"Eitri, are your dwarves ready?"
In the vast, shadowed emptiness of space, a miniature star blazed at the center of a colossal ring. This was Nidavellir, the forge world said to burn eternally without ever being extinguished. Beneath the golden light, countless towering dwarves had gathered together, their solemn gazes fixed on the man who hovered effortlessly in the void.
Rowan.
His presence seemed to bend the starlight itself, a figure both commanding and unreachable.
"We are ready, Lord Rowan," Eitri replied after drawing a deep, steadying breath. The dwarf king gave a firm nod, his massive hands still trembling slightly from the weight of recent revelations.
Over the past weeks, the dwarves had discovered troubling news: Thanos' Black Order was spreading its shadowy reach across the cosmos. With Asgard's fall, Nidavellir had lost its guardian, leaving the forge-world vulnerable to annihilation. Eitri and his people knew they could not remain here. If the storm was inevitable, better to follow Rowan's lead than be crushed under fate's wheel.
Rowan lifted his right hand, and the starlight caught on the golden Infinity Gauntlet. Four dazzling gems pulsed upon its surface, each one radiating a power that dwarves masters of forging and enchantment could barely comprehend.
Reality. Space. Power. Mind.
The sight made every dwarf quiver with awe. Legends spoke of the Infinity Stones, of gods who once touched fragments of their power. Yet never, in hundreds of thousands of years, had anyone gathered four at once. That feat belonged now to Rowan alone.
For the dwarves, this was no longer simply a man. This was godhood incarnate.
Rowan ignored their stunned reverence. He raised his left hand and snapped his fingers.
The Infinity Gauntlet flared with raw energy, vibrations rippling across Nidavellir's structure. A low hum filled the air before a deafening boom cracked reality open. A swirling blue vortex bloomed in the void, vast and hungering like the jaws of some primordial beast. Slowly, inexorably, it drew Nidavellir into its maw.
At the center of this transference, Rowan felt his body become a living conduit. Energy roared through him, spilling from the Infinity Stones into the gateway. His skin burned, his blood boiled, and his vision swam with molten light. For a moment, even his planetary-tier body felt close to shattering.
If Nidavellir had been the size of Earth's moon, the strain would have been unbearable. But its mass was smaller, manageable, just within the limits of what his physique could endure. He gritted his teeth, letting the torrent rage through him until, at last, the forge-world vanished into the vortex.
Twenty seconds later, the world re-emerged.
Rowan and the dwarves blinked as light dimmed, then shifted red. The air thickened with sulfur, the oppressive heat searing against their skin. The forge-world now rested atop a colossal volcanic crater, lava surging and spitting below. Half of Nidavellir's great star-ring dipped into the molten sea, while the other half jutted outward into the open air, suspended like a crown above the abyss.
The dwarves stared, wide-eyed, at the sight.
Rowan only smiled. This was precisely as he intended.
If Nidavellir had been placed upon flat ground, its world-core forge would have died, cut off from the eternal flame that fed it. But here, in the heart of Muspelheim the Fire Realm the raging magma would not weaken the forge. It would nourish it, driving its flames to new heights.
"Eitri," Rowan asked lightly, "are you satisfied with this new home?"
Eitri blinked, his shock melting into joy. He dropped to his knees, his massive frame trembling with gratitude. "Satisfied? Lord Rowan, you have given us more than we dared to dream. Thank you!"
The other dwarves followed their king, one by one kneeling until the entire host pressed their foreheads to the ground. Their hearts swelled with loyalty. Asgard had given them promises of protection that had long since crumbled. Rowan had given them survival, hope, and a future.
"This is your reward for forging the Infinity Gauntlet," Rowan told them, his voice steady, regal. "You have chosen to follow me, and I will not let you suffer for it."
The Space Stone gleamed. A permanent portal tore open in the black volcanic stone, shimmering like liquid glass. Beyond it stretched a lush island bathed in sunlight Earth's Bermuda Triangle, anchored now as a bridge between realms.
"There lies your second home," Rowan said. "A fertile island on Earth itself. You may settle there freely."
The dwarves gasped. For generations they had dwelled only among fire and steel. To hear of green fields, living forests, and seas filled with life was like being promised paradise. Eitri's eyes glistened with tears. "Lord Rowan… we are yours, now and forever."
Their voices rose together, thundering like hammers upon an anvil.
"The dwarves shall follow Lord Rowan to the end!"
Rowan's smile deepened. With the loyalty of Nidavellir secured, his arsenal of future weapons was assured. Eitri had once forged Stormbreaker itself. With the right materials, there was no limit to what they could craft for him.
Meanwhile, deep within Muspelheim, the ancient fire giant Surtr shifted uneasily upon his black throne. He had felt the tremor, sensed the foreign star descending upon his world. He scowled, a skeletal visage wreathed in weak flames, clutching a charred branch where once the Twilight Sword had burned bright.
When Rowan appeared before him, golden gauntlet gleaming, Surtr flinched despite himself.
"From this day forward," Rowan said evenly, "the dwarves are your neighbors. Keep your minions away from them. Understand?"
Surtr's pride burned, but his strength was a guttering candle. He clenched his skeletal fists, then exhaled a defeated sigh. "I understand."
Rowan chuckled softly. He had no interest in bullying a dying giant. But one thought lingered: if Muspelheim was a realm of fire, then its heart must hold the purest flames of all.
"Tell me," Rowan asked suddenly, "where in this world is fire most concentrated?"
"The core," Surtr answered warily. "But even at my peak, I could not remain there long. Its heat rivals the sun itself."
Rowan's eyes gleamed. "Good. That's exactly what I need."
Before Surtr could reply, Rowan vanished into the earth, streaking downward like a meteor.
The descent was brutal. Black rock pressed in from all sides, harder than any earthly stone. At last he pierced the magma seas, molten rivers lapping at his vibranium armor. The deeper he sank, the more oppressive it became. Metal and stone blended into a half-liquid, half-solid inferno. Temperatures soared past half a million degrees, until even his armor began to fracture.
Rowan clenched his fist, and the Reality Stone flared. Scarlet particles spread across his armor, stabilizing it. With the Reality Stone's protection, he could endure.
Here, at the threshold of Muspelheim's blazing heart, he closed his eyes. The Mind Stone lit upon the gauntlet, expanding his perception outward. He stretched his spirit into the surrounding fire, trying to grasp the rhythm of its essence the elusive Law of Flame.
Hours passed. When he opened his eyes again, disappointment flickered there. No revelation. No sudden mastery. The laws of the cosmos would not yield so easily.
Still, he smiled faintly. "This will be my training ground."
With a flick of the Space Stone, he returned to his private chamber on Earth. Steam burst into the air around him, threatening to vaporize the room, until the Reality Stone shimmered again and bent the heat away.
Rowan looked at the crimson gem and chuckled. "The Reality Stone really is convenient. Subtle, but infinitely useful."
He flexed his hand, the four Infinity Stones blazing in unison. His journey into the laws of fire had only just begun.
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