The echoing halls of New Asgard smelled faintly of mead, smoke, and iron. The walls were scarred with burn marks and claw streaks—reminders that even gods had to bleed when the world fell apart. Torches lit the corridors in flickering gold, casting long shadows on the group as Valkyrie led them deeper inside.
"After the infection spread," Valkyrie said, her tone heavy but steady, "we had to face not just the undead—but the worst of humanity. Desperate, starving men trying to climb these cliffs, begging for entry. We fought them off for weeks. And when the food ran out… we learned just how low mortals could go."
Kate frowned, glancing around at the haunting silence that seemed to swallow the sounds of their footsteps. "So you shut yourselves in?"
Valkyrie's eyes glimmered with an emotion that was hard to read—shame, perhaps. "We chose survival. That's all that's left now. Survival and silence."
Kamala walked a little closer, her voice soft but firm. "We didn't come here to take your food or shelter. We just need a ship—something that can take us to orbit. We have a plan to fix things."
Valkyrie stopped abruptly at the entrance of a grand hall. Her hand rested on the handle of her sword as she turned to face Kamala. "You think anything can be fixed? The gods are dead. The realms are broken. Earth devoured itself. You think a ship will save you?"
Before Kamala could reply, Zemo stepped forward, his gloved hands behind his back. "Hope is a powerful illusion, Valkyrie. But if it keeps humanity moving forward, perhaps it's not such a useless one."
Her eyes narrowed at him, but she said nothing. Instead, she pushed the great doors open.
Inside, the hall was alive—if only on the surface. Dozens of Asgardians sat at long oak tables, laughing and drinking, with meat roasting over roaring fires. The sight was surreal. The apocalypse is outside, and yet within these walls… feasting, laughter, music. It felt wrong.
"See?" Valkyrie said. "We are getting by just fine."
Blade Knight's gaze swept across the tables, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. "A feast in the end times… sounds like denial, not peace."
Shang-Chi and Jimmy exchanged uncertain glances. An Asgardian woman raised a horn of mead toward them with a smile. "Come, travelers! Drink! Eat! You look like you've walked through Hel itself!"
Jimmy hesitated. "Well, maybe just one dri—"
Before he could finish, I raised a hand, stopping him. "Don't."
Shang-Chi looked at me, confused. "What's wrong?"
"There's something in the food," I said quietly, my eyes scanning the tables. "A sweet metallic scent under the mead. Poison. Or worse."
Valkyrie turned sharply, frowning. "You dare accuse Asgardians of—"
"Not accuse," I interrupted, meeting her gaze. "Just stating what my senses tell me. If you want me to ignore it, tell your cooks to stop seasoning the stew with blood."
A hush fell over the room. The nearest Asgardians turned, eyes narrowing, hands inching toward their weapons.
Before tension could escalate further, Kamala gasped softly. "Thor?"
Everyone's attention shifted to the far end of the hall. There, seated on a throne that looked more like a monument to forgotten glory, was the God of Thunder himself. His beard was unkempt, his armor dented, and his hammer—Stormbreaker—leaning against the throne. One side of his face was burned from the fight with Thanos. But it wasn't the Thor they remembered. His eyes were hollow and empty, and his right hand trembled as he lifted a cup to his lips.
Kamala took a step forward, but Valkyrie's arm shot out, blocking her path. "Don't."
Kamala looked up at her. "He's still Thor. We need his help—"
"Stop." Valkyrie's voice cut her off like a blade. "He doesn't listen anymore."
Kamala's brows furrowed. "He's Thor! He's supposed to fight! He's supposed to lead—"
Valkyrie turned sharply, her expression raw, pain flickering behind her anger. "He led once. In Wakanda. He fought until there was nothing left to fight for. He watched his friends die—one by one."
Her voice dropped lower. "He's not a god anymore. He's a ghost."
Her words hit like a thunderclap.
Kate's voice was quiet but sharp. "So you're just going to sit here, drink, and wait for the world to finish rotting?"
Valkyrie's jaw clenched. "Better than marching to our deaths chasing ghosts."
It was then that Zemo's calm voice cut through the tension like a blade. "You said this feast was provided by the Queen of Sokovia. But, forgive me… Sokovia never had a queen."
"The Queen of Sokovia," Valkyrie said, "is the one who brought us this food. "
Kamala's voice was barely a whisper. "Who is she?"
Valkyrie looked at each of them in turn, her expression a mixture of reverence and dread. "The Queen of Sokovia… is Wanda Maximoff."
~~~