, "In all my years and visits with my father, never once have I seen it in this state. I've heard tell of the forge going dark centuries ago... but nothing of this scale." I come to a stand beside him, looking out as we approach the Dwarven homeworld, and observe, tracking the rising rings as they pass over, the ship flying under. Their size completely eclipsing us, a titan of pinnacle construction, triggers a little megalophobia, my legs feeling weak.
We travel on, into the core of forge, nearing the sealed star wrapped in a sphere of conjoined technology, a masterpiece of Dwarven engineering. I turn away, closing my eyes and pulling my senses in tight, not willing to risk a second incident, a lingering sense of fear itching my mind. My bloods shifts, my balance affected, as gravity in the space around us is pulled away, pressing on the fabric as we pass the boundary of its close domain.
Opening my eyes after we move away, the influence retreating, my sight falls on a row of circles carved through the inner ring, acting as a landing bay. The ship flies in their direction, the maw of the ring swallowing us whole as we arrive, where Thor lowers us into place. A subtle thump, the ship touching down, bends my knees, Thor manipulating the console with experience, the humming ceasing as the engines power down.
I straighten, feeling a little nervous as Thor stands from his seat, ducking his head as he moves to the door, and rotate the crocodile ring on my left hand. Safe in the fact of its existence, I turn and move back to the seats, crouching down as a hiss of steam sounds behind, the door popping out and opening. Nudging the curled up blanket, a little cave extending out, I softly wake, "Splinter." Gentle motions, the blanket moving, a barely audible squeak reaching me, see a sleepy rat head poke out, whiskers twitching.
The steps of Thor atop the metal surface of Nidavellir ringing, I reach in and carefully grip my companion, his tiny, clawed feet perching on my hand, and lift. Placing him on my shoulder, making sure he's alert and secure, I stand and turn, walking out and climbing down the two steps, following after Thor. Nearing him, his body language confused and alert, I hear him mutter to himself, "Something's not right."
Coming to a stop on his good side, Splinter standing and looking at him, I voice my opinion, "Bit quiet for the home of greatest smiths in the nine realms."
Thor, his single eye searching, glances at me, concern in his gaze, and replies, "Indeed."
As he goes to move off, in search of the stations inhabitants, I flick my arm out before him, blocking his movement and shaking my head when he turns to me. Lowering my arm, I close my eyes and cast out my detection, limiting it to the edges of the ring, and scan for chi. A spattering of dead zones, my jaw clenching at the unburied dead, their faded chi a void, I continue on, coming across a large signature.
Opening my eyes and breathing out a slow, saddened sigh, I look to Thor, his face a picture of apprehension, and inform, "...I'm feeling only a single lifeform."
He frowns, but nods, a hand curling into a tight fist, and requests, "Lead the way."
Activating my shield, the ring transforming and equipping to my forearm, I do as he asks, taking the left stairs and escorting, my focus on the unknown life. I detect its attention shift as we near its position, walking around scattered tools and discarded stations, signs of battle, of death and destruction, lining our path. I warn Thor of the approaching entity, a readying of the god given in response, when a series of rushed thumps charge us.
A mop of thick, lengthy, wild hair atop the head of a giant, bearded man, rises over near divides, his face contorted with wrath. Recognising the giant, understanding his overwhelming grief to be veiling his reason, I lift my shield and hold it in guard. Coating its surface with a cushion of telekinetic magic as he storms us, batting aside all in his path, I cycle my chi and enhance my body, then race out to meet him, Thor shouting out behind me in an alien language, "-----!"
We close in on each other quickly, nearing at speed, his sight locked to me, his dark-metal coated fist raised in attack. A timed casting of a simple spell, a band of eldritch magic shooting from the floor beside him, winds around his raised arm and pulls tight, the giant stumbling against the anchor. Opening created, I close the gap and put strength in my legs, then jump, rising up and winding back my shielded arm.
The eyes of the King widening as he regains his balance, I strike, slamming my shield into his face with a dong, my arm shaking as it connects. His expression grimacing in pain as he topples back, his great weight shaking the metal, I fall, landing back down on bent legs, then collapse my shield. Ring on my finger, I wait still until Thor comes running, racing past me and stopping above the fallen one, his deep voice speaking.
The giant replies with confusion, a tinge of unresolved anger, his words booming, rumbling over me, reaching inside. Stepping back to give them some space, a general understanding of the conversation taking place, an exchange of revelation and apologies, I check on the condition Splinter. As the heightened emotions of the two wash over me, a smile crosses my lips at the sight of the rat, his little chest rising as he lays asleep on my shoulder, eyes shut and dreaming peacefully.
Looking away from him, I trail my eyes over the wrecked station, on the search for a single comfortable spot to take a seat, when Thor breaks away. The giant climbs to his feet with a roll and push, standing tall, then brushes his leather chest-apron with a sleeve, content to stare down at me, his face wrinkled with sorrow. Not wanting our first meeting to be one of bad blood, I clasp my hands before me and bow, head down, then look to him, the Dwarf giving me a nod of acknowledgement.
Smiling at him, I turn to watch Thor, finding him rummaging through a pile of seeming scrap, scavenging for something. The pile collapsing, the sides breaking away and tumbling, he stills, his arm deep inside, then pulls something from it. He holds it up to Dwarf in confirmation, the giant replying in his language, his tone agreeable, causing Thor to look to me. I stare at him, lifting in an eyebrow in question as he walks over to me, the item held in his hand.
He reaches me, holding it out, a C-shaped curve of tech, smaller than the palm it rests atop, and describes, "This is for you. It's an external translator, containing only a few thousand languages, but it will do for today." I take it from him, rolling it between my fingers as I stare at it, then look up to Thor, a query of my face. He reads my expression, catching my unspoken inquiry, and answers, "Simply place it behind your ear, and it will begin to convert whatever you hear."
Trusting him, I do he describes, brushing my tied hair up and tucking it into place, feeling it form to the back of my ear, a miniscule pinch in the crease of my skin. Blinking, the sensation unexpected, I lower my hand and wait, looking between the two, needing one of the them to start speaking. Eitri, King of the Dwarves, is the one who starts, opening his mouth, the words issued instantly translated, his mother tongue turned English.
His low, baritone voice steeped in unfathomable sadness, he speaks, "Revenge against the one who brought death to my people is all that burns in my heart, Thor. I can forge you a weapon capable of taking his head, but without my hands..." He lifts them, looking between them, the fists cast in unforged Uru, rendering dead and unusable. Thor, his face hard and weary, a solemn expression set, goes to reply, no doubt an empathetic stance on the nature of his skills and knowledge, when I interrupt,
"...I've got a solution to that, if you can withstand the pain necessary."
They both look over, Eitri's head in particular whipping to me, a light of realisation shining in the single eye of Thor as he voices, "Natasha."
I nod, raising a hand and summoning Sun-Kissed, the sun-fire gently undulating atop my palm, curling and lighting the area with its emanations, a welcoming warmth hugging around, "Exactly." Tilting my head up to the intense gaze of the last King, I promise, "If your hands are what you need, then your hands you shall have." I walk to him, catching his eyes to darting to Thor, whatever he sees causing him to accept.
He slowly falls to his knees, one thumping down, followed by the second, and leans forward, his jailed hands extending and held up. I cease under the giant man, the greatest craftsman in the known universe, and lift a hand, palm up, Purpose appearing. The King's eyes falling on it, his lips part, a question threatening to escape, but he closes them, focusing on the moment.
I move to his side and turn towards him, placing my fire-clad hand onto his arm and pushing his limbs together, the cloth-covered flesh touching, then raise Purpose. Infusing it with my chi, amplifying its sharpness, fire swimming up his arm, I warn, "Brace yourself, noble King." He takes a deep breath, his brows drawing together tightly, and nods, his readiness conveyed,
"Do it."
Not wanting to prolong the building atmosphere, I swing down with speed and strength, aiming just above the cooled metal. Purpose parts his flesh with ease, his bones cleaving, blood beginning to spurt freely as his hands fall with a loud clank. Eitri loudly grunts in pain, holding back his screams, when Sun-Kissed starts to work on him, flowing to the stumps and climbing up his arms, regrowth already visible. I leave him, his endurance dependent on his own tenacity, and step beside Thor.
Watching the flaming giant, inching meat creeping from his stumps, I quietly say to Thor, an idea as to the thoughts on his mind, "You must be wondering as to your eye." I watch Eitri's fight against agony, admiring his ability to withstand, then hesitantly continue, "...I don't mean to be rude, Thor, but..." He looks away from Eitri to me, his arms crossed, "How certain are you that Queen Frigga is your mother?"
A greater spirit crushes the area momentarily, pressing down on me, before it lessens, not exactly retreating, as Thor warns, his voice tense, "Lady Sarah," he stresses, "watch your words."
I calm my chi, my heartbeat picking up, and explain, "I mean no offence, Thor. It's just..." I pause, thinking how best to word what I want to say, then choose, "This isn't my original reality." He startles at that, the pressure dissipating, his crossed arms loosening. I order a simple story in mind, pulling comic information and weaving it with this universe, then reveal, "I'm trapped here for a period, due to a conflict I had with a Hell dimension, though that's irrelevant to what I wish to impart."
I narrate, a lie recited, "In the time of my home, the Masters are great allies to the realm of Asgard, a relationship started and fostered during the time of King Bor. Over the next thousands of years, we've aided each other in times of crisis, our bond tightening as, together, we overcame troubles and fought back invaders." His guard lowering, his interest focused on a fake, alternate history of his home, "I say all this, Thor, because I was present at your birth."
His arms fully uncrossing in surprise, a bewildered look upon his features, he questions, "What?"
I smile at him, glancing from the corner of my eyes, and tell tall tales, "Yeah, this isn't my time at all, no matter what I previously said." He ignores my subtle deflection, my story woven with steps, the conversation guided, "There was a worry about the Angels of Heven attacking when Odin's focus was on you, so he requested we assist with shoring up the defences and providing lookout. We, of course, accepted his need, any thought of refusal not even crossing our minds.
"Arriving soon after, we got to work immediately, splitting into groups according to our specialities. I was assigned to watching over your birthing chamber together with the Einherjar, on account of my healing. The expected attack soon followed on the eve of your birth, the Queen of Angels leading her forces to invade the sky of Asgard, her spies informing her of the Odin's distraction. We managed to rebuff her, of course. Monarch she may be, but even she couldn't outfight our combined forces."
My sight locked to Thor, a seriousness growing over him as I talk, the false path of his home leaving him with many questions, I move on, "Unfortunately, a group managed to breach the palace and near your chamber. I, along with the royal guards, put them down as soon we detected them, except one managed to slip by in the frenzy, breaking through our line and entering inside."
I sigh out, my act flowing with ease, an entire story spun and performed once again, then frown, a faraway look appearing in my eyes, "I chased after them, my heart beating wildly with fear, and intruded on something I should've never have witnessed." I conjure the symbol of Odin, a rounded Valknut, and hold it between us, "Due to what I saw, I've been sworn to secrecy by the Odinforce; but, powerful though your father may be, he cannot yet breach the divide between universes."
The burning of the Dwarven King flickers over us, our shadows crossing at times, "...Inside your chamber, I beheld not the maternal figure of Queen Frigga, but the lying, pregnant form of the Mother Goddess, Gaia, a red-haired woman by her side, fire in her eyes."
A realisation, his life a potential lie, affects him, a lost expression dawning on his face. I stare deep into his eye, the fire reflecting the dark of his pupils, and smile at him, his air changing, the god conquering the revelation with certain ease. His presence gaining something more, an ancient regard from times primordial, he stands stronger than before, my voice settling within him as we look into each other,
"You are more than you know, Odinson."
He doesn't reply, his eye searching for something as it peers inside, then, "...Why are you telling me this, Wizardess?"
I break my sight from him, keeping some attention on him in my peripheral, and look to the captivated Eitri, his new hands turning over as he examines them with solemn silence, "That, you shall soon discover."
Eitri looks to us on his knees, his height still greater than ours, than gets to his feet with renewed spirit, his movement filled with resolve. He stays a distance away, his fiery gaze fixed on me, untold intensity held-back, and vows, his respect expressed with a depth of open emotion, "A debt is owed."
Nodding to him, I turn to the side and gesture out to the floating centre of the station, the stationary star waiting to be released once more, and agree, offering,
"One that can be fulfilled, here and now."