The Ashborn Dimension glowed warmly.
Lanterns floated in the air like fireflies.
Sakura petals drifted gently across long tables carved from living stone.
The river reflected the light of the artificial moon, calm and endless.
At the heart of it all—
A feast.
Alexander sat at the center, surrounded by family, lovers, and friends.
Laughter filled the air.
A Feast of Home
Thor ate loudly, stacks of plates disappearing at alarming speed.
"This meat is incredible!" he declared. "Is it from Midgard?"
Alexander shook his head.
"No."
Thor paused.
"…Should I be worried?"
"Yes," Loki and Alexander replied together.
Loki smirked and raised a cup.
"To my brother—who somehow created a realm more comfortable than Asgard itself."
Frigga smiled warmly, eyes shining with pride.
"This place feels alive," she said softly.
Odin nodded.
"It has roots," he said, glancing toward the World Tree.
"Strong ones."
Amora lounged comfortably beside Alexander, Lorelei laughing quietly nearby.
Sif drank calmly, relaxed for once.
Retsu Unohana poured tea, serene as ever.
Scáthach debated battle philosophy with Saber Alter.
Grayfia spoke quietly with Jeanne d'Arc Alter.
Ciel observed it all, quietly content.
Infinity laughed freely.
Death sat beside Alexander, closer than usual, her presence gentle rather than cold.
Galacta stared at everything with open fascination.
"This is unfair," she muttered.
"Who builds a perfect vacation dimension?"
Alexander smiled.
A Moment of Peace
For a while—
There was no war.
No fate.
No cosmic balance to maintain.
Just food.
Conversation.
And warmth.
Alexander leaned back, watching everyone.
"…This," he thought,
"is what I wanted."
The Phoenix within him burned softly—content.
Far Away — Where Light Does Not Reach
Elsewhere.
Beyond celebration.
Beyond warmth.
Oblivion watched.
The laughter did not reach Him.
The feast meant nothing to Him.
"…Peace," Oblivion murmured.
"How fragile."
He did not confront Alexander directly.
Not yet.
Instead—
He planned.
Seeds of Conflict
Oblivion's will moved silently.
Not as destruction.
But as influence.
He selected two realms.
Svartalfheim.
Alfheim.
Darkness and light.
Perfect opposites.
Perfect fuel.
But Oblivion would not act openly.
He never did.
Instead—
He chose third parties.
The First Manipulations
In the shadows of the cosmos—
Skrulls received whispers.
False visions.
Promises of survival.
In Muspelheim, rage was subtly guided.
Old grudges resurfaced.
In Vanaheim, diplomacy twisted into paranoia.
Small conflicts began.
Trade disputes.
Border incidents.
Accusations without proof.
Nothing Asgard would notice immediately.
Nothing that could be traced.
Yet.
A Balance Tilting
Back in Ashborn Dimension—
Death suddenly paused.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Something moved," she said quietly.
Infinity frowned.
"Yes."
Alexander felt it too.
A distant ripple.
Faint.
Unclear.
He exhaled slowly.
"…The feast isn't over," he said calmly.
And he was right.
For now—
The music continued.
The laughter remained.
But far beyond the World Tree's roots—
The Nine Realms were beginning to stir.
And Oblivion smiled.