The Dark Elves, long thought annihilated by the armies of the God-King Bor, had reawakened. While Asgard celebrated that ancient war as a testament to Bor's might, the true ruler of the Dark Elf kingdom stirred from a long and bitter slumber.
With his stark white hair, grayish skin, and pointed ears, Malekith, King of the Dark Elves, was a being far more ancient than the Asgardians. He stepped onto the blighted soil of his homeland, his gaze fixed on a perpetually gray sky where the light never fully faded. His face was a mask of resentment, a bitter memory of his long-ago defeat.
"This is my legacy, Algrim," he said, his voice a low rasp. The once-mighty Dark Elf kingdom was now nothing more than ruins, the darkness they cherished sullied by the persistent encroachment of light. The black soil of Vanaheim was forever mingled with the flesh and blood of his people. Beside him, the loyal Dark Elf Algrim stood silent and attentive.
"I had almost forgotten the days without light," Malekith mused. The Dark Elves were so named for their worship of the void, their love for the absolute darkness that had once spread across the Nine Realms under their rule.
"Our revival is your greatest legacy," Algrim replied, his voice firm.
Malekith clenched a fistful of dark earth. He would never forget the humiliation of the Asgardians invading his world, dragging him from his throne. He would never forget that it was they who had shattered the perfect darkness of his people.
"The suffering we have endured, Asgard must repay tenfold!" Malekith snarled, his face contorting with fury. "I will reclaim the Aether! I will restore my world! I will bring an end to this corrupted universe!"
After his outburst, Malekith composed himself. They had slept for far too long. If not for the Convergence revealing the Aether's presence, their slumber might have been eternal. His immediate priority was to retrieve the powerful substance. As its former wielder, he could sense its location.
He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses, and then they snapped open. "Besides us, other elves have come to this world." Malekith looked at Algrim. "You sensed it too, did you not, Algrim? Elves different from us. I sense them... they are in pursuit, and the White Wolf is watching."
Other elves, distinct from the Dark Elves.
"Perhaps they are not enemies," Algrim suggested.
Malekith looked up as spectral figures on skeletal steeds materialized in the sky, ghost-like and silent. "But I do not like to share my world with others," he snorted. These beings rode across the skies of Vanaheim, another sign that during this Convergence, creatures not of this universe had begun to appear.
Malekith did not engage them. As the King of the Dark Elves, he was wary of this unknown group who shared a similar name.
"Algrim, we have our own methods," he said, turning away with his loyal follower. He would use his own power to plunge the universe back into darkness.
Algrim understood his own fate, yet he remained resolute. In the eyes of the Dark Elves, Malekith was justice, not the Asgardians who had destroyed their home. His destiny would be a curse, a sacrifice he would willingly make, pushed into the abyss by his king's own hand to become the sharp blade for the restoration of his people.
John stood cloaked in his wizard's robe. He had arrived in Asgard at night, and after a night's work, he had successfully extracted the Aether from Jane Foster's body. Thor was now seeking a way to contain the volatile substance, while a third of its power rested on John's own fingertips. He could feel its power, so similar to a wizard's own abilities—the power to alter reality.
He glanced at the ring on his finger. He carried three "finite gems" yet felt no physical discomfort, a fact that differed from what he recalled of their nature. Of course, this might be because John's gems were, in a sense, fakes. He had considered taking the genuine articles, but the risk was too great. Beyond the question of whether he could even handle their power, there was the certainty that some heroes would cease to exist if he did. He had a pact with the Ancient One to protect this world from external threats. If he took the Infinity Stones, never mind Thanos, even the Ancient One wouldn't stand idly by.
The person in this world most resistant to changing the future was the Ancient One. With her limited foresight, she was committed to ensuring the birth of a new Sorcerer Supreme. John's thoughts drifted.
"Respected Wizard King."
A voice interrupted his planning. He looked over to see a gorgeously dressed woman dismiss her handmaidens and approach him, offering a graceful bow.
"Child of a witch," John said with a slight smile. "How did you know?"
"I am not my son, Thor," the intelligent woman replied, shaking her head with a smile of her own. Her gaze held a deep respect for him. "Only a Wizard King could possess such powerful magic."
It was likely only the foolishly earnest Thor who had not realized the man before him was the very Wizard King he had been told to seek. As someone raised by witches, Queen Frigga was a witch herself. To be able to extract the Aether was an incredible feat, whether in Asgard or on Midgard.
"You are very clever," John said, turning to face her fully. "And you possess impressive magic yourself."
"I have always been able to sense your presence," Frigga said, her wisdom evident in her measured words. "I had a dream about the Wizard King's arrival."
"It seems the witches who raised you were very powerful," John remarked, surprised. "You have the gift of a prophet."
"I dreamt that this world would fall into chaos," Frigga confessed, her face clouded with worry. "My children will be in danger."
"Your children?" John's expression remained calm. "Thor, Loki, or... the other one?"
Frigga was startled. She tried to read something in his face, but it was an unreadable mask. Few in all of Asgard knew of her other child. How could the Wizard King know?
Frigga quickly composed herself and, with some hesitation, shook her head. "I only know that danger is approaching."
John stepped closer, his deep eyes gazing into hers. "The Wizard King will protect wizards, and that includes the children of wizards."
"And Asgard?" Frigga asked.
John shook his head slightly. "You should trust your husband."
Danger? A danger that could kill Odin? John smiled faintly. He turned to look out at Asgard in the daylight. It was a world apart from the bustling cities of Earth, with its unique attire, crystal-clear waters, and brave warriors. But it wasn't enough. They had grown complacent, secure in their long peace, perhaps too reliant on the strength of their king.
Frigga bowed silently behind him and then retreated.
John saw Thor and Jane, now free from the Aether's grasp, holding hands by the riverbank. "Truly a happy ending," he remarked to himself, his thoughts returning to Frigga's dream.
In truth, John was a prophet himself, though he was reluctant to use that power. It functioned more like an ability of cause and effect; once a prophecy was made, all efforts would inevitably be drawn toward that outcome.
Knowing the answer in advance meant you were destined to reach it. If the Ancient One's foresight was like peeking into the future, a prophet's declaration was like stamping it with a steel seal, fixing a single path—the law of causality.
Even a being as powerful as the Dark Lord, who had escaped death multiple times, was ultimately destined to die at the hands of the boy born at the end of July. It was for this reason that John avoided using his prophetic power whenever possible.
[Chapter Complete]
***
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