Epilogue
On an airless asteroid, somewhere in the endless void of space, a haggard blond figure kneels among gray dust and stones. “I know where it is,” he says, staring at the rocky ground. “My father’s ally found it, but was not able to take it from where it is held. Give me power, and I will take it from them and bring it to you.”
“And why would you do this for us, son of Tyr?” hisses the cowled person that stands over him.
Ragnar looks up, eyes sunken and cheeks hollow in his once round face. His expression is full of pain and anger. “Tyr, the rightful king of Asgard, promised me the throne as my heritage, and that—mongrel, Loki, stole it from me and threw me away before murdering my father. I want my birthright. And I want Loki… to pay.”
The shadowed creature looks over its shoulder, up a long flight of stairs, to another immense figure sitting on a huge throne. A craggy gray face turns and looks down at Ragnar. “Bring me the tesseract, and you shall have all that you desire,” a voice rumbles that vibrates through the tiny sphere.