Perhaps it was the infectious, carefree atmosphere, or maybe it was Jane's earlier explanation of the bizarre local custom, but Tony Stark found himself grinning. He drained his golden goblet in one long swallow, then, with a theatrical flair that drew a few appreciative glances, he hurled it to the stone floor where it shattered with a satisfying crash.
"Another!" he bellowed, mimicking Thor's earlier cry.
A serving girl, unfazed, simply smiled and handed him a fresh, full goblet.
"Ha!" Tony chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "I gotta say, that's a pretty effective way to blow off some steam. No more washing up, either. We should implement this at the Tower."
Smashing things was a surprisingly effective release. For a moment, the tension that had been coiled in his shoulders since their chaotic arrival in this realm of gods and monsters seemed to dissipate.
Jane Foster, sitting beside him, managed a weak smile. She picked at her food, the rich flavors lost on her. "It's… unique."
Tony's smile softened as he looked at her. The carefree moment passed, replaced by the pressing reality of their situation. "Speaking of problems," he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, "the Asgardian magic-doctors can't get that stuff out of you. So what's the big plan, Marcus? You said you had an idea."
His question immediately recaptured Jane's full attention. The Aether was a parasitic guest in her body, a chilling presence that was slowly but surely draining her life force. The sooner it was gone, the better.
"It's simple, in principle," Marcus replied calmly, taking a sip of his own drink. "Asgard's methods are too… invasive. They treat it like a poison to be purged. But the Aether isn't just a substance; it's semi-sentient. It reacts to threats."
"You saw how it protected me on Earth," Jane added, her hand instinctively going to her arm where the entity resided. "It flares up when I'm scared or feel threatened."
"Exactly," Marcus affirmed. "So, since Asgard's technology is designed to fight it, we won't fight. We'll trick it. We just need to build a specialized extraction unit—think of it like a syringe, but for cosmic sludge."
Tony and Jane exchanged a confused look. A syringe? Against one of the most powerful forces in the universe?
"A special syringe?" Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow. "No matter how 'special' you make it, it's still a needle. You poke the angry space-goo, it's gonna get angry."
Marcus let a small smile touch his lips. "Don't be so literal, Stark. I'm not talking about a needle and plunger. The Aether is like a mist, right? It currently sees Jane as the best possible container. What we need to do is create a better container. A device that's more energetically attractive to it, a vessel it would prefer to occupy. The 'syringe' is just the mechanism we'll use to present that new home and gently coax it out, like drawing blood without the patient even noticing the needle."
A spark of understanding lit up Tony's eyes. The engineer in him instantly took over. "Okay, I get it. A targeted displacement. We create a containment unit with a higher energy affinity, something that acts like a vacuum for this stuff. It won't see it as a threat, it'll see it as an upgrade." He snapped his fingers. "But to build something that specific, I'll need access to Asgard's labs. Their energy signatures are completely different from anything on Earth. I need to know what I'm working with."
The solution was finally taking shape. With a renewed sense of purpose, Tony and Jane stood up. The lingering unease on Jane's face was replaced by a flicker of hope. Tony, for his part, was practically vibrating with the excitement of a new scientific challenge.
Thor, who had been listening intently, nodded gravely. "Of course. I will take you to our healers and scholars. They will give you whatever you need."
A moment later, the trio was hurrying out of the feast hall, their minds already focused on the task ahead.
As they left, Marcus rose from his seat and made his way through the celebrating crowd toward the high table where Odin sat, observing the festivities with a single, all-seeing eye. The din of the hall seemed to fade as he approached the All-Father. What was happening with Jane and the Aether was a minor crisis, a footnote in the grand history of this realm. Even the impending invasion of the Dark Elves was just another battle in a long line of them. Marcus was after something more.
"All-Father," Marcus began, his tone respectful but direct. "You are the ruler of the Nine Realms, a being who has seen ages pass like seasons. I'm hoping you can shed some light on matters beyond the scope of Midgard… on things at our level."
He had flashes of knowledge from his past life—fragmented memories of movies, comics, and stories. But here, in this reality, he was flying blind. He needed the wisdom of someone who had truly lived it.
Odin's gaze rested on him, ancient and discerning. He saw not a supplicant, but a peer. Without a word, he stood and beckoned for Marcus to follow. They walked away from the light and noise of the hall, down silent, golden corridors and past stoic Einherjar guards, descending into the deep foundations of the palace.
They eventually came to a massive, guarded gate, which swung open to reveal a vast, dimly lit chamber. This was Odin's Vault.
"This is Asgard's treasury," Odin's voice rumbled, echoing in the cavernous space. "It holds artifacts and relics gathered from across the Nine Realms, and some from much, much farther away."
As they walked, Odin gestured towards a pedestal upon which a roiling sphere of fire burned with impossible intensity, consuming no fuel yet blazing like a captive star. The air around it shimmered with heat.
"Do you know of the prophecy of Ragnarok?" Odin asked, his voice heavy with the weight of destiny. "It foretells that the fire giant, Surtur, will be the instrument of Asgard's destruction. That is his crown—the Eternal Flame. I took it from him long ago, hoping to forestall that dark day."
The flame danced and writhed, a being of pure, destructive energy. Marcus could feel its power calling out across the cosmos. This small fire was the key to unlocking a being capable of destroying a whole realm. The thought fascinated him.
"May I?" Marcus asked, his curiosity piqued.
He recalled the stories: once reunited with the Eternal Flame, Surtur would grow to the size of a mountain, wielding his Twilight Sword to sunder Asgard itself, plunging his blade into the realm's core until it exploded into nothingness. All that power, contained in this one, burning relic.
"Be my guest," Odin said with a dismissive wave. "To any but Surtur, the Eternal Flame is little more than a powerful, untamable energy source."
As Odin spoke, Marcus reached out. He let the divine power of Asgard, a gift from this very realm, coalesce around his hand, forming a shimmering gauntlet of golden light. But the moment his divine energy neared the flame, it reacted with explosive violence. The fire surged wildly, lashing out like a cornered beast.
"It seeks to unmake you!" Odin warned, his one eye widening in alarm. "It despises the divine power of Asgard, the very force that keeps it imprisoned here."
The flame was intrinsically tied to the prophecy of Asgard's fall. Naturally, it would recoil from the power of its jailer.
But Marcus was not just a wielder of divine power. In the instant before the fire could consume his hand, the golden light of Asgard vanished, swallowed by an absolute, starless black. The oppressive, silent energy of the Void bled from his palm, a chilling emptiness that seemed to drink the very light and heat from the air.
He closed his hand around the Eternal Flame. The chaotic, raging fire was instantly stilled, its furious energy smothered and tamed by an authority far older and colder. Before Odin could fully comprehend what he was witnessing, Marcus had fully enveloped the flame. A moment later, the Void receded, and the familiar golden aura of Asgard's divine power returned to his hand, as if nothing had happened. The Eternal Flame was gone, absorbed.
"What… what was that?" Odin murmured, his voice laced with an astonishment he rarely showed. The swift, silent display of power was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Marcus turned to him, a proposition in his eyes. "This flame is a liability in your vault, All-Father. A key waiting for the wrong hand to turn it. Let me be its keeper. When the day comes that Surtur marches on Asgard, I will be here to help you face him."
A slow, booming laugh escaped Odin's lips, a sound of genuine surprise and relief. "Hahahaha… A bold offer! And a wise one. Very well. Keeping it here is a risk, and your proposal turns that risk into an alliance."
To Odin, it was a masterful trade. The Flame was useless to him, a constant reminder of a doom he couldn't prevent. Giving it to Marcus not only secured it but also won him a powerful ally for the battle to come.
A smile touched Marcus's lips as well. With the Eternal Flame secured, he could already feel the immense power coiled within it. Odin's treasury was filled with such artifacts. He wondered just how much Aya he could extract from this.
They continued their walk through the vault. Marcus's eyes fell upon other legendary items. On one dais sat a huge, golden gauntlet, gleaming under an enchanted light, inert yet radiating a phantom power. The Infinity Gauntlet, forged by the dwarves of Nidavellir at Odin's command—a testament to a time when the All-Father had sought to collect the Infinity Stones, a quest he had long since abandoned.
Nearby, resting on a velvet cushion, was a simple, ornate silver box rimed with a frost that never melted, leaking a palpable chill into the air. The Casket of Ancient Winters, the ultimate weapon of the Frost Giants, now a trophy in Odin's collection.
"Both impressive pieces," Marcus commented casually, gesturing toward the Casket. "Especially that one. Let me borrow it sometime."
Odin merely grunted in response, leading him past rows of other weapons and relics until they reached the deepest, most secluded part of the vault. Here, there were no glittering treasures or powerful artifacts. There was only a single, large bookshelf, filled with ancient, leather-bound tomes.
"I imagine," Odin said, a hint of pride in his voice, "that you did not expect the heart of my treasury to be a library."
Marcus looked from the simple books to the impossibly old king beside him, a wry grin spreading across his face. "Honestly? I didn't take you for a bookworm, you grumpy old man."
He stepped closer and pulled one of the heavy volumes from the shelf. The title was embossed in large, runic letters on the cover: The Annals of the Nine Realms. He glanced at the bottom. Authored by Odin Borson.
He looked up at the All-Father, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "Don't tell me… you wrote all of these?"
"Indeed," Odin nodded, his expression uncharacteristically proud. "These are my experiences. The histories I have witnessed, the knowledge I have gathered over millennia. The truest treasures are not weapons, but the wisdom of how and when to use them. I think you will find them… enlightening."
Marcus let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. After all the cosmic weapons and legendary relics, the grand prize at the center of Odin's vault was the All-Father's personally written autobiography collection.