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In a sealed room, a man and a woman sat across from each other. The woman was none other than Ivanka, the striking socialite, while the man was not Baldr, but a stern, authoritative middle-aged figure.
He was the true master of this sprawling estate beneath them—Ivanka's father, Donald Trump.
Trump's eyes studied his most beloved and valued daughter.
"Ivanka, are you certain… all of this is real?"
The apostle of a god had descended into the world, disasters were imminent, and perhaps an even more terrifying war between deities would follow.
Even for the head of a major organization, such revelations were hard to fully accept.
Ivanka shook her head calmly. "Father, whether I believe or not isn't important. You taught me this. If I see strength and opportunity, then that's real enough."
For a family of power and wealth, profit outweighs absolute truth. And if that profit failed to materialize… the consequences would follow, naturally.
Trump nodded approvingly. "Ivanka, you've grown. You're truly my perfect jewel now."
"Thank you for your praise, Father," she replied, flashing a radiant, confident smile.
Trump lowered his gaze to the dossier in his hands. It contained everything collected so far: the recent event that had dispelled the night, the arrival of the apostle, all the records about the two people revealed in the divine visions, and other details relating to the apostle.
Even trivial details, like what kind of coffee the apostle drank, were meticulously recorded.
Trump read through the information slowly and carefully. Then he looked up. "Ivanka, based on these materials, who do you think this apostle serves?"
Ivanka hesitated. "Father… there are simply too many deities of light."
Light is a power so iconic that nearly every pantheon has a god of it: Apollo of Greece, the Christian Trinity, Amaterasu of the Japanese heavens, Haotian in the East… far too many.
Their commonality? Each is supremely powerful; light gods have nothing to do with the weak.
Trump smiled. "Ivanka, my jewel, you've grown, but you still overlook something."
Ivanka tilted her head. "What do you mean, Father?"
"First, appearance. The apostle has a face similar to ours. We can ignore the Eastern gods and certain obscure dark indigenous deities. That leaves the major Western pantheons. Four main ones remain: the monotheistic, Roman, Greek, and Norse systems."
"So if you exclude our God, and the Roman and Greek light gods are both Apollo, that leaves only two possibilities."
"The light god Apollo, and the light god Baldr."
Ivanka's eyes sparkled with realization and trust. "It's… you, Father."
Indeed, with her intelligence, she could have deduced this easily. But as a daughter, she let her father show off a bit of wisdom first.
Trump laughed heartily. "Well done, Ivanka. Now you understand how to handle the apostle of that god."
Whether it was Apollo or Baldr, these were top-tier gods. Their apostles were in a completely different league than those of ordinary gods.
"I understand, Father."
"I'll present this dossier to the god next."
Trump nodded, but his gaze lingered on Ivanka as she rose, her curves commanding attention. He suddenly said, "Ivanka, my daughter, study both the Greek and Norse pantheons, especially their common traits."
Ivanka froze, but immediately understood.
Greek gods were notoriously indulgent, and Norse gods, while more disciplined, had Odin—a king who also appreciated beauty. Records didn't clarify if Baldr was similarly indulgent, but he did have a wife, the goddess Nanna.
In other words, these mighty gods did not reject beauty. And as the Trump family's brightest jewel, Ivanka's greatest advantage was her own allure.
With her involvement, they could connect to the gods, maybe even birth divine offspring. The Trump family could become unmatched—not just on Earth, but perhaps even in the realm of myth.
A glint of ambition flickered in Ivanka's exquisite eyes. "I understand, Father."
Elsewhere, Baldr sipped a glass of strong liquor. In his previous life, he hadn't been much of a drinker, but influenced by Asgardian warriors, he had come to appreciate it.
A rhythmic knock echoed at the door, soft but deliberate.
"Come in," Baldr said calmly.
Ivanka entered, her presence magnetic, a bright, confident smile on her face.
"Sir, I've gathered all the information you requested."
She handed over the dossier, casually glancing at the glass and bottle in Baldr's hand.
A subtle spark of realization crossed her eyes: strong liquor.
Apollo, the god of music and art, would favor elegance, a noble refinement. Baldr, from the Norse pantheon, leaned toward a warrior's bold, rugged style.
An apostle reflects the preferences of their god. Liking strong liquor, though not proof, suggested the god in question was likely Baldr.
A thousand thoughts flashed through Ivanka's mind.
Baldr's eyes flickered with a brief smile. He never outright revealed his identity, but leaving subtle clues for those clever enough to notice was much more effective.
As always, what someone discovers themselves is more trustworthy than what they are told.
"Well done. Your efficiency exceeds my expectations. When divine power descends from the gods…" Baldr paused, breaking off the thought.
Ivanka instantly picked up on the key phrase: divine power descending from the godly realm.
No wonder myths never produced tangible miracles. No wonder the Trump family, despite all their influence, had never found true evidence of the gods. All myths were illusions… until now.
The divine realm, the true gods, exist only there.
"....."