Asgard.

Deep within the mountains, hidden away from the devastation above, a cavernous refuge stretched endlessly into the stone. It was no mere hollow—it had been carefully warded, widened by magic, its vault-like expanse carved to shelter thousands.

Yet despite its size, the air inside felt suffocating. The cavern was choked with people, their bodies packed tightly together like a sea of shadows. Mothers clutched children who whimpered into their robes. Warriors too injured to stand leaned heavily against the stone walls, their weapons discarded at their feet. The air was thick with fear, carrying whispers of despair that seemed to echo against the high ceiling like a chorus of ghosts.

This was Asgard's final refuge, its last flicker of hope. And if Hela discovered this place, there would be no second chance.

At the entrance stood Frigga, Thor, Loki, and Heimdall—the golden-eyed sentinel who had watched over the realm since before most of the men and women in this cavern had drawn their first breath. They stood together in silence, surveying their people with heavy hearts.

Once, these citizens had looked to the royal family for protection, for prosperity, for pride. Now, all they could offer was a cave, fear, and the faint promise of survival.

Thor's grip tightened on the longsword in his hand. The blade was sturdy, but it felt woefully inadequate compared to Mjolnir. His knuckles whitened around the hilt as he drew a long breath.

"Heimdall," Thor said gravely, his voice carrying a weight that silenced even the frightened murmurs around them, "I leave this to you."

He nodded toward the people—his people—who stared back at him with hollow eyes.

The unspoken words were clear. Thor intended to walk out of this cave not as a prince seeking safety, but as a warrior ready to fight.

"As the Prince of Asgard, son of Odin, I will not cower here like a frightened dog," he continued, his tone steeled. "I will meet her head-on. That is my duty."

Heimdall lowered his chin in solemn understanding. "Unless I fall, she will not set foot in here." His words were less a promise than an oath carved in stone.

"And take care of our mother," Loki interjected, his voice quieter but edged with the same iron.

"I will guard her as I guard my own life," Heimdall affirmed without hesitation. His eyes, glowing faintly with golden light, met theirs. No one in the cavern doubted him—not Thor, not Loki, not even Frigga. Heimdall's loyalty to Asgard was as constant as the stars.

Frigga stepped closer, her hand rising to cup her sons' faces. She touched Thor first, then Loki, with equal tenderness, refusing to favor one over the other. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but her voice was firm. "Go, my sons. Do what you must. Just… promise me you'll return safely."

"We will, Mother," Thor and Loki said in unison, their voices ringing with solemnity. They turned without another word, striding out of the cavern with grim determination.

Their silhouettes, framed by the glowing ward of the entrance, looked almost tragic.

Frigga's composure faltered the moment they vanished. She knew, as did Heimdall, that her sons were marching into the jaws of death. Hela's strength was overwhelming—too overwhelming. Odin might have stood against her. But Odin was gone, leaving his sons to shoulder a burden they were not yet ready to bear.

Still, Heimdall did not stop them. Their path was carved in blood and duty; no one could take it from them.

"Contact him," Frigga said suddenly, her voice sharp. She turned to Heimdall with urgency in her eyes. "Odin told us—if the worst came, we must call upon the Homelander. We must call Alex."

"Alex?" Heimdall blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then, slowly, a flicker of hope sparked in his golden gaze. If anyone possessed the power to stand against Hela, it was Alex—the Homelander, the warrior who had defied gods and monsters alike.

Heimdall closed his eyes, summoning his vast sight, his hands weaving through ancient signs of power. Threads of golden energy pulsed outward, stretching across realms until they touched Earth.

In moments, he reached Alex.

The message was brief but dire. And Alex's response came instantly, steady and resolute: "Hold on. I'm on my way."

Relief softened Heimdall's stern face. At last, there was something resembling hope.

---

Meanwhile, above the ruined city, Thor and Loki moved like shadows among broken streets, searching for the one who had plunged Asgard into ruin. The air reeked of blood and smoke, the once-bright spires now reduced to smoldering husks.

"Loki," Thor muttered, his voice low as they advanced through the devastation, "are you ready?"

"Ready?" Loki let out a mirthless laugh, though his eyes betrayed the tension gnawing at him. "I must admit, brother, this is not a situation I ever anticipated."

Thor glanced at him sidelong. "What situation?"

"Fighting side by side with you," Loki said lightly, though there was a raw edge to his tone. "Even… dying together."

Thor stopped for a beat, studying his brother's face. Then, without hesitation, he reached out and clapped a hand to Loki's shoulder. "Do not fear. We will survive this."

Loki shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "That optimism of yours—I've never understood it. But perhaps… perhaps you're right. Mother has already promised to reach out to the Homelander. If anyone can turn the tide, it is Alex."

At the mention of the name, Thor's brow furrowed. Odin's dying words echoed in his mind—Trust Alex. But Thor's pride resisted the notion.

"Forget Alex, Loki," he muttered. "I don't know why Father placed such faith in him. Yes, he has been a friend to Asgard, but this is our fight. My fight. I will not wait on another to save our people."

"And yet, even if he comes," Thor continued grimly, "can he truly defeat her? Father warned us: Asgard itself is the source of Hela's strength. As long as she stands upon this soil, her power is limitless."

For once, Loki didn't argue. He merely shrugged, though his eyes gleamed with cautious hope. "Call it misplaced faith if you like, brother. But if anyone can match her, it is the Homelander. At this point, we may as well admit it—he is our last hope."

A sudden, cold laugh drifted through the air.

"Homelander?"

Thor and Loki froze, their eyes snapping upward.

Perched like a hunting hawk on the twisted bough of a scorched tree, Hela watched them with cruel amusement. Her emerald armor shimmered against the darkened sky, her expression carved from ice.

"So, he is the hope you cling to?" she sneered, leaping down with effortless grace. The ground trembled as her boots struck stone. Her voice was contemptuous, dripping with disdain. "No one can save you. Not Odin, not your armies, not even your precious Homelander."

Her gaze cut through them like a blade. "You are mine."

Thor and Loki exchanged a look—wordless, grim. Then, with a roar, they charged together, brother against sister.

But Hela was a storm given form.

She caught their strikes, broke their defenses, and hurled them aside with the ease of brushing away insects.

Even as Thor's power surged—lightning crackling across his body, the full might of the God of Thunder awakened—he was still overwhelmed, beaten bloody, battered into the dirt. Loki fared no better, his cunning strikes easily parried, his illusions shredded like smoke.

When at last they lay broken before her, Hela straightened, her expression a mask of cold triumph.

"I'll let you live, little brothers," she said with a cruel smile. "So you can watch—watch as I burn Asgard to ash with your own eyes."

She turned, striding regally toward the heart of the city.

"You look quite pathetic, Thor," a voice suddenly rang out. Smooth, powerful, mocking—and unfamiliar to Hela's ears.

Her eyes narrowed, head snapping toward the sound.

"Who's there?" she demanded, her composure slipping as the air around them shifted with the weight of something new.

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