The light swallowed him whole.
Jacob stumbled forward, boots skidding across smooth stone as a rainbow bridge stretched beneath his feet. Energy hummed under his soles, singing like a thousand harps strung together, and when his eyes adjusted, the world opened before him.
Asgard.
Golden towers spiraled toward the heavens, their tips gleaming like suns. Banners the size of city blocks swayed in winds that smelled faintly of thunder and mead. Armored warriors trained in courtyards of marble, their laughter carrying like music. The city was alive, vibrant, steeped in glory.
Jacob exhaled a low whistle. "Well, damn. Better than New York."
Beside him, Thor grinned wide, clasping Jacob's shoulder with a strength that nearly shattered bone. "Welcome, young warrior! To be invited to Asgard is no small matter. Mortals spend lifetimes dreaming of such an honor. You? You've earned it."
Jacob smiled, playing it casual. "Guess I'll try not to trip over myself then."
Tony Stark, who had been dragged along in the Bifrost's torrent, brushed soot off his suit jacket. "Kid, if you faceplant in front of Odin, I'm disowning you. And I'm not even your dad."
They marched through the great hall, banners rippling overhead, warriors and shieldmaidens pausing to watch the newcomers. Whispers trailed after them: the Midgardian youth with golden hair, the one whispered to have bested monsters with a mere slap.
Prometheus' foresight stirred in Jacob's mind, whispering cues: Laugh here. Nod there. Grip the forearm, not the hand. They are Vikings at heart—warriors first, poets second.
By the time Thor threw open the doors to the feasting hall, Jacob already moved like he'd been there before.
The hall was thunder itself. Tables groaned under roasted boar, river trout, flagons the size of bathtubs. Warriors shouted toasts across the room, slamming mugs together until mead foamed over the edges.
Thor shoved a mug into Jacob's hand. "Drink, lad! Tonight, you are one of us!"
A bearded warrior squinted at him. "How old are you, Midgardian? You look hardly past the age of a squire."
Jacob didn't miss a beat. "Twenty. Legal in Ireland. And this ain't America."
The hall roared with laughter. Tony muttered under his breath, "That's not how law works."
Jacob raised the mug, tried a swig—then coughed violently, mead spraying down his chin. Thor slapped his back with a laugh that rattled the table.
"A light drinker!" Thor bellowed. "We'll make a man of you yet!"
But something shifted. The warmth of the mead, the roar of voices, the weight of expectations—it cracked something open. Gamma Jack's boldness surged forward, bleeding past Prometheus' guiding whispers.
Soon Jacob was slamming his mug down, eyes gleaming, leaning across the table at Thor.
"You think you're the only one with thunder in your veins?" Jacob growled, cheeks flushed. "I've got gamma fire burning through mine. Stronger. Brighter."
The hall went quiet.
Thor's grin widened dangerously. "Careful, boy. That tongue of yours is bold."
Jacob shoved back his chair, standing. "Then prove me wrong, Goldilocks."
The table nearly toppled as Thor rose too, their faces inches apart, sparks crackling in the air. Warriors held their breath, excitement trembling in the silence.
But before it could erupt, Tony wedged himself between them, hands on their chests.
"Alright, knock it off, both of you. I came here to drink, not watch a kid get flattened like a soda can." He shoved Jacob back, ignoring the boy's protests. "Bed. Now. Before you try to arm wrestle a thunder god."
Grumbling, Jacob let himself be herded away, still glaring at Thor as if daring him to follow.
Thor only laughed, booming across the hall. "Tomorrow, perhaps! Let him rest his mortal bones tonight."
The chamber was quiet, moonlight spilling across the floor. Tony tossed Jacob onto a massive bed, muttering about babysitting demigods as the boy passed out instantly, golden hair splayed like fire across the sheets.
The door clicked. Silence stretched.
Then, a shadow moved.
Odin All-Father stepped into the room, Frigga at his side, her hands folded, her eyes calm yet sharp. The old king's gaze lingered on the sleeping boy, the rise and fall of his chest.
"He hides something," Frigga whispered. "Not just power. A thread of destiny tangled in him. I sense… godhood, buried deep."
Odin's one eye gleamed. He remembered the whisper of the Tree. The day Heimdall peered where he shouldn't, only to be blocked by a mortal hurling a branch as if it were a spear. That was no accident. No coincidence.
"No," Odin murmured. "This one is no mistake. He did not merely stumble into our world. He was meant to."
Frigga's lips curved in a soft, knowing smile. "And with that much power, he will need a teacher. Or he will become the very warning he spoke of."
Odin's beard bristled as he chuckled low. "Then let Thor have his spar. The boy will learn. Tomorrow, Midgard shall tremble when the two meet in the ring."
Frigga's hand brushed Odin's arm, her voice like velvet. "Let us hope he learns to rise, not to fall."
The All-Father gave one last glance at the sleeping Jacob, who shifted in his dreams, murmuring something about pancakes and prophecy. Then Odin turned away, his cloak whispering against the stone.
In that silence, the truth was clear.
Jacob's coming into this world wasn't an accident. It wasn't chance.
It was destiny.
The same way Gwenpool had broken the walls of fiction to walk among heroes, Jacob—Gamma Jack—was a ripple of fate, an intruder with purpose. A question written into the marrow of the universe: What happens when someone who knows too much is given the power to act?
Tomorrow, the world might find out.