Chapter 59
We quickly walked the corridors to get as much distance as we could between ourselves and the chamber where the Skull had been kept. But as we neared the sleeping quarters, I could already hear the noise of battle—screams, metal clashing, and distant thunder echoing through the halls. Loki tensed beside me.
“It seems my brother is successful,” he murmured. “They are much further into the mountain than I would have expected.” He grimaced. “We must find him, so we can shatter the Skull.”
I nodded, and Loki reached for my hand. We had discussed using an invisibility cloak to slip through the chaos, but Loki had advised against it. It would be far too easy for someone to accidentally harm us if they did not know we were there. Angrboda’s followers would likely avoid us, and Thor’s army knew who we were—we should be relatively safe.
We kept low and hurried toward the sound of battle. As Loki suspected, the closer we got to the entrance tunnels, the more the noise intensified. We passed scattered pockets of fighting in side halls and open chambers, but nothing large-scale—until we reached the great hall.
The dining space had become a war zone. Bodies littered the floor, chairs and tables smashed to splinters. Spells sizzled through the air. Loki was eerily calm, pulling me with purpose through the chaos, ducking around conflicts, making sure I was shielded.
Then came the spike of magic—huge, pulsing, unmistakable.
“There,” I breathed, as we both felt it at once.
We pressed forward, and soon a bolt of lightning cracked across the room, illuminating the space with a blinding flash. Thor.
We climbed over debris toward the source. At the far end of the hall stood the heart of the storm: Thor, Sif, and Angrboda locked in combat.
Sif was battling a flying sword—no wielder in sight—fending it off with gritted teeth and barely-contained fury. She was bloodied and exhausted. I prayed it was her enemies’ blood. Thor fought Angrboda directly, Mjolnir flashing as he deflected spell after spell. A shield of shimmering Seiðr surrounded her, rendering her untouchable.
The sheer force of the magic she wielded was staggering—more than I had ever witnessed.
Loki squeezed my hand and pulled me into the shadows near the wall. “Stay here, out of sight,” he said. “I will try to reach Thor and see if he can destroy the Skull. With any luck… that will pull her back to Niflheim.”
I nodded, and he slipped into the fray. Angrboda’s eyes followed him immediately.
“Loki,” she crooned. “What a surprise. Come to help your brother, have you?” Her laugh was cold and cruel.
Thor turned, catching sight of him. Both he and Sif looked worse for wear—drained, battle-worn, but still standing.
Loki ignored Angrboda and moved toward Thor, his hands already casting something subtle. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I recognized the flick of his fingers as a cloaked spell. He reached Thor’s side, and I saw him speak. Thor nodded grimly.
Then it happened.
A sudden surge of fire erupted from Angrboda’s hand, hurtling toward Thor.
I screamed—“Thor, watch out!”—but it was too fast.
Loki reacted in an instant. A glowing shield erupted in front of Thor, absorbing the flames.
And then Loki collapsed.
The scream never made it out of my throat. I was already running, my legs moving before my mind could catch up. I dodged through the chaos, over shattered tables and fallen warriors, straight to where Loki lay writhing in agony.
Angrboda laughed.
“That is what you get for going against the oath,” she said with smug satisfaction. “It will not kill you—but I cannot say I mind seeing you suffer.”
I dropped to my knees beside him and pulled his head onto my lap.
“Loki! What can I do?” I choked out, tears blurring my vision as he spasmed with pain.
Then, his voice echoed in my mind, sharp and strained: Get the Skull to Thor.
His hand moved weakly. I felt the pouch at my side grow heavier with a sudden weight—he had teleported the Skull into it. At the same time, I felt him sever his emotions. I could still see his pain, but I no longer felt it.
It hurt, but it gave me clarity.
I turned. Thor was beside us, still catching his breath. Angrboda loomed above him, smiling wickedly, savoring every moment.
I yanked the Skull from the pouch and focused all of the energy in my bracers on freezing it. It had already been cold—but now, I made it shatteringly so. In seconds, the Skull glittered with frost.
I slammed it down at Thor’s feet. “Hit it with Mjolnir!” I shouted.
He hesitated for only a second. Then he nodded, raised Mjolnir, and brought it down with all his might.
Angrboda screamed.
Another fireball launched toward us, but Mjolnir struck the Skull first.
It shattered.
A blinding burst of white light exploded outward.
The shockwave hit me like a battering ram. I was flung backward, slammed into a stone pillar. My breath left me in a single, agonized gasp.
When I lifted my head, the world had changed.
Angrboda still stood inside her magical sphere—but now she was laughing, hand stretched out like she was grasping something invisible.
Loki lay where I had left him, still trying to get up.
Thor was floating—literally—above the floor, choking, his hands clawing at his neck. Mjolnir lay beside him.
Sif was pinned against a wall, the magical sword now driven through her shoulder, anchoring her like prey.
All across the hall, fighting had ceased. Everyone was watching. No one dared move.
And then came Angrboda’s voice—cold and triumphant.
“So you idiots thought destroying the Skull would miraculously solve all your problems,” she sneered. “That Hela would swoop in, collect the souls, and restore balance.”
She laughed again. Loud, proud, unstoppable.
She dropped Thor to the ground—he crumpled, gasping.
She began walking toward me.
“You see, little princess,” she went on, “you and Loki bound yourselves not to harm me. And you—you even helped summon a Norn. You think destroying the Skull banished her?”
Her smile twisted cruelly.
“Even shattered, it was only a vessel. The soul is still here. With me. Hela cannot find us. She cannot take what she cannot see. And she certainly cannot reach this mountain—not while the barrier stands.”
My hands curled into fists, but I didn’t move.
“Oh yes,” she continued, her grin stretching wider. “You tried once before, with that little necklace of yours. I removed the enchantment the first time I rendered you unconscious. It no longer works. And without an invitation, she is not allowed past the wards I placed on this mountain.”
I trembled.
“So now, my princess… are you ready to watch your friends die?”
There was a crack of thunder outside. The mountain shook. She didn’t flinch.
And then I understood.
Thor had brought an army. He had come not as a messenger—but as a conqueror.
He had stormed Angrboda’s mountain. Threatened her sanctum. Attacked her people.
And that gave her what she needed. Justification.
Under the terms of her oath, she could not attack Odin, Frigga, Loki, or me… unless we struck first.
But Thor had struck. He had forced her into defense. And now, she could kill him freely.
Her hand twitched.
Sif screamed.
The sword in Sif’s shoulder slowly, cruelly began to descend.
Loki groaned from the floor, still suffering from skirting the oath, trying to move. Thor clawed at his throat, gasping for breath.
I took a step forward—But Angrboda only laughed.
“One by one,” she whispered, “I will take them all.”
"Angrboda, please stop," I said, shocked by the sound of my own voice. It was weak, broken—and I realized I was crying. "Please, stop. I’ll do anything, swear anything—just let them go."
To my relief, the sword in Sif’s shoulder stilled. But the look on Angrboda’s face told me it wouldn't matter. She was looming over me, smiling with sadistic delight.
"First of all," she sneered, "my name is Aumlig. Second, there is nothing you can give or do that would make me stop. You are a pitiful excuse for a being. Why the bracers ever chose you, I do not know. And to be honest, I do not care. Angrboda wanted the bracers—I do not. I am a Norn. I have no use for such things. I am here for revenge. Killing Odin’s firstborn is the first step.”
Her grin widened.
“Thank you for bringing him to me. Did you and Loki think yourselves clever? That I did not see your plan all along? No, my dear. Look around you."
She gestured toward the crowded hall of onlookers—mercenaries and warriors alike.
"These people? They are nothing. Unlike Angrboda, I do not require bracers or rituals to draw power. I simply will it into being."
She turned her eyes back to the room, smiling coldly.
"Die."
And just like that, every warrior, every fighter in the room dropped where they stood—Asgardians and mercenaries alike. Lifeless. Still. Gone.
She turned back to me, her voice dripping with satisfaction.
"The only reason I let your little plots unfold as far as they did was to humor myself. But I have indulged long enough. It is time to end the life of the prince’s whore. Then, the prince himself."
I flinched at her words, but she didn’t stop.
"I regret that I cannot touch you or Loki—but you will still beg for death in the world I am about to create. Just because I cannot harm you does not mean I cannot hurt you. I will not need to take your friends or your family. Instead, they will watch everything they love burn—and know you are the reason. They will end their own lives, wishing I had been allowed to kill them and end their suffering far sooner. Without your help, Angrboda could never have summoned me. And when he loses everything, your precious Loki will hate you for it."
She stared at me, waiting for her words to take root.
I turned toward Loki. He sat slumped against the wall, eyes wide, tears falling freely. I couldn’t feel him through the bond—he had severed it—but the devastation on his face was enough. He had lost hope. And as much as I hated it… there was a sliver of truth in what she said.
He wouldn’t blame me. But this would break him. And I didn’t know if either of us could come back from that.
I sank to my knees. The weight of it all pressed in.
She grinned wider.
But as the chill of despair tried to pull me under, a different cold washed over me. One that cleared my mind.
Resolve.
No. She couldn’t win.
She would not win.
With a flick of my wrist, I summoned my fighting knife.
Her grin returned, laced with cruel amusement.
"Foolish girl. Do you truly think you can stop me? That tiny blade will not even pierce my barrier—Thor and Mjolnir could not break through it. What makes you think you can? And even if, by some miracle, it did… striking me would cost you your life."
I stood. Met her gaze.
And smiled.
Confusion flickered across her face.
Without a word, I turned the blade inward—and drove it deep into my own chest.
Somewhere in the haze, I heard screaming—Loki’s voice, raw, panicked and broken. Thor’s, sharp with fury. Sif’s, full of fear.
"Please keep your promise," I whispered through the pain, my vision going gray at the edges.
Darkness crept in—but just as it began to pull me under, she appeared.
Long black hair. A beautiful, grief-stricken face that reminded me of him.
The world around me blurred, slowed. Colors dimmed, sound muffled. But she was clear. She moved at full speed. Her eyes shimmered with sorrow as she strode toward me.
"Please," I begged. "Take her. She’s right here. You can see her. The Skull is gone—please, take her."
Hela’s eyes widened. Her gaze shifted to the woman beside me—and fire lit in them. The sorrow vanished, replaced by fierce determination.
She grew taller somehow, darker, stronger, as she turned on Aumlig.
The Norn tried to flee—panic flashing across her face—but she looked stuck, half-trapped in Yrissa’s body.
It was too late.
With deadly precision and impossible speed, Hela was beside her in an instant. Her skeletal hand closed around the Norn’s throat.
Terror consumed the woman’s face.
As Hela’s grip tightened, I saw it—slow, deliberate. She pulled the soul from Yrissa’s body. Aumlig’s essence writhed and shimmered, glowing faintly against the dimness of the room. With effortless grace, Hela placed her beside Yrissa’s form and locked her into place with a shimmer of binding Seiðr.
Then she reached again.
Her skeletal hand plunged through Yrissa’s chest once more, grasping deeper—gripping something colder.
A snarl of fury twisted Angrboda’s features, but she was powerless. Hela yanked her soul free with a smooth, reverent motion and placed her beside Aumlig. Both spirits writhed faintly against the invisible magic binding them, but neither could escape.
Only Yrissa remained—her body slumped in a strange, suspended state between life and death.
Then Hela turned to me.
"I need to take them all. Even in death, their souls are entangled," she explained. "But you must kill Yrissa. She is the only one I cannot claim from this side. Her soul has been corrupted—twice. First by Angrboda, then by the Norn. The damage runs so deep, she no longer registers as truly living. She belongs to the underworld now… even if her heart still beats. But I cannot claim a beating heart, Aurora. Only you can."
Her gaze sharpened, urgent.
"There is only a tiny window before your body draws its last breath. Use it wisely."
Hela dragged Yrissa’s body toward the veil and passed her through, pressing her back into the mortal world. Then she turned to me, skeletal hand rising to rest lightly over my heart.
Pain exploded through me.
In a breath, I was back—slammed into my body with all the force of returning life.
For a moment, everything surged forward. Time resumed.
Thor fell with a heavy thud. Sif dropped, the sword gone from her shoulder.
And Loki—
Loki was crawling toward me, dragging himself inch by inch, his entire body trembling. His face twisted in a silent scream of grief and terror.
But there was no time.
I bit down hard, shoving the pain aside. My vision swam, blood soaked my chest, the knife still embedded.
I reached for the hilt. My fingers curled around it. Pulled.
The wet, sickening tear of flesh echoed into the air. This time, the pain was real—deep and scorching. But it did not matter.
There was only resolve.
Hela held Yrissa upright, her strength calm and merciful.
"She cannot fight it anymore," she said softly. "This is mercy."
I hesitated only a heartbeat—then drove the blade into her heart.
Yrissa gasped. Her eyes filled with tears, disbelief frozen on her face as her body collapsed.
Around me, the world fell silent again. Colors faded. Time slowed to nothing.
From Yrissa’s slumped form, three ghostly shapes rose—souls torn free at last.
Yrissa, silently weeping. Angrboda, regal and furious. Aumlig, crowned with a crescent moon, her eyes alight with burning rage.
All three stared at me. At Hela. At the fate that awaited them.
They opened their mouths to speak—
Hela raised one hand. Silenced them all.
Then she turned to me. "Aurora," she said gently. "I know I promised to unlock your soul—but you are not dead yet, just on the brink. I must take them to Niflheim before I do anything else. You have my word—if you pass before I return, it will not take long. I will come back for you."
My breath caught in my throat. "Take them. I know you’ll come back. I trust you."
Then, quickly—“Will it stay like this?”
She shook her head.
"No. It only appears slowed because you are still in the realm of the dead. I pulled your soul here the moment I arrived. You are so close to death now the boundary blurs, giving me dominion. When I leave, time will resume. You will return fully."
I swallowed hard. "Will the pain come back?"
Her eyes shimmered with grief. She rested her hand once more over my heart. Magic rippled through me—cold, soft, almost gentle.
"You will not feel the wound," she whispered. "But I cannot block the rest."
Tears slipped down her cheeks—and mine.
She turned, looking at Loki.
He had barely moved. His arms shook. His face was wet with tears. His mouth open in a silent, broken cry. He was shattering.
And I could not reach him.
I closed my eyes.
"I understand," I whispered. "Go."
And with that, the four of them vanished into the dark.
Time snapped back. colors returned too bright, too loud. Pain surged—
And then—I let go.
As soon as my body hit the ground, the pain dulled into something distant—almost numb. But the numbness couldn’t touch what I saw next.
Loki, broken, scrambling across blood and debris, dragging himself with trembling, frantic limbs until his hands finally found me. He pulled me into his arms with a shattered sound—half sob, half gasp—and the moment our bodies touched, I felt the familiar warmth of his Seiðr surge through me.
He was trying to heal me.
His hands shook as they pressed over my chest, over the gaping wound that still bled beneath my ribs. Golden-green light flowed from his fingertips, his voice barely a whisper as he muttered spell after spell, but I could feel it—and from the look on his face, I saw he already knew.
It was too late.
“No, no, no—come on, come on,” he whispered, panicked. “Stay with me. You are not leaving me. You are not—” His voice cracked, and the magic flared again, desperate and unfocused. “Please—please, love, I can fix this. I can fix anything—”
His Seiðr rippled through me like sunlight over water, but my body didn’t respond.
“Loki…” I breathed. My fingers twitched, brushing weakly at his wrist. “Look at me.”
He did. And the moment our eyes met, I saw it—raw devastation. The realization, already carving itself into every line of his face, even as he tried to deny it.
“You are going to be fine,” he said fiercely. “I am not letting you go. You hear me?” His hand pressed harder against my wound. More Seiðr. More desperation. “You do not get to die like this. Not now. Not after everything. I will find another way—there is always another way—”
“Loki.” I coughed, and blood slipped from the corner of my mouth. “Please…”
“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “Save your strength. You do not need to say anything. Just hold on, I am— I am almost—just a little more—”
“Loki, stop—” My voice trembled. I could feel the pressure building in my chest. The cold creeping in around my limbs. “You have to let me say it.”
He looked at me then, really looked, and something in him broke.
“Please,” I whispered, barely able to breathe. “Please, just let me tell you…”
Tears slid freely down his face now. His mouth parted, but no sound came. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t stop.
“I love you,” I choked out, the words catching on my breath. “I love you so much…”
“No,” he said, trembling, voice raw. “No, no, no—do not say goodbye. You are not dying. I will not allow it—”
He pulled me tighter against his chest, rocking me as if that alone could will life back into me. His Seiðr kept pouring into me in vain, lighting up the wound that would not close, glowing brighter with every slowing heartbeat.
But I had one more breath left. One more plea.
“Promise me…” I gasped, the words fragile and slipping. “Promise me you will continue. Promise me you will try to find meaning in life.”
He froze.
“No,” he said immediately, his voice cracking like broken glass. “No, do not ask that of me.”
“Loki—”
“You do not get to ask me that,” he snarled through his tears, his grip tightening as if he could stop death by holding me in place. “You do not get to leave me with this. With the ruin of everything we fought for—everything we were.”
“Please? You must—” My breath hitched. “Please try?”
He shook his head violently. “There is no meaning without you. No reason. I will burn the realms to ashes before I pretend any of it matters.”
His Seiðr surged again, desperate, frantic. But I could feel how weak it was now. How useless. He had given it all.
“Loki,” I whispered, lifting trembling fingers to touch his cheek. “Please…”
His eyes squeezed shut. He leaned into my hand like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. And for a moment, he said nothing.
But then he broke. Something inside him shattered—rage giving way to grief, defiance to devastation.
“I swear it,” he choked. “I swear I will try. Even if I hate every moment of it. Even if it means dragging myself through a thousand lifetimes of pain—I will try to find meaning. Because you asked me to.”
My lips parted, but no words came.
Because that was the moment it began.
I felt it first—how my pulse began to stutter.
He felt it next.
“Please,” he begged again, hoarse. “Please stay. Please stay. Please—”
I could hear shouting behind him—Thor’s voice, ragged and thunderous. Sif screaming my name.
But none of it mattered. The world had already started to pull away again, its colors leeching into grayscale. Time stuttering. Sound slowing.
And all I could do was stare up at Loki.
His face was the last thing I saw—the pain, the love, the shattering disbelief—as everything finally slipped from me. His scream tore through the mountain like the ripping of the world was the last thing I heard.
And I died in his arms.
Time stopped. The light bled from the room, turning everything to shades of ash and silver.
But I was still there.
Trapped inside the body he held so tightly.
Stuck in silence. Unable to move.
Watching him break in slow motion.
I saw Sif crumble, tears spilling as her knees buckled beneath her. Though I couldn't hear it, I knew she was sobbing. Thor shouted something—a roar of anguish—as he caught her, pulling her into his arms to keep her from falling.
Loki clung to my body, his hands trembling as he pulled me tighter. I saw his lips moving against my hair, whispering things I couldn’t hear. Things I’d never hear.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. But I felt… calm. A strange stillness settled in my chest, quiet and deep, like the final breath after a storm.
Then—suddenly—another presence.
A hand reached through the veil, tingling with magic, and after a moment, it gently lifted me from Loki’s arms, setting me softly on my feet beside her.
When I looked up, I saw two figures standing before me: Hela—and someone I had never seen before.
She was radiant. Adorned in gleaming golden armor, draped in flowing white fabric that shimmered like moonlight on water. Her wings arched high behind her, vast and powerful, and her long hair streamed like sunfire in a wind I could not feel.
Next to Hela, she was her mirror opposite. Day beside night. Both terrible and beautiful in their own way.
The winged woman smiled at me—calm, serene.
“Do not be afraid,” she said gently. “I will take you to Valhalla now.”
Then she turned to Hela, voice dipped with sorrow. “I can take only her. Not the other.”
I followed her gaze to Hela—and saw her nod, though tears streamed freely down her cheeks. She stepped forward, slow and reverent, and reached out to me.
Her hand sank into my abdomen, painless—but profound.
When she withdrew, she cradled something tiny in her arms. A bundle. A soul. So small, so delicate, swaddled in quiet stillness.
Hela pressed the bundle gently against her chest, the sorrow on her face deepening.
“I will care for him,” she said, voice trembling with grief. “He will be loved. He will never want or suffer. In my realm, he will be cherished until the end of time. For he is my half-brother.”
Even through the numb calm, I felt it then. A sharp, unbearable ache.
I looked at the bundle in her arms. Then at Loki.
I wished I’d told him.
Wished I’d had more time.
Wished I could take it all back.
But I knew it would have only made his grief heavier.
The golden woman stepped beside me and placed a hand on my arm. “We must go,” she said softly. “It is time.”
I turned back to Hela, to the little soul she held.
“Can I hold him? Just once?” I asked.
Hela’s expression broke a little further, but she gently shook her head.
“It’s best not to,” she whispered. “He is not yet fully formed. If you hold him now, the bond might root too deeply. It could keep you from passing into Valhalla.”
I wanted to fight it. To refuse.
But the winged woman’s touch became firmer—not cruel, just absolute. Something ancient and final settled over me. And with it, calm returned once more.
I nodded.
I leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tiny bundle. “I love you,” I whispered.
Then I looked at Hela—her cheeks wet with tears.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “For everything.”
I kissed her cheek.
She smiled, just barely, and then began to fade—her form and the soul in her arms slipping into the shadows until they were gone.
Light began to rise behind me—soft at first, then radiant and warm, filling the dark.
The winged woman rose into the air, spreading her golden wings, and reached a hand down to me.
I turned once more to look back.
To Loki, still holding my body.
To Thor and Sif, holding each other.
To everything I was leaving behind.
And then I took her hand.