"What could an alliance with Earth possibly offer Asgard?"
Amid the roaring laughter inside the golden halls of Asgard, someone casually threw out the question. It was clearly meant as a joke, a snide remark from one of the high-ranking Asgardians who thought Earth far beneath them.
Yet Joseph, standing tall among them, responded without a hint of sarcasm: "A place to live. When the time comes, and the people of Asgard need it, Earth can offer sanctuary, a new home under your leadership."
The laughter intensified.
But Odin's pupils constricted sharply.
Suddenly, all sounds vanished.
The bustling court disappeared. The guards standing outside faded into nothingness. Even the radiant skies and golden towers of Asgard blinked away.
In the blink of an eye, only two figures remained in the vast, glowing chamber: Joseph and Odin.
The round conference table loomed large between them, but the weight in the room was not physical—it was the immeasurable pressure of divine power.
"The divine might of the God-King truly is astonishing," Joseph said with a calm smile. He wasn't startled. Not even a little.
"It seems the God Lord has sensed our sincerity," he added respectfully.
Odin leaned forward in his throne, his gaze sharp enough to pierce the soul.
"A habitat?" he asked. Or rather, he pronounced it as a judgment. His voice echoed like thunder across the vastness of the universe—mighty, mystical, and soul-shaking.
Joseph met his gaze and nodded. "Yes, a habitat. Or to be exact, a refuge. A place where Asgardians might still thrive after Ragnarök."
That name twisted Odin's expression.
In this isolated space, where illusions held no sway, the God-King didn't bother to hide his emotions.
"So the Ancient One told you," he murmured, almost to himself.
Ragnarök.
The word alone had tormented him for ages. The prophecy of the end, whispered through time and fate, was like a permanent wound in his heart. And now Earth—someone from Earth—knew of it.
Of course, Odin could only think of one person who might have whispered such secrets: the Ancient One.
That magician from Kamar-Taj, who sent a representative named Grant King, must have only been a cover. Joseph, clearly, was the true messenger.
Odin was sure of it.
Yet Joseph merely shook his head, amused. "Why? Can't I have discovered it on my own? I, too, am a magician with prophetic insight."
Odin sneered slightly. "You? Then tell me, prophet—what do your visions show? What force brings Ragnarök? What calamity could destroy Asgard, realm of the gods, ruler of the Nine Realms?"
Joseph didn't take offense. Instead, he chuckled softly, reclined a bit in his seat, and casually raised a single finger.
"Many things," he said. "For example, centuries ago, the former King Bor led the armies of the Nine Realms and defeated the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim. The war ended in victory. But their leader, Malekith... did not die."
Odin's eyes narrowed to slits.
"Malekith," he echoed, voice tinged with unease. The name hadn't been uttered in eons.
"A defeated general hiding in shadows," Odin muttered. "He has no army, no realm. Should he appear, I would destroy him with a single blow."
There was no arrogance in his tone—only the firm belief of a god.
"I don't doubt it," Joseph nodded. "But... what if Malekith recovers the Aether—the Reality Stone?"
That froze Odin in place.
"The Aether?"
"Yes."
Joseph lifted another finger.
"Malekith may be weakened. The Dark Elves are a shadow of their former might. But the Aether is no trivial matter. Even in his current state, Malekith armed with the Aether could cause tremendous devastation."
Odin was silent.
Joseph leaned forward, voice dropping lower. "Now consider someone else: Surtr."
At the mention of the name, Odin's body stiffened.
Surtr—the Fire Giant of Muspelheim. A being of colossal power. Odin had once defeated him and taken the Eternal Flame, imprisoning him deep within his own fiery realm.
"Without the Eternal Flame, he's nothing more than ash," Odin said flatly. "His remaining power could barely roast a pig."
Joseph smiled politely. "And yet, the Eternal Flame resides in your vault, does it not? And should Surtr reclaim it, he could be reborn. A being of flame and vengeance. The instrument of Ragnarök."
Odin didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
"Shall we go on?" Joseph asked gently, lifting a third finger. "What of Thanos?"
Odin scoffed. "Thanos is a phantom. The Chitauri invasion of Earth was nothing but a test. He hides, while Earth is guarded by Evelyn Shaw... and I still lead the Nine Realms."
His voice rang with disdain. "Thanos dares not even show himself. He cannot threaten Asgard."
Joseph accepted the dismissal. "Makes sense," he said.
Then, after a brief pause, he added, "What about Hela?"
Odin froze.
The silence that followed was heavy.
For the first time, the proud God-King didn't have a ready answer.
His face remained stern, but Joseph caught the minute twitch in his expression—the tremble at the corner of his eye. A flicker of fear.
That was enough.
Joseph's smile widened.
He had found it. The crack in the divine armor.
A terrifying suspicion formed in his mind. Perhaps Odin, mighty as he was, could no longer wield his divine might as he once did.
Perhaps the cost of keeping Hela sealed was draining the last of his strength.
Each day, as his body withered, that burden grew heavier.
And once it became too great...
The seal would break.
And Hela would return.
The goddess of death.
The firstborn of Odin.
The true herald of Ragnarök.
A shadow hung over Odin now. A shadow he could no longer dismiss, no longer seal away with brute power.
And Joseph had confirmed it.
He leaned back calmly, the game of prophecy complete.
The cracks were visible.
Asgard, glorious and ancient, stood at the edge.
And Earth might just be its only chance at survival.
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