Snow fell in slow, crystalline spirals—a gentle contrast to the ruin that stretched across the horizon.
For the first time in many years, Odin and Loki stood side by side without bickering, without provocation, without even a shared glare. The two Asgardian royals—so different in temperament, so often in conflict—looked utterly stunned.
Before them lay the once-immortal stronghold of the Frost Giants.
The Palace of Yngvi, seat of ice-monarchs for countless ages, carved from glacier walls, enchanted with runic frost, protected by titanic guardians…
Now it looked like a bottle smashed upon a stone.
Its pillars were cracked and broken.
Its walls had collapsed inward.
Massive chunks of thick ice were melted through—leaving glass-smooth holes where Wanda's red chaos-fire had burned clean.
The palace hadn't fallen.
It had been bowed beneath a force far beyond the Frost Giants' reckoning.
Thor whistled under his breath, stunned speechless.
Loki's voice emerged first, soft and disbelieving.
"By the Norns… she did all this alone."
Odin did not speak immediately.
The All-Father stepped forward, boots crunching over fractured ice, the wind tugging his cloak behind him. He stared long and hard at the destruction—at the artistry of the devastation.
Lightning scars burned deep into the ground.
Entire towers had melted like wax.
The once-invincible Ice Gates—reduced to ash.
His brows lifted, his one eye gleaming with something between pride and bruised dignity.
"At last," Odin murmured, "I understand why the boy is unbothered by any of us."
Thor nudged Loki sharply.
"Did you see the way the Frost Giants ran? I swear I've never seen them drop their weapons so fast."
Loki, who normally would have mocked Thor's exaggeration, said quietly, "This is not a woman one provokes."
Odin huffed, half amused, half resentful.
"It seems Harry inherited his mother's talent for ignoring danger."
Thor grinned.
"Or running toward it."
Loki smirked.
"Or starting it."
Despite himself, Odin laughed—short, low, defeated in a kingly sort of way.
"You know," Loki said, leaning close as though sharing a scandalous secret, "she has reshaped the battlefield more efficiently than even Thor's finest storms."
Thor placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "Brother, I'm hurt."
Odin's expression sobered as he turned back to the ruins.
"Wanda Black," he said quietly, "has changed the tide of this war."
He did not like admitting it.
Every syllable mildly bruised his pride.
But he spoke the truth.
Before she arrived, the Frost Giants had rallied allies from savage tribes, rogue mercenaries, and remnants of ancient enemies who still bore grudges against Asgard. Their numbers were far too great; their ambush tactics brutal; their territories endless stretches of unforgiving cold.
Even with Thor and Loki leading separate fronts, Asgard had been struggling.
But then Wanda came.
And the battlefield had changed.
In a single night.
With her arrival, Asgard no longer fought for survival—they dominated.
Loki folded his arms, surveying the slaughter.
"After this… I doubt the Frost Giants will ever attempt a frontal battle again."
Thor nodded grimly.
"They've already abandoned their capital. Their armies retreat further north every day. They will return… but only to negotiate."
Odin exhaled deeply, the frost of his breath swirling in the air.
"And they will come soon. Laufey may be arrogant, but he's no fool. He now understands that Asgard cannot be challenged—not while that woman stands with us."
He paused.
"But I do not take pride in this manner of victory. This war must end quickly."
Loki lifted an eyebrow. "Why the sudden rush, Father?"
Odin's jaw tightened.
"Because Asgard is vulnerable."
Thor frowned. "Vulnerable? Asgard is the golden realm. The palace guards—"
"The palace guards," Odin interrupted sharply, "are all that remain."
The prince froze.
Odin continued, voice dropping:
"Harry commands only the palace defenders. The noble houses refused to send their armies. Some lords are planning coup, others whisper treason, others plot to seize land and influence."
The wind howled. Thor's stomach turned cold.
Loki straightened, sharp-eyed. "Someone is moving behind the scenes."
Odin nodded grimly.
"I must return to Asgard. Immediately. End this war, restore order, and discover which of the nobles dares to conspire under my nose."
He glanced once more at the palace ruins.
"And I must thank the Scarlet Witch—properly. Her intervention saved thousands of our warriors."
Loki snorted.
"Perhaps you should start by not calling her that to her face."
Odin grunted.
"Yes… perhaps."
Thor tapped his hammer against his palm.
"Then we move swiftly. No delays. Laufey will come to us begging terms. And if he does not—then we shall drag him by his beard to the negotiation table."
Loki smirked.
"Ever a diplomat, brother."
Together, the three turned away from the ruined capital. Behind them, the shattered towers glittered beneath the cold sun—silent testimony to Wanda's power and the end of the Frost Giants' pride.
But even as Odin marched toward the Bifrost beacon, his thoughts were not on victory.
They were on Asgard—
on the throne Harry held alone—
and on the dark, hidden hands pushing the realms toward chaos.
"I must return," Odin whispered to himself, "before the true enemy strikes."
The cold of Jotunheim bit at exposed skin like a living thing, sharp and cruel, but Wanda did not shiver. Red mist crackled at her fingertips as she strode across the frozen plains, boots leaving steaming prints on the ice.
Behind her marched two thousand Asgardian warriors, the strongest Odin had been willing to spare. They followed her not out of command, but out of awe—
for in the short days she had fought beside them, Wanda had become a legend.
Entire fortresses had crumbled under her wrath.
Enemies who once feared only Odin's spear now feared her crimson fire.
She moved like an omen.
The warriors followed her like a tide.
And yet…
Despite the terrifying power she wielded, Wanda's mind was not on the frozen land before her.
It was on Harry.
Every night, while the warriors rested, Wanda whispered the mirror call and watched her son's face materialize in shimmering glass. And every night, Harry smiled that stubborn, overly calm smile that both reassured and terrified her.
"I'm fine, Mum. I promise."
Fine.
But behind those eyes, there was exhaustion.
Behind his steady voice, tension.
Wanda felt it.
A mother always does.
And the more Harry tried to reassure her, the more Wanda's instincts screamed.
Her magic trembled with unease.
Now, as she led the army north, her voice was a low whisper the wind carried away:
"Please be safe… Harry."
Wanda had wanted to leave the battlefield the moment she heard about the assassination of the Vanir envoys—
a murder framed on Asgard, a blow struck directly at her son's throne.
Her first instinct had been simple:
Go to him.
Protect him.
Destroy anyone who came near him with ill intent.
But Odin had stopped her.
He had placed his hand on her shoulder and said, with more gentleness than she expected:
"Wanda… if Harry is to become king one day, he must learn to stand alone when shadows gather. You can strike down armies. But he must learn to strike down plots."
She had clenched her fists until red sparks bled from her fingertips.
"But he is my son," she had whispered. "And I know what political daggers can do to a boy who trusts too easily."
Odin's voice had softened further.
"He is strong. You raised him strong. Do not deny him the chance to prove it."
So she had stayed.
Not willingly.
Not happily.
But because Harry needed to grow.
Yet the ache inside her never left.
Ahead, the trail of the fleeing Frost Giants grew clearer—shattered trees frozen mid-fall, patches of trampled snow, footprints too large for any Asgardian to mistake.
A captain rode up to Wanda's side.
"Lady Wanda," he said respectfully, "we are closing upon them. But they scatter into smaller packs in these lands. Jotunheim hides them well."
Wanda's eyes glowed faintly red.
"They cannot hide from me."
She raised her hand—and the chaotic magic unfurled like a red storm.
The ice cracked.
The wind shifted.
The world whispered.
Thousands of flickering visions lanced across the landscape—echoes of the Frost Giants' fleeing steps, illusions of their breaths lingering like ghosts.
Wanda's voice came out cold:
"They ran north. Three leagues. Into the ice caverns beneath the ridge. Their king is with them."
The warriors blinked, stunned.
No tracking spell in Asgard worked like that.
No seer could see through Jotunheim's enchanted frost.
But Wanda was not a seer.
Wanda was chaos incarnate.
She pointed toward the distant ridge.
"Ready your weapons," she commanded. "We finish this."
The warriors roared their approval.
As they marched, Wanda called Harry again through the enchanted mirror at her waist. She whispered his name once.
Twice.
He appeared, sitting in Odin's throne room, surrounded by scrolls.
"Mum? You're still awake?"
Her voice trembled. "Are you safe?"
"Safe enough," he answered, but something in his eyes flickered—
a brief shadow of fear or uncertainty.
It cut through Wanda like a blade.
She wanted to tear open a portal then and there.
But she forced herself still.
"Listen to me," she whispered. "I will come back soon. Until then, trust no one except Sirius. And the palace guards. Understand?"
Harry nodded.
"I understand."
She saw the tension in his jaw.
The way his hand lingered near the throne's armrest.
The way torchlight cast him not as a boy, but as a young king burdened too early.
She swallowed.
"I love you."
He smiled—small, tired.
"I love you too, Mum."
The mirror dimmed.
Wanda turned back toward the ridge—and her magic flared with renewed fury.
If ending this war required turning half of Jotunheim into glass…
She would do it.
Because every moment she spent here,
Harry faced Asgard's vipers alone.
The frozen horizon trembled beneath the weight of marching armies.
Odin walked at the front of the Asgardian host, Gungnir in hand, his armor frostbitten yet gleaming like a burning star against the endless blue-white world. Thor and Loki followed at his sides, flanked by thousands of warriors ready for another clash.
Their boots hammered the tundra.
Their breaths steamed in the cold.
And ahead—looming larger with every step—
the Frost Giant host approached.
Thor frowned deeply, tightening his grip on Mjolnir.
"There," he murmured. "Laufey leads them himself. This will be no small skirmish."
Loki smirked faintly. "If they wish to negotiate, they have an odd way of showing it."
Odin lifted Gungnir high.
"Prepare yourselves," he commanded.
His voice echoed like thunder rolling across the frost.
Asgardian swords hissed out of sheaths.
Shields rose.
The army fanned out in formation, ready to clash.
But then—
When the two armies stood so near they could see the steam of each other's breath—
King Laufey suddenly slammed his massive war-spear into the snow.
The ice cracked under the weight.
The sound carried across the plain like a drumbeat.
He raised both hands into the air—palms open.
A gesture no Frost Giant made lightly.
A gesture rarely seen in any realm.
Surrender.
The Asgardian front line stopped in disbelief.
Thor blinked. "Am I… seeing things?"
Loki, for once, looked genuinely stunned.
"They're surrendering before a strike is thrown."
Odin lowered Gungnir slowly, suspicion tinting his one eye.
"King Laufey!" Odin shouted, voice ringing over the ice. "Why do you lay down arms? Why march here only to kneel?"
Laufey stepped forward, massive footsteps booming like falling boulders.
"We are defeated, Odin All-Father," he said, voice cracking with something between shame and fear. "Jotunheim will fight no more."
The Asgardians murmured, bewildered.
Odin's voice sharpened. "If defeat is accepted, why not remain in your palace? Why come marching to my feet?"
Laufey inhaled deeply.
His breath turned into swirling frost clouds.
"Because," he said, "I do not trust the woman who destroyed my palace."
The battlefield stilled.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
Laufey continued, voice trembling.
"She has power beyond anything we have ever seen. Chaos burns in her veins. She crushed my towers as easily as one crushes ice beneath a boot."
He shook his head, shoulders sagging.
"If I remained in the ruins of my hall, she would have slain me before I could speak my surrender."
Thor muttered under his breath, "That's true."
Loki murmured, "Well, she did vaporize two battalions in a single blast."
Laufey raised his arms higher.
"I have come here because I fear her wrath more than I fear your spear, Odin. I fear that if I gave her any reason—any—that she would wipe my people from this realm entirely."
For a long moment, Odin said nothing.
Then—
A slow, grim smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
"So that is why you march," Odin said. "Not to negotiate. But to surrender before the Scarlet Witch finds you hiding in the ruins."
Laufey nodded once.
And then—
One by one
Two by two
Dozens by dozens—
The Frost Giants knelt.
Entire battalions dropping to one knee, spears cast aside, foreheads bowed to the ice.
The Asgardians erupted into cheers—
weapons raised, voices thundering with triumph.
Thor lifted Mjolnir, roaring in victory.
Loki smirked, understanding now the true reason behind the Frost Giants' fear.
And Odin raised Gungnir high, calling the battlefield to silence.
"This war," Odin declared, "is ended."
And far to the north, where Wanda hunted the last remnants of Laufey's fleeing warriors, her chaos magic flickered—
as though she felt the realm finally bending its knee.
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