**1. Trial by Blade**
The wind howled across the Icelandic cliffs. Stark's SHIELD base overlooked the glacial shelf, dwarfed now by another presence: a woman clad in Asgardian armor, blade drawn and eyes fixed on Jon Snow.
Lady Sif.
The last time Jon faced a warrior with that much command in her gaze, it was Brienne of Tarth. Only Sif stood taller, sharper, infused with divine legacy and cosmic precision.
"You wish to test me?" Jon asked, breath visible in the cold dawn air.
"I wish to understand you," Sif replied, stepping forward. "And Asgardians understand through steel."
She tossed him a blade. An old Asgardian short sword. Lighter than his Longclaw, but alien in its balance.
Jon gripped it naturally.
Thor crossed his arms behind her, his mood unreadable. "She challenged you, wolf. It's dishonor to refuse."
Jon gave a dry grin. "I've never had much honor left to lose."
They circled.
On the sidelines, Natasha leaned against a pillar with Wanda at her side, arms crossed over sumptuous curves wrapped in black and red.
"Think he can take her?" Natasha asked, chewing gum like this was midweek TV.
Wanda's smirk didn't fade. "He'll survive. But something tells me Sif didn't just come to spar."
**Steel clashed.**
Jon moved fast—faster than any midgardian man should. Sif's parries were fluid, precise, rehearsed over millennia. She drove forward, but Jon ducked and redirected, sidestepped, feinted—until they locked blades, eyes staring into one another's soul.
"Your form," she murmured, strained, "it is not taught by Midgard."
"I learned surviving," he growled back.
He spun, kicked through her guard, and sent her tumbling on the icy platform. Rather than rage, she smiled as she stood. The look turned to curiosity... and desire.
"A true warrior," she whispered. Sheathing her blade, she approached.
Jon straightened slowly as she rested a hand on his chestplate.
"I will help you. But I must know you. Flesh, fire, and fury alike."
Wanda rolled her eyes. "Oh no. Not another one."
Natasha chuckled. "You picked a real multi-lord, Witchy."
### **2. The Rebirth of Fire**
That night, something changed.
The skies above the SHIELD compound flickered. Not by storm... but by fire.
An aurora of red and violet flame stretched across the heavens. Tony's satellites went dark for 47 seconds. Thor gripped Mjolnir, tense.
And then—she arrived.
A ripple torn through the veil of reality, a comet of sheer incandescent light striking the Earth's atmosphere before gently flaming down onto the frozen northern sea, turning ice into steam.
Jon awoke with a jolt. His scar throbbed, heart racing. He stumbled through the halls, barefoot, shirtless, glowing runes shifting along his spine.
He reached the deck just as the ice began cracking.
She rose from the sea like a goddess reborn.
**Daenerys Stormborn.**
Her hair had grown longer, glowing with streaks of starlight and fire. Her skin shimmered with Phoenix energy, her eyes a fierce molten violet. Behind her, flaming wings echoed like a mirage.
Everyone froze.
Only Jon stepped forward.
Her gaze turned to him, and time ceased.
"Jon," she whispered, her voice layered with something ancient, celestial.
He reached her. Steam poured from her skin. His fingers trembled to touch her. And when they met—
—they both staggered.
Visions flooded his mind: her death, her scream, her rise in flame amid stars, the Phoenix burning away mortality, choosing her as host.
She pulled him close, forehead to his. "I loved you," she breathed. "Even in death."
Jon swallowed. "I killed you."
"You freed me."
And then their lips crashed.
The kiss was electric—cold lips igniting into hunger, desperation, and sacred forgiveness. When he pulled back, she was glowing brighter.
"I don't know what's happening," he murmured. "But I'll never leave you again."
### **3. The Night Between Three**
Later, in the luxurious private suite Wanda had custom-altered for magical shielding, Jon stood alone by the fire, bare chested, processing.
Daenerys emerged from a conjured steambath, radiating sensuality in near-transparent white silk. Wanda, wearing only deep crimson satin, sat curled on a chaise beside glowing runes. Their presence fused the room with both cosmic fire *and* chaos magic.
He looked between them.
Wanda read him like a book. "We'll find a way, Jon," she said softly. "To keep her. To keep you both. This world's full of rules no one follows anymore."
Daenerys smiled, stepping behind Wanda, hands slipping over her hips. "She's beautiful," she said lightly. Then, to Wanda: "And you share him?"
Wanda blushed as Daenerys kissed the crook of her neck—playful, curious.
Jon froze as soft hands took his and guided him toward the bed. "We've all suffered enough," Dany whispered. "Tonight, we reclaim power... together."
The sheets rustled. The scent of divine heat and magic filled the space. Jon kissed Daenerys's throat slowly while Wanda climbed onto his lap from behind. Their lips trailed his shoulders, hands exploring every scar and rune, fingertips lighting paths of stardust.
And when they enveloped him—coiled in sweat and rhythm and flame—Jon forgot the cold world just outside the walls.
In that night, he was king once more.
Of fire.
Of magic.
Of goddesses themselves.
### **4. Strange Warnings**
The morning after, the air was cool and tense.
Dr. Stephen Strange entered through a conjured portal amid snowfall, eyes shadowed.
"Pleasure's fleeting," he said with no ceremony. "But the consequences are... well, multiversal."
Jon pulled on a leather tunic, hungover from power and pleasure. "Meaning?"
"Your arrival. Daenerys's resurrection. Chaos converging on itself—these aren't accidents. You're focal points now. Attractors."
Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "To what end?"
Stephen turned to Jon. "To war. The gods aren't pleased. Especially one whose authority you've unknowingly stolen."
Jon frowned. "Who?"
Wanda spoke the name calmly. "Dormammu."
Jon felt a chill colder than the Wall itself.