Strax settled slowly onto the makeshift throne in Asgard's great hall, the weight of battle still echoing in the air. The silence wasn't comfortable—it was heavy, full of tension, like a rope about to snap. Beatrice sat sideways on his lap, like a queen who had just emerged from a war. Her body still trembled slightly, her wounds visible, but her gaze… her gaze remained firm.
Around them, they were all gathered.
And none of them seemed at ease.
Monica shifted her weight to one leg, arms crossed, looking at Beatrice as if analyzing a target. Samira slowly twirled the spear in her fingers, the soft sound of the metal cutting through the air being the only thing breaking the silence for a moment. Scarlet smiled—that light, playful, yet dangerous smile. Tiamat remained motionless, imposing as a mountain, while Kali played with one of her blades, twirling it naturally between her fingers.
