The Stormborn Chapter 96

Harry stood at the edge of the Highlands, far beyond the reach of the manor’s wards, where Midgard’s sky stretched wide and unbroken. The wind tugged at his cloak as he set the reinforced chest at his feet—dark uru etched with frost-runes, humming softly with restrained power.

Inside lay the armor he had forged for Uncle Loki, complete at last. Every plate, every sigil, every layered enchantnt had been shaped with care, not rely as a gift, but as an excuse—his carefully chosen key back into Asgard.

He lifted his gaze to the clouds.

“Heimdall,” Harry called, his voice steady but carrying the authority he had learned to wield without shouting. “Bring ho.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the sky answered.

A pillar of radiant color descended from the heavens, the Bifrost tearing through Midgard’s firmant like a living thing. Rainbow light engulfed Harry, wrapping around him with crushing force and exhilarating speed. The world vanished in a blur of sensation—weightlessness, pressure, sound tearing into silence. The chest containing Loki’s armor rose with him, bound by Harry’s magic, and in the next instant Midgard was gone.

Asgard replaced it.

Harry landed smoothly upon the crystalline bridge, boots ringing against the gleaming surface of the Bifrost. The air here was sharp and clean, filled with distant thunder and the low hum of cosmic energy flowing beneath the bridge’s surface.

But sothing was… wrong.

Harry straightened slowly.

Heimdall was not there.

The guardian of the Bifrost was a constant—unchanging, immovable, eternal in his watch. In all the tis Harry had co to Asgard, Heimdall had always been present, golden eyes fixed on realities beyond sight.

Instead, a bald man stood at the controls of the Bifrost, his posture relaxed but alert. He wore Asgardian armor, though plainer than Heimdall’s, etched with older, simpler runes. Three won stood with him—warriors by their bearing, each ard, each watching Harry with open curiosity rather than suspicion.

The man noticed Harry at once and imdiately bowed, one knee touching the bridge.

“My prince,” he said warmly. “Welco ho.”

Harry did not return the greeting.

“Where is Heimdall?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with steel.

The man rose smoothly. “Lord Heimdall has gone on an errand.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “He does not leave the Bifrost unattended.”

The man hesitated—just a fraction too long.

“That is true,” he admitted carefully. “Which is why I was… appointed temporarily.”

“By whom?” Harry pressed.

The three won shifted subtly, hands resting closer to their weapons. Not threatening—cautious.

The man sighed, realizing evasion would not serve him. “By the All-Father.”

Harry absorbed that in silence. “What kind of errand pulls Heimdall from his post?”

The man glanced at the bridge, then back at Harry. Lowered his voice.

“He has been sent to search.”

“For?” Harry asked, though he already felt the answer tightening in his chest.

The man swallowed. “For Hela.”

The na hit like a quiet thunderclap.

Harry’s fingers curled slowly at his side.

“Why?” he asked. “What has she done?”

The bald man shook his head. “I don’t know, my prince. Truly. Orders were… vague. Only that Heimdall was to find her, observe her movents, and report imdiately.”

Harry studied the man now—not just with his eyes, but with every instinct he had sharpened across realms. He saw no deceit. Only unease.

“You don’t even know the accusation,” Harry said flatly.

“No,” the man admitted. “But whatever it is, it has unsettled the court.”

Harry glanced past him, toward the golden spires of Asgard rising in the distance. Even from here, he could feel it—the tension humming through the realm like a drawn bowstring.

“Who are you?” Harry asked at last.

The man placed a hand over his chest. “Vidarr, son of none worth naming. Keeper of the Bifrost in Heimdall’s absence.”

Harry nodded once, committing the na to mory. Then his gaze moved to the won.

“And them?”

Vidarr’s lips twitched faintly. “Insurance.”

One of the won smirked. “We were told to stop anyone tried to break the Bifrost.”

Harry almost smiled.

“I have no intention of doing that,” he said. “Not today.”

Relief flickered across Vidarr’s face.

Harry bent, lifting the chest effortlessly. Frost-runes shimred as he straightened.

“I am here to deliver armor to my uncle,” Harry said evenly. “And to speak with my family.”

Vidarr inclined his head. “You will find the palace… restless.”

“I already know,” Harry replied quietly.

Harry had barely crossed the threshold of the palace when familiar arms wrapped around him with surprising strength.

“There you are,” Queen Frigga said, her voice warm but edged with unmistakable relief. “Do you have any idea how loudly the palace sighs when you return unannounced?”

Harry smiled despite the tension coiled inside him. “I thought I’d surprise everyone.”

“You always do,” she replied, drawing back just enough to cup his face in her hands, studying him as if to ensure he was whole. “Thinner. You forget to eat when you work.”

“I eat,” Harry protested mildly.

Frigga snorted. “You exist on purpose and stubbornness.”

Before he could argue further, she seized his wrist with gentle insistence and began towing him through the golden corridors. Servants bowed and smiled as they passed; whispers followed in their wake. News truly did travel fast in Asgard.

“Grandmother—” Harry began.

“No argunts,” Frigga said firmly. “You will eat first. Politics can wait an hour. Even Odin eats before he declares war.”

That earned a small, strained laugh from Harry.

The dining hall doors opened wide, revealing a table already groaning under the weight of Asgardian fare. Roasted boar glazed in honeyed spices, platters of river fish wrapped in herbs, golden bread still steaming, bowls of fruit that glimred faintly with magic, and pitchers of deep red ad that caught the light like liquid rubies.

Harry blinked. “You planned this.”

“I always do,” Frigga said serenely, guiding him to a seat at her right hand. “Sit.”

Servants moved at once, filling his plate before he could protest. Frigga watched with visible satisfaction as Harry finally took a bite.

“Better,” she said. “Now. Tell why you have co back so soon.”

Harry chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “I finished Uncle Loki’s armor.”

Frigga’s brows rose. “Already?”

“It needed to be done properly,” Harry replied. “Ice-compatible enchantnts take ti, but I managed.”

“And?” she asked, already wary.

“And I intend to deliver it to him. In Jotunheim.”

The warmth in the room cooled several degrees.

Frigga set her goblet down with careful precision. “Absolutely not.”

Harry sighed inwardly. “Grandmother—”

“Loki has just taken the throne,” she cut in. “His realm is unstable. The Frost Giants are watching him for weakness, for failure. Jotunheim is not a place for guests right now—especially not one of Odin’s blood.”

“I won’t be a guest,” Harry said calmly. “I’ll be a smith delivering a commission.”

Frigga gave him a look that suggested she had once been young and reckless herself—and survived it long enough to regret it. “You are many things, my dear. Subtle is not one of them.”

Harry allowed that point to pass. He took another bite, then looked up at her more seriously.

“Grandmother… what happened with Aunt Hela?”

The na fell into the space between them like a shard of ice.

Frigga’s fingers tightened around the stem of her goblet. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to him.

“Who told you?” she asked quietly.

“The Bifrost gatekeeper,” Harry replied without hesitation. “Heimdall isn’t at his post. He’s searching for her.”

Frigga inhaled sharply. “So Odin has already set the hounds loose.”

Harry kept his expression neutral. “I need to understand why he’s hunting her.”

Frigga studied him for a long mont, weighing what to say—and what not to.

“You are asking questions that can burn worlds,” she said at last.

“I know,” Harry replied softly. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

The queen leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the high windows where Asgard’s eternal sky glowed gold.

“What I know,” she said slowly, “is very little.”

Harry frowned. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It doesn’t,” Frigga agreed. “Which is why I am concerned.”

She folded her hands atop the table. “There is a weapon. One that has been hidden for a very long ti.”

Harry felt his attention sharpen instantly. “Hidden where?”

“In Vanaheim,” Frigga said. “Locked away, warded by layers of magic older than the current order of realms.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “And now it’s stolen?.”

Frigga nodded. “Yes.”

“When did grandfather notice?” Harry asked.

“When Hela was in Vanaheim,” she replied. “Not imdiately.”

Harry leaned forward slightly. “Do you know what it is?”

“No,” Frigga admitted. “Only Odin does. Whatever it is, it was deed dangerous enough to be removed from Asgard entirely and hidden in another realm.”

“And Grandfather believes Hela took it.”

“Yes.”

Harry exhaled slowly. “Believes—or knows?”

Frigga’s lips pressed together. “That is the question, isn’t it?”

Silence stretched between them.

“Hela has always sought power,” Frigga said carefully. “She is not subtle about her desires.”

“She’s also not a liar,” Harry countered. “Not when it matters.Odin only realized the weapon was missing after Hela stayed in Vanaheim,”

“But not proof,” Harry said.

“No,” Frigga agreed. “Not proof.”

Harry pushed his plate aside, no longer hungry. “If grandfather is wrong—”

“Then he risks repeating the sa mistake,” Frigga finished quietly.

They both knew which mistake she ant.

Harry stood slowly. “I need to speak with grandfather.”

Frigga reached out, catching his hand. “Be careful, my heart. Whatever this weapon is, Odin believes Hela will use it to devastate the realms.”

“And I believe,” Harry said gently, “that soone wants everyone to think exactly that.”

Frigga looked up at him, eyes sharp despite her worry.

“Then tread carefully,” she said. “Because if you are right… this is not just about Hela.”

Harry nodded once.

Harry had barely finished leaving the dining hall when the palace itself seed to shift.

It was subtle—so subtle that only soone attuned to Asgard the way Harry was would have noticed. The golden light filtering through the high windows brightened, then steadied. The air grew heavier, older, saturated with authority.

Odin had returned.

Harry slowed his steps, then stopped altogether as the massive doors at the far end of the corridor opened. The Allfather strode through them with Gungnir in hand, his cloak marked with faint traces of frost and ash. Whatever path he had walked in search of Hela had not been a peaceful one.

Their arrivals had coincided too perfectly to be chance.

For a heartbeat, Odin simply stared at Harry.

Then his stern expression broke into sothing warr—sothing dangerously rare.

“You returned,” Odin said, his voice echoing softly through the hall. “And you brought the armor.”

Harry inclined his head. “I finished it as promised uncle Loki.”

Odin’s single eye flicked to the reinforced chest at Harry’s side, runes glowing faintly through the tal seams. Approval flickered across the Allfather’s face.

“Good,” he said. “Very good.”

Servants withdrew silently, sensing the gravity of what was about to be discussed. Odin gestured with Gungnir, and the doors sealed behind them with a resonant thrum. Wards flared briefly—privacy, silence, truth-binding.

Only then did Odin’s expression harden again.

“You ca at the right ti,” he said. “I was preparing to leave.”

Harry frowned. “Leave? You just returned.”

Odin turned, beginning to pace the length of the chamber. “Jotunheim.”

Harry stiffened. “You think Hela is hiding with Loki.”

“I think,” Odin replied carefully, “that if she wished to vanish from sight, she would choose the one place I cannot openly scrutinize without raising suspicion.”

Harry exhaled slowly. “And the armor is your excuse.”

Odin stopped pacing and turned back toward him, studying him intently.

“You learn quickly,” the Allfather said. “Yes. A father delivering a gift to his son’s new throne is unremarkable.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “So you are after sothing.”

Odin’s grip on Gungnir tightened, the ancient spear humming faintly in response.

“You must have asked your grandmother what Hela had done,” Odin said. “Now you ask .”

Harry t his gaze squarely. “I won’t accept accuse anyone without proof.”

For a long mont, Odin said nothing. Then he raised his spear and struck its butt once against the floor.

The chamber darkened.

The walls shimred—and history unfolded around them.

They stood no longer in Asgard’s palace, but upon a scorched battlefield beneath a dying sky. Towers of obsidian lay shattered. Black ships burned as they fell from the heavens. The air itself scread with dying magic.

“The Dark Elves,” Odin said quietly. “And their king.”

A figure erged from the smoke—tall, pale, eyes burning with ancient malice.

“Malekith,” Harry murmured.

Odin nodded. “Long before my reign. Before yours. Before Asgard believed itself eternal.”

The vision shifted.

Another figure now stood at the center of the storm—a warrior crowned in battle-worn gold, wielding a weapon that seed to unmake reality wherever it passed.

“My father,” Odin said. “Bor.”

Harry watched as Bor clashed with Malekith, their battle tearing open the fabric of the realm itself. Shadows warped, light bent inward, entire legions were erased with a single gesture.

“What is that weapon?” Harry asked, though sothing in him already knew the answer.

Odin’s voice dropped.

“The Aether.”

The na itself felt wrong—ancient, heavy, hungry.

“It is not a weapon in the conventional sense,” Odin continued. “It is a force. A primal substance older than the Nine Realms. It bends reality, matter, life itself to the will of its wielder.”

The vision showed Bor tearing the Aether from Malekith, sealing it within a lattice of runes and sacrifice so vast that the Dark Elves’ empire collapsed in its wake.

“He could not destroy it,” Odin said. “No one could. So he buried it.”

The battlefield dissolved.

They now stood in a lush, ancient forest—Vanaheim as it had once been, untouched by centuries of trade and politics. Bor plunged the sealed Aether deep into the earth, layering it with wards drawn from every realm, binding it to cycles of life and rebirth so it would slumber, unseen, unfelt.

“He told no one,” Odin said quietly. “Not even . I learned of it only after his death.”

Harry looked at him sharply. “And you kept it hidden.”

“I had to,” Odin said. “The Aether cannot be controlled. Its presence alone would corrupt people. It feeds on ambition, grief, rage.”

The vision vanished.

The palace returned.

Harry swallowed. “And now it’s gone.”

Odin nodded grimly. “The wards were intact. No sign of brute force. No rupture. Only absence.”

Harry’s voice was steady, but his thoughts churned. “And Aunt Hela was in Vanaheim when you discovered this.”

“Yes.”

“But that’s not proof,” Harry said. “It’s coincidence.”

Odin’s gaze sharpened. “Hela was Bor’s general. She fought in those wars. She knew of the Aether.”

“Did she know where it was hidden?”

Odin hesitated.

“That,” he admitted, “I do not know.”

Harry stepped forward. “Then you’re hunting her on suspicion alone.”

“I am hunting a possibility,” Odin replied. “One I cannot afford to ignore.”

Harry’s hands clenched at his sides. “Grandfather, if the Aether has resurfaced, then this isn’t just about Hela. Soone else could already have it.”

Odin’s expression darkened. “That is why I must retrieve it first.”

“And if Hela doesn’t have it?”

“Then she will help find who does,” Odin said coldly

“This power,” Harry said slowly, “could dominate realms. Rewrite worlds.”

“Yes,” Odin replied. “Which is why I will not allow it to fall into anyone’s hands.”

Harry t his gaze, unwavering.

“Not even yours?” he asked.

For the first ti, Odin looked… uncertain.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with ancient wars and future ones yet to co.

At last, Odin spoke.

“You are Bor’s blood,” he said. “And mine. When I ask you to trust in this, I do not ask lightly.”

Harry nodded once. “Then trust as well.”

Odin studied him for a long mont, then gave a single, solemn nod.

“I will deliver the armor to Loki,” Odin said.

“And Hela?” Harry asked.

Odin’s voice was quiet now—dangerously so.

“If she has the Aether,” he said, “I will stop her.”

Harry felt the weight of the Nine Realms settle squarely on his shoulders.

Author's Note:

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