Chapter 10: Ragnarok Protocol – The Firstborn, The Prophecy, and a New Family Plan.
[ASGARD ROYAL BEDCHAMBERS – DAY]
The obsidian slate felt heavy and cold in my hands—a small, dark counterpoint to all the gold and sunshine of Asgard.
"Ragnarok starts when Odin dies," Loki repeated, leaning over my shoulder. He'd tracked me immediately after the vault discovery, his demeanor stripped of its usual theatrics. "We always knew that was the prophecy. What we didn't know was why."
"Hela," I whispered, tracing the ancient, jagged runes. "The All-Father didn't just have two sons, he had a daughter. His firstborn. The Goddess of Death."
Thor, who had finally caught up, strode in, his face etched with confusion and a profound sense of having missed something vital (besides breakfast). "Hela? Mother, who is Hela? Is she one of the Dark Elves Loki decorated?"
Loki gave a rare, genuine snort of disbelief. "No, brother. She's the reason Father is obsessed with 'peace' and 'structure.' She was his executioner, banished and locked away when her ambitions grew too large.
She's stronger than both of us combined."
I nodded, gripping the slate. This was it. The real plot: Thor: Ragnarok. "She was sealed away, not destroyed. And the prison's power is tied directly to Odin's life force."
"So, what's the plan?" Thor asked, his usual eagerness replaced by solemn duty. "Do we storm her prison now and have a 'family bonding' session with my super-murderous older sister?"
"No," I said, rising. "We don't know where she is, and we don't have the key. Our plan has two new steps, both requiring the full cooperation of the All-Father. And this time, it's not a suggestion—it's a marital demand."
The Marital Demand
Odin found me in the throne room, which was blessedly empty save for a few confused Dark Elf interns arguing over curtain tassels. He was stern, having clearly been informed about the unauthorized vault entry.
"You trespassed," he stated, his single eye blazing with displeasure. "You went against my direct orders, and you exposed a secret that could shatter the nine realms."
I walked straight up to him, the obsidian slate held out like a warrant. "You hid the truth, Odin. You built your kingdom on a lie, and that lie is guaranteed to get you killed and the entire realm destroyed. That's not a king's burden—it's a massive, predictable, colossal strategic failure."
His anger faltered, replaced by a deep-seated weariness. "You cannot understand the price of power, Frigga."
"I understand the price of my life," I countered. "And the price of my sons'. We've already faced down one existential threat thanks to teamwork and honesty. I propose we try it again."
I slammed the slate onto the throne's armrest. "Two demands, Odin. Accept them, or this relationship is over, and your kingdom dies on the canonical timeline."
Hela's Location: "You will tell me precisely where Hela is imprisoned and what the failsafe is. I need to visit her prison and understand the magical constraints."
Surtur's Flame: "You will tell me where the Eternal Flame that resurrects Surtur is hidden. We need to secure it now. Ragnarok is not just Hela; it's the fire demon, too."
Odin stared at the slate, then at me. I could see the battle between his ancient, secretive nature and the profound respect he'd developed for the "new" Frigga.
"And if I refuse?" he asked, his voice low.
"Then I will tell Thor and Loki the whole truth," I replied, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "And they will side with the mother who trusts them, over the father who lies to them. You choose: Chaos without the bomb, or Chaos with an inevitable detonation."
A long, agonizing silence followed, broken only by the faint sounds of the elves debating trim down the hall. Finally, Odin closed his eye and sighed—a sound like the shifting of mountains.
"The location of her prison is… complicated," he conceded. "But you are right. This time, we face it together."
Securing the Failsafe
Hours later, the four of us—Odin, Thor, Loki, and myself—were huddled in Odin's private library, a place so old the air felt weighted with dust and secrets.
"Hela's prison," Odin revealed, pointing to a star chart. "It's on a secluded corner of the universe, sustained by an energy signature that mimics life. It cannot be entered easily."
"A pocket dimension?" I mused, pulling up a holographic projection of the star map.
"Sounds like the perfect place for a queen with accidental magic to visit."
"Absolutely not," Odin thundered.
"Absolutely yes," I countered with a smile. "Remember Clause Four: Improvised magic is potent."
Loki, ever helpful, chimed in, "I can create an illusion of Mother remaining here, while her true self slips away. No one need know."
Thor looked horrified. "Mother, you cannot face the Goddess of Death! She is the one destined to crush Mjolnir!"
I paused, looking at my two sons. This was the key moment, the emotional leverage. "She will only crush it if you haven't learned to be a ruler without it, Thor. And if we haven't learned to trust each other, Loki."
I turned to Odin. "Now, the Eternal Flame. Where is it?"
Odin pointed to a different chart. "It rests on Muspelheim, the realm of fire. Inside the skull of Surtur's predecessor. An impossible journey."
"Impossible is just a challenge with good logistics," I declared. "Loki, you are our master of strategy and mischief. Thor, you are our aggressive competence. We need a way to go to Muspelheim, retrieve the Flame, and bring it back without causing a cosmic incident. And we need to do it without alerting the wider Asgardian army."
Loki's eyes lit up, the serious mask dropping away as the opportunity for extreme mischief arose. "Muspelheim… very dramatic. I can disguise us as a diplomatic mission to negotiate better thermal drapes."
Thor slapped his knee, roaring with laughter. "Brilliant! Thermal drapes! We go to the realm of fire for home décor!"
I managed to suppress my own giggles. "Perfect. While the boys handle the 'thermal drapes' mission, Odin and I will prepare for my little visit to Hela's vacation spot."
Odin watched the chaos and the planning unfold. He didn't look angry; he looked fifty years younger, invigorated by a threat that was finally being faced honestly.
"So, Ragnarok," I said, gathering the charts. "We approach it with glitter, a fake diplomatic treaty, and one very determined Japanese teenager inside a goddess body."
I looked at my chaotic, wonderful new family.
"This is going to be the most stylish apocalypse ever."
To Be Continued…