The Asgardian sky was covered in thick clouds, but an orange light escaped through the gaps, reflecting on the damp stone streets. The smell of iron, coal, and oil hung in the air—a scent that, for many, was unpleasant, but for Strax, it sounded almost nostalgic.
He walked unhurriedly, hands in his pockets, his black cloak swaying gently in the wind. The people greeted him as he passed—some with respect, others with curiosity, and a few with a strange kind of silent reverence. Asgard was reborn, and even though many still remembered the chaos he had caused, no one could deny that under his command the city prospered like never before.
"Funny," he murmured to himself, with a half-smile. "I destroyed half of this, and now I'm the man who makes everything flourish."
The irony amused him.
The path led him to one of the oldest parts of the city—the old artisans' district. There, among the renovated houses and new establishments, a building marked by time still stood: Kaelen's forge.
