Illusiveone - 123: Marvel's Green Lantern, Next Great Adventure

It had been three decades since King Bor’s death, and it was still an open wound to Thrain.

He had not been there when it happened. That was the part he could never quite forgive himself for. He was the leader of the Einherjar, the sworn guardian of the king’s life, and on the day his king needed him most, he had been hundreds of leagues away, carrying out an order Bor himself had given him.

Bor had gone hunting the last remnants of the Dark Elves, a band of survivors who had been raiding the outer realms since the fall of Malekith, and he had cornered them in the ruins of one of their old strongholds. They should have been easy prey. Instead, one of them had unleashed a weapon so monstrous that even Malekith had forbidden it to be made, and when it went off, it tore away whole parts of the world around it and took them into the dark.

The Dark Elves had died in that blast, every last one of them. But Bor was gone too, and there had not even been enough left of him to burn on a pyre.

Thrain had stood among the survivors afterward, looking down into the wound in that world, and he had felt something inside him go cold. It had never warmed again.

Bor was in Valhalla now, and one day Thrain hoped to join him.

Now he sat at the long stone table of the council chamber with the other lords of Asgard and looked toward the head of it, where the Aesir who wore the crown now sat in Bor’s place. His king.

King Odin.

It should not have been him there. Thrain had never said it aloud, and he never would, but he had thought it every day for thirty years. The throne belonged to King Bor’s firstborn, the true heir, the son who had vanished long before.

Thrain had never believed he was dead. He had gone to Bor more than once and asked for permission to keep searching, and every time Bor had listened, and every time his answer had been a little shorter. In the end, Bor had declared his firstborn dead and named Odin crown prince, and the matter had been closed.

Thrain had obeyed. But he had not stopped believing.

At the head of the table, Odin set down the report he had been reading and looked around at the council. The last matter on the agenda had been a dispute over grain shipments to Nidavellir, and it had dragged on far longer than it deserved to.

“I believe we are done here,” Odin said, and he began to rise from his seat to dismiss them.

“My king.”

Odin paused and looked down the length of the table. Several of the other lords turned to look as well. “Thrain. What is it?”

Thrain stood. He had been rehearsing this for weeks, and he still felt the eyes of the whole council on him as he spoke. “It concerns the Green Lantern, my king. Your battle brother.”

He chose the words carefully. “He has spent these last years building alliances against the Shi’ar. The Kree, the Spartoi, the Skrulls, and more besides. I have no quarrel with that. If the Lantern wishes to gather the empires against the Shi’ar, that is his concern.”

He looked at Odin directly. “But why should Asgard be involved? Your father sought peace with the Shi’ar. He spent years building that peace, and yet now we stand beside the Green Lantern in his crusade against them. I must ask, my king, is this truly our fight?”

A murmur passed around the table. Some of the older lords nodded quietly, and Thrain noticed which ones. Others looked at Odin, waiting to see how he would take it.

Odin did not look angry. He settled back into his seat and studied Thrain for a long moment before he answered.

“My father was a wise king, Thrain. Wiser than I may ever be.”

That I won't dispute, Thrain thought, and almost said it aloud.

“And he sought peace with the Shi’ar because, in his time, peace was the right path.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “But my father did not know the full truth. He could not have known it. The Shi’ar are no longer ruled by a Majestor who wants only to expand his borders. They are being led by something else, a being called Parallax, who wishes to rule over the entire universe. Every world the Shi’ar take, it takes. Every soldier who swears loyalty to the Empire swears it to that creature, whether they know it or not. If it is not stopped now, it will come to the Nine Realms in time, and by then it will be far too strong for us to stand against alone.”

His voice was calm, but there was iron under it. “That is why we must oppose them. And for thirty years, we have done exactly that. We have slowed their advance, and in all that time, Asgard has not sent out a single warrior. It was all done by Grænlaðr and his brave Green Lanterns. When called upon, we will answer, but given how successful the Green Lanterns have been, I doubt we will even need to step in.”

“But still, my king...” Thrain began.

“No.” Odin did not raise his voice. “There will be no further discussion on this. I trust my friend. I have fought beside him, and I know what he is. Asgard will remain allied with him against the Shi’ar and against the being known as Parallax.”

Thrain held his king’s gaze for a moment longer than was strictly proper. Then he lowered his eyes and bowed his head.

“Very well, my king.”

Odin nodded and rose to his feet, and this time nobody stopped him. “Then this council is dismissed. I will be in Midgard for the next week.” He turned to the lord seated at his right hand. “Ve, you will rule in my stead until I return.”

Ve rose and bowed deeply. “It is an honour, brother.”

Odin clapped him on the shoulder, took up Gungnir, and walked out of the chamber. His golden armour caught the light from the high windows as he went, and the doors closed behind him with a deep, echoing boom.

Thrain stayed where he was while the other lords filed out, talking quietly among themselves. He kept his face still, but inside he felt the slight like a blade between his ribs. Under King Bor, it had been Thrain who ruled Asgard whenever the king was away. Bor had trusted him with his throne for weeks and months at a time. Odin had not asked him even once. In thirty years, every time the king left Asgard, it was his brother who sat on the throne.

He left the council chamber last and walked outside. The sun was setting, and he found himself alone, trying to let his anger settle.

“Commander.”

Thrain turned. Sungir was coming toward him, moving quickly and glancing over his shoulder as he came. He was one of the few men in the Einherjar whom Thrain trusted completely, a veteran who had served under him since the beginning, and he was not a man who was easily rattled. He looked rattled now.

“Sungir,” Thrain said. “What is it?”

Sungir stopped close beside him and lowered his voice. “A message, Commander. It came through one of our contacts on Vanaheim, sealed and marked for your eyes only.” He drew a folded letter from inside his tunic and held it out. “It’s from King Njord himself.”

Thrain looked at the letter without taking it at first. “Njord?”

Relations between Asgard and Vanaheim had been cold for years now, and most of that coldness had begun with Odin’s ascension. Njord had disliked Odin, especially after the whole affair with Mimir, and Odin, for his part, had never tried to heal the relationship, even after he took the throne. Envoys still travelled between the two realms, and treaties were still honoured, but the old warmth between Asgard and Vanaheim that Bor had worked so hard to build was gone. And now the King of Vanaheim was sending secret letters to the commander of the Einherjar, behind the back of the King of Asgard.

Thrain wondered what Njord could possibly want with him.

He took the letter, broke the seal, and read it. It was short, written in Njord’s own hand, and it did not say much. It said nothing about why. It only asked Thrain to come to Vanaheim as soon as he was able, and to come quietly.

Thrain read it twice. Then he folded it again and slipped it inside his own tunic.

“I will be away for some time,” he told Sungir. “If anyone asks for me, you will tell them I am inspecting the garrisons in the outer realms.”

Sungir hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Commander.”

Thrain left him standing there and walked off toward one of the old, hidden passages of Asgard, ancient pathways that allowed travel to Vanaheim without the use of the Bifrost.

.

.

.

Molos was a world of red canyons and slow blue rivers, and from orbit it looked peaceful. From the ground, it was considerably less so.

Max saw the signs of it on the way down. A Shi’ar troop carrier lay broken on the floor of one of the canyons, its hull scorched black and its yellow-and-black markings half burned away. Farther along the river, the remains of a stone bridge jutted out of the water, and smoke was still rising from what had once been a farming village on the eastern bank.

He followed the river south until the canyons narrowed into a high mountain pass, and there, on a wide ledge of red rock, he found a cluster of people waiting for him.

Att-Lass, Revan, Carina, and Twig stood together near the edge of the ledge, with Turgon a few steps behind them and the Puffs drifting above their heads in a lazy, glowing cloud. Three strangers stood with them. They were Molosians, tall and copper-skinned, dressed in patched fatigues and carrying rifles. Two were men and one was a woman, and all three watched Max come down with guarded expressions.

Max touched down on the rock and looked back the way he had come, toward the smoke still drifting over the river. “So the Shi’ar have been here, then.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Carina said. “Their forces pulled out of this region two days ago, but they made sure to leave a mess behind them.”

Max nodded slowly and turned his attention to the three Molosians standing beside his Lanterns. “So who are these people?”

Att-Lass stepped forward and clasped his hands behind his back, which was what he always did when he was about to give a briefing. “They are rebels, sir. A coalition of separatist militias from the southern provinces. They have been fighting the ruling class of Molos for ten years now, rulers propped up by the Shi’ar.” He gestured toward the three of them. “These are members of the Molos Independence and Liberation Front.”

The woman stepped forward and bowed, touching two fingers to her forehead and then to her heart in the traditional greeting of her people.

Max’s eyes widened. “Say that again.”

“The Molos Independence and Liberation Front,” Revan said. “Yeah, I know, it’s a mouthful. We’ve been calling them the MILFs for short.”

There was a pause, and then Max made a sound like a balloon with a slow leak. He pressed one hand over his mouth and turned away from the others, his shoulders starting to shake.

Att-Lass looked at him with concern. “Sir? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Max said, in a voice that was very clearly not fine. He took a deep breath, turned back around, and fixed his face into the most serious expression he could manage. “I’m fine. So, the Molos Independence and Liberation Front. Tell me more.”

Att-Lass gave him a long look but decided to continue. “Their goal is the independence of the southern provinces and the removal of all Shi’ar influence from Molos. They control most of the mountain territory south of this pass, and they have widespread support among the farming villages along the river. Their founder was a former schoolteacher named Darra, who...”

“Great Darra,” one of the men interrupted, his voice full of pride. “The mother of the front.”

Max tried to hold in his laughter and was partly successful.

“I am Groot?” Twig asked.

“Translation: ‘Why is Max laughing at the MILFs?’”

“I… don’t know,” Carina said.

“You act like a child sometimes, Max,” Jade said in his head.

“Fuck off, you laughed too,” Max shot back.

Max managed to control himself and found the three Molosians staring at him with expressions that were rapidly moving from confusion toward offense. He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. It’s nothing. It’s been a very long day. I apologize.”

The woman who had bowed to him did not look entirely convinced, but she accepted the apology with a stiff nod, and one of the men muttered something to the other.

It didn’t take long for their leader to arrive. Darra was a broad-shouldered Molosian woman with grey streaks in her dark hair and a rifle slung across her back. She walked up and looked the Lanterns over with a flat, unimpressed stare.

“So,” she said. “You’re the Green Lanterns.”

“We are,” Att-Lass said, stepping forward to greet her with a respectful bow of his own. “And you must be the leader of the M.I.L.F.”

Revan was standing right beside Max, and he saw Max’s lips tremble.

“I am,” Darra said proudly. “I’ve led the Front for eleven years.”

“Eleven years,” Max repeated, very carefully. “A very experienced MILF, then.”

“The most experienced,” Darra said, and there was real pride in her voice. “Most of the younger fighters came to us because of me.”

Max closed his eyes for a moment. You know what? He needed this, especially considering where he was going after this. A good moment of levity really lifted his spirits. He leaned toward Att-Lass and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Okay. You take the lead on this.”

Att-Lass blinked. “Sir?”

“Take the lead,” Max whispered again, already rising off the ground. “Call me if the Shi’ar come back, especially if the Imperial Guard are with them. I think I’m gonna leave for Earth a bit early.”

Before Att-Lass could argue, Max shot straight up into the sky. He made it a few hundred feet and was starting to think he might get away with his dignity intact when the Puffs, who had been listening to the whole conversation with great interest, decided that the rebels deserved a proper show of support.

“PUFFS LIKE MILF!”

“GO MILF!”

“MILF! MILF! MILF!”

Max laughed out loud again, and this time there was nobody up there to hear it but the clouds. He kept laughing as he climbed through the atmosphere, leaving the planet behind and accelerating into the darkness of space.

The journey to the Sol System took little time. He crossed the distance in a streak of emerald light, passing the outer planets before slowing as Earth came into view. The familiar blue-and-white world brought a small smile to his face, and he turned toward the Himalayas.

Max flew directly toward Kamar-Taj. He slowed as he approached the familiar grounds and descended.

=============

Kamar-Taj was celebrating.

Lanterns of every colour hung from the eaves of every roof, and floating lights drifted between the courtyards like slow fireflies. Somewhere, music was playing, drums and flutes, and the smell of roasting meat and spiced wine rose up to meet him on the cold mountain wind. The snow on the surrounding peaks glowed silver under a full moon.

He landed in the outer courtyard, and the first person to greet him was an Oan.

The Oan stepped forward into the light of the lanterns, and Max smiled. It was not just any Oan. It was Erendil, the Sorcerer Supreme of Oa, one of the thirty Oans whom Agamotto had trained personally and the one who had risen highest among them. He wore the deep green robes of his order, with silver runes stitched along the sleeves, and he bowed low as Max approached.

“My Lord Ion. Welcome.”

“Erendil,” Max said, clasping his hand warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

He looked past Erendil and saw a handful of other familiar faces among the crowd. They were Oan sorcerers, all of them members of the order Erendil led, the ones who guarded Oa against all magical threats. Several of them noticed Max and bowed and he nodded back.

“So the whole order came out tonight,” he said.

“Most of it,” Erendil said. “Master Agamotto’s invitation was very insistent. Someone had to stay behind and watch over Oa, of course, but we drew lots for it, and I made sure I did not lose.”

Max laughed. “Good man.” He took a deep breath of the cold mountain air and looked up at the lanterns drifting overhead. “Tonight, I feel, is going to be magical.”

The others began to arrive soon after. Sorcerers came through glowing orange portals in ones and twos, dressed in their finest robes, and some of them brought friends and families who stepped out wide-eyed and clutching gifts. Students of the monastery ran between the courtyards carrying trays of food and jugs of wine, and an old monk had set up a game of dice in a corner near the gate that was already drawing a crowd.

Max wandered through it all and let himself enjoy it. He found Agamotto in the main hall. The old sorcerer was sitting on a cushion near the great fire, surrounded by a ring of young students who were listening to him tell a story with their mouths hanging open. When he saw Max in the doorway, his face lit up, and he waved his students away and rose to embrace him.

“Max. You are early.”

“You threatened to turn me into a goat if I didn’t.”

“And I would have.” Agamotto stepped back and looked him over. “You look well.”

They talked for a while by the fire, reminiscing about the past. Nur arrived an hour later and pulled Max into a crushing hug that lifted him off the ground.

“Max.”

“Nur. You’re going to break my ribs.”

“Your ribs can survive the death of stars,” Nur said, setting him back down. “They can survive me.”

Then the sky above the monastery split open.

A column of rainbow light slammed down into the centre of the main courtyard and threw snow up in every direction. Everyone in the courtyard turned to look, and when the light faded, Odin was standing in the middle of the scorched circle it had left behind. For the first time in a very long time, he was not wearing the clothes of a king. He had left the golden armour and the crown behind, and he wore a plain leather jerkin and a heavy fur cloak, and under each arm he carried a barrel.

“YEAHHHHH!” he roared.

The whole courtyard roared back at him. Odin grinned, set the barrels down, and slammed his fist against the lid of one of them so that it cracked open.

“Asgardian mead!” he bellowed. “Enough for everyone, and then enough again!”

The cheering got even louder, and a crowd of sorcerers rushed toward him with their cups held out. Max shook his head and laughed.

Later, when the moon was high and the festivities had settled into a warm, noisy rhythm, Max stood with Nur on the steps of the main hall and watched the celebration going on below them.

Max spotted Odin near the fire. He was not alone. Gaea was with him, and the two of them looked very close, very touchy.

“Oh, those two are back together again,” Max said aloud.

Nur followed his gaze and snorted. “Do not judge them, Max.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You are judging. And you have no right to.” Nur folded his arms. “You and Aphrodite are exactly the same way. How many times have the two of you,” and here he lifted his fingers to make quotation marks in the air, “‘taken a break’?”

Max opened his mouth, then closed it again. “That’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“It just is. It’s different with Ro. She’s still adjusting to merging with a cosmic being, Nur. It’s a lot for anyone. And sometimes the Predator’s worst instincts take over, and she gets a bit...” He searched for the word. “Clingy.”

Nur raised an eyebrow, but Max wasn’t looking at him anymore. His mind had already gone somewhere else, back to the last time he had seen her.

He had been in her temple. He had finally gotten out of bed, dressed, and walked to the great doors at the front of the temple, only to find that they would not open. He had pushed against them and found them sealed.

“Ro?” he had called back over his shoulder. “Why are the doors locked?”

Aphrodite had been lying on the long couch, wrapped in silk, and she had smiled at him. “Because we don’t spend enough time together anymore, my love. You’re always running off somewhere. I thought you should stay. A month, maybe.” She stretched. “Maybe a year.”

Max had laughed. “What?” Then he saw that she wasn’t laughing with him, and he laughed again, a little less easily. “Ro, come on. Seriously. I have to go.”

Her eyes had started to glow violet.

Her face had changed. All the softness had gone out of it, and what replaced it was a look of complete betrayal, as if he had struck her. She sat up slowly on the couch.

“No,” she said. “No, no, no, no.”

She rose to her feet, and her voice grew louder with every word. “No. No. No. Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that! You always do that. You always leave.” The violet light in her eyes burned brighter, and the water in the pool behind her had begun to tremble. “I thought we were having a good time.”

“Max.”

He blinked.

“Max. Max.”

Max came back to himself. Nur was standing in front of him and looking at him closely.

“Huh?”

“You spaced out for a moment,” Nur said.

“Oh.” Max rubbed the back of his neck and gave a short laugh. “It’s just... nothing. It’s nothing.” He turned toward the courtyard where most of the guests were now beginning to gather. “Come on. Let’s go back in.”

Nur watched him for another second, clearly unconvinced, but he let it go and followed him inside.

The courtyard was packed. Odin had found his way in with Gaea on his arm, and Max and Nur squeezed in beside them. Max had barely settled into place when Agamotto rose and flew up to stand in front of them all.

“My friends,” Agamotto said. His voice was not loud, but it carried to every corner of the courtyard. “Welcome, all of you, to this celebration of the winter solstice. On the longest night of the year, it is our custom to gather together and remind one another that the light always returns.” He smiled out at them. “And I am glad to see all of you.”

“I have been the Sorcerer Supreme of this world for many years now,” Agamotto went on. “More years than most of you would believe. And in all that time, I have never been prouder than I am tonight, looking at all of you. The sorcerers gathered here are perhaps the finest in this universe. You have made an old man very proud.”

He paused, and something in his face changed.

“But I cannot do this forever. And that is why I am stepping down.”

The courtyard erupted. People gasped and cried out, and a wave of disbelieving voices rose from every corner. Max lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked at Nur and Odin. Odin’s face had gone very still. Nur looked saddened, and he did not try to hide it.

“Let me speak,” Agamotto said, raising his hands. The noise did not settle. “Please, let me speak.” Slowly, the voices died down again, and he looked out over the crowd with a gentle smile. “I would not leave you without a guardian. I have chosen a successor, someone I trust with this world as much as I have ever trusted anyone.” He turned toward the front benches. “Haoran.”

Every head in the courtyard turned to look at a man sitting near the front. He was young by the standards of those gathered, perhaps in his forties, with a shaved head and a plain grey robe. He stared up at Agamotto with his mouth half open.

“Come forward,” Agamotto said kindly.

Haoran rose and made his way toward him, looking as though he could scarcely believe what was happening.

“I name Haoran my successor,” Agamotto said, “and the new Sorcerer Supreme of Earth.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then it exploded into cheers. Sorcerers rose, applauding and shouting Haoran’s name, and the students who had been crying a minute earlier were now cheering louder than anyone. Haoran stood at the front of the gathering, looking completely overwhelmed, and Agamotto stood beside him, smiling.

The celebration swept back over the place like a wave. People rushed forward to congratulate Haoran, Odin started bellowing for more mead, and somewhere outside, the young sorcerers began setting off fireworks again. In all the noise and movement, very few people noticed when Agamotto slowly slipped away from the gathering.

Max noticed. He watched the old sorcerer stop and look back over the crowded courtyard one last time, at the students, the sorcerers, and the guests, at all of it. Then Agamotto turned and was gone.

Max caught Odin’s eyes across the crowd and nodded. Odin nodded back and quietly set down his cup, and Nur was already moving. The three of them left one at a time and met again outside, in the cold and the dark near the monastery gardens, where Agamotto was waiting for them under the bare branches of an old tree.

The four of them stood together for a moment without speaking. Then they began to walk.

“So this is it, then,” Odin said.

Agamotto did not answer him directly. He only smiled and gestured toward the path that wound away through the gardens into the snow.

“Come,” he said. “Let us take a walk.”

Agamotto led them out of the gardens and up a narrow path that wound along the side of the mountain. The path climbed steeply toward a cliff edge high above the monastery, and at the very top of it, alone against the night sky, stood a single tree with blue leaves. They glowed faintly in the moonlight, even here in the dead of winter, when every other tree on the mountain stood bare.

They were still some distance from it when Agamotto stopped and turned to face them.

“Before we go any farther,” he said, “I wish to confess something.”

The three of them looked at him expectantly. Agamotto hesitated.

“I may have used the Time Stone to look into the future,” Agamotto said.

As he said it, the amulet resting against his chest opened. Its golden casing unfolded like the petals of a flower, and inside it, the Time Stone glowed with a soft green light.

Max’s smile disappeared. “Agamotto. You know how dangerous that is.”

“He is right,” Odin said, frowning. “You told us yourself, the Stone is not meant to be played with.”

Even Nur nodded gravely. “This is not like you, Motto.”

“I know,” Agamotto said quietly. “And I am sorry. But I had to. There is something I must show you. Something I need to prevent.”

He looked so serious as he said it that the mood among them changed at once, and Max felt something tighten in his chest.

“What did you see?” he asked.

“I will show you,” Agamotto said.

He raised his hands and moved them through the air in a slow, circular motion, and the Time Stone flared bright green. The mountain dissolved around them. The snow, the tree, and the cliff all melted away like paint running down a wall, and when the world came back together, they were no longer standing on Earth.

They were in Asgard, and Asgard was at war.

The city was burning. In the sky above it, warriors were fighting and dying in their thousands, and Max gasped aloud when he saw who they were. On one side were the armies of Asgard in their gold and silver armour, Einherjar, Valkyries, and ordinary soldiers. On the other were Green Lanterns. Hundreds of them.

“No,” Max said. He turned to Odin, who was standing beside him and looking up at the sky with the same horror on his face. “No. This can’t happen. It won’t happen.”

The vision moved on and up into the palace until they came into the throne room. There, the three of them saw something Max and Odin would have considered unthinkable.

Max and Odin were in the middle of the throne room, fighting each other. The Odin in the vision wore his golden armour and carried Gungnir, while the Max in the vision held a sword made of green light. They were trying to kill each other. Every blow was meant to end it. Gungnir came down in an arc that would have split a mountain, and Max caught it on his blade and drove forward. The two of them crashed together in the middle of the room hard enough to crack the marble beneath their feet.

Odin smashed the butt of his spear into Max’s jaw and sent him flying back through one of the stone pillars. Max came out of the rubble and tackled him across the room into the steps of the throne. They rolled across the floor, trading blows. The sword cut a deep line across Odin’s armour, and Gungnir’s blade tore through Max’s shoulder. Both of them were bleeding, and neither of them stopped.

Then Odin found an opening. He swept Max’s legs out from under him and slammed him down onto his back. Before Max could rise, Odin pressed the shaft of Gungnir across his throat and held him there with all his weight. The Max in the vision choked and clawed at the spear.

“We were brothers once,” the vision Odin said.

“Once,” the vision Max said.

He tore one arm free and threw Odin off him with a surge of raw strength that cracked the floor all the way to the walls. Odin staggered back, and before he could raise his spear again, Max’s sword came up in a single vicious slash. Odin screamed and clutched at his face as blood poured through his fingers. One of his eyes was gone.

The vision ended.

Nobody spoke. Max could hear his own breathing. Odin had raised a hand halfway to his own left eye without seeming to realize he was doing it. Nur was staring at the snow, beginning to panic.

Max turned to Agamotto and saw that the old sorcerer’s lips were pressed tightly together. His shoulders were trembling, and his eyes were watering. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

This fucker, Max thought.

Odin was the first to speak. “You little...”

Agamotto burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he had to lean on his staff to keep himself upright, and the sound echoed off the mountainside and sent a cloud of birds flying out of the trees below.

“That was not funny, Motto,” Nur said, his panic hardening into irritation.

“It was funny to me!” Agamotto wheezed. He wiped his eyes and pointed at Odin. “Your face! You should have seen your face! A classic Agamotto prank, for the very last time.” He started laughing again, even harder than before.

Max tried to stay angry, and for a few seconds he managed it, until he felt the corner of his mouth begin to twitch. Then Nur let out a low, reluctant chuckle, and Odin threw back his head and roared with laughter. Max finally gave up and joined them.

The four of them stood on the mountain path, laughing until their sides ached. When it was over, Odin reached out and clapped Max on the shoulder, and Max clapped him back. The two of them shared a look of quiet relief that the vision had been nothing but a lie.

“Ah, that was fun,” Agamotto said, still catching his breath. “All three of you were being far too gloomy and sad. Someone had to lighten the mood.” He chuckled once more and turned toward the cliff. “Come. We are nearly there.”

He led them the rest of the way up the path to the tree on the cliff edge. When they reached it, they stopped and simply stood there for a while. The view from the top was breathtaking. The whole sky was open above them, full of stars from one horizon to the other. Below them, the lanterns of Kamar-Taj glowed in the valley. None of them said anything for a long time.

Finally, Agamotto turned to them. “I have something to give you all.”

He reached into his robes and brought out two amulets. They were very much like the one he wore around his own neck, made of the same old gold and carved with the same runes, and when he held them up in the moonlight, Max could feel the power humming inside them.

“These are powerful magical relics,” Agamotto said. “Two of the three most powerful I have ever made. I wish for the two of you to have them, Nur and Max, and to keep them safe.”

Max took his amulet. Nur took the other. The moment the gold touched his palm, Max knew exactly what he was holding. These were the Eyes of Agamotto. He looked up at his old friend and found that he could not think of anything to say.

Agamotto turned to Odin next and drew something else out of his robes. It was a stone, roughly the size of a hen’s egg, and it glowed a deep, shimmering green.

“This is something I made by accident during my experiments with the Time Stone,” Agamotto said, placing it in Odin’s hand. “I call it the Moebius Stone. I want it kept safe on Asgard, or in any place you believe you can keep it safe.”

Odin closed his hand around the stone. “I will guard it with my life.”

Agamotto looked at the three of them, and his smile was warm. “My friends. I want to thank you. For your friendship, for all these years, for everything…” His voice softened.

“There are dark times ahead. I have seen enough to know that much. Whatever happens, whatever comes for you, never break the bond of friendship between you.”

Max, Nur, and Odin looked at each other and nodded.

Agamotto reached out and took their hands, one after another, and held them tightly. “Promise me that you will not.”

“We promise,” all three of them said together.

Max had known what was coming. They all did. But now that the moment had arrived, he realized he was not ready for it at all.

Agamotto smiled. “Good.”

He let go of their hands and turned back toward the cliff edge.

“My time has come…” he said.

Max closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Agamotto was walking away from them toward the edge of the cliff, and the blue leaves of the tree had begun to fall. They drifted down around him in the still air, slowly at first and then more and more of them, until he was surrounded by a swirling cloud of glowing blue.

At the very edge, he stopped and looked back at them one more time, and he was smiling.

Then he began to glow. The light started faintly and grew brighter and brighter, until Max could barely look at him. Agamotto rose off the ground and began to ascend into the sky, with the blue leaves spiralling up around him. Higher and higher he went, a single point of light climbing into the stars, and then, in a burst of brilliant white light that lit up the whole mountain, he was gone.

Something small and golden tumbled out of the fading light. It was his amulet, one of the three Eyes. None of them moved to pick it up. The three of them stood under the bare branches of the tree, looking up at where their friend had been.

Agamotto had joined Hoggoth and Oshtur once more, to stand among them as one of the Vishanti.

.

.

.

“Where are you taking me, Njord?” Thrain asked.

He had arrived in Vanaheim and Njord had dismissed his entire court the moment Thrain walked into the hall. They had gone down a long stairway beneath the palace, then through tunnels cut into the living rock, deeper and deeper under the city, until Thrain had lost all sense of where they were.

“You’ll see,” Njord said without turning around.

The tunnel ended at a heavy wooden door bound in iron. Njord pushed it open and stepped aside, and Thrain walked through it into a round chamber lit by braziers set along its walls. The ceiling was carved with old Vanir runes, and in the centre of the room, a man was standing with his back to them.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in dark armour, and he held a spear. Its head was a long, jagged crystal that glowed yellow.

“Nephew,” Njord said. “Thrain has come.”

The man turned around.

Thrain’s breath stopped in his chest. “Cul,” he said aloud. He could not believe what he was seeing.

Cul Borson smiled at him. “It has been a long time, my friend.”

Thrain did not remember crossing the chamber. One moment he was standing in the doorway, and the next he had reached the long-vanished prince and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Cul was laughing and clapping him on the back.

“I thought...” Thrain’s voice was rough. “Your father thought you were dead. He made me stop searching…”

“I know,” Cul said gently. “All will be revealed, my friend. The truth, Thrain. I promise you that.”

Njord had come to stand beside them. “Aye. I myself was shocked.” He looked at Thrain, and his face was grim. “Cul’s is a tale of treachery, Commander. The worst kind of treachery.”

“But I am well now,” Cul said. “And I have returned.”

Thrain stared at him. “Cul, you are the firstborn,” he said. “You are the true heir. You are the king. Your brother...”

“Oh, yes,” Cul said. “My brother.”

“It is him, and his battle brother, about whom I have many tales to tell,” Cul said, and his eyes glowed yellow.

The glow faded from Cul’s eyes as quickly as it had come. Cul’s smile returned, as warm as ever. “Oh, how embarrassing of me,” Cul said. “I have forgotten my manners. We also have another guest here.”

He looked back toward the far side of the chamber, where the light of the braziers did not quite reach. A figure stepped forward out of the shadows, and Thrain would have recognized him anywhere.

They had met many years ago, when King Bor had travelled to the Shi’ar Empire. Thrain had stood with his king, and he had watched this man sit across the table from Bor and speak of friendship between their peoples.

The man wore armour of white and gold. He carried himself the way he always had, like a man of great nobility and excellence.

“I am sure you know the Majestor,” Cul said.

“Majestor M’Turon. I did not expect to find you here.”

The Majestor laughed. It was a deep, booming laugh that filled the whole chamber and echoed off the stone walls.

“We have a lot to talk about, Commander Thrain,” he said, his voice deep and resonant bass, as his eyes glowed yellow.

.

.

Cul Borson The God of Fear

Majestor M’Turon