"But who is considered the third-in-command of Asgard?"
Rowe gave a sincere nod. "Thank you for saving me."
Uller, still exuding that calm stoicism, nodded in return. "It's nothing. Princess Hela personally instructed me to search for you. Now that you're back safely, go and report to her immediately."
Rowe paused in surprise.
Hela had given a direct order to find him?
That single detail caused a subtle flutter in Rowe's heart. Though Hela of future legend would become known as the ruthless Goddess of Death, the Hela of this time was still a noble and fearless Asgardian warrior—strong, valiant, and dignified. Despite her imposing reputation, she had a stately and generous demeanor.
Their few encounters had already stirred certain feelings in Rowe's chest—thoughts he had hardly allowed himself to dwell on. But now...
Uller gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Go on."
"Yes!" Rowe responded promptly, and darted away.
Before long, he arrived at the golden Asgardian Palace. As he approached the courtyard steps, he spotted a figure traveling through the grand hallway—none other than Kuur, the Father of the Gods. Rowe halted instantly and bowed in deference alongside the nearby passersby, not daring to rise until the Allfather had gone from view.
True to his feared title as the "God of Fear," Kuur radiated an unsettling aura. Where Odin bore the presence of a hardened warlord, Kuur seemed a shadowy monarch. Tall and lean, with flowing black hair and a piercing stare, he moved like a phantom cloaked in a dark green shroud.
Flanking him was his eldest daughter, Skadi. Her sharply-cut short hair framed her face with bold severity, and she held a heavy hammer with one hand. Clad entirely in thick battle armor, she gave off a savage intensity.
No wonder Andel had commented on the contrast between Hela and Skadi. Rowe mused that the difference between the two was certainly... stark.
After they departed, Rowe approached the palace gates.
"Halt! State your name!" Two Heroic Spirit guards crossed their spears in front of him, barring passage.
One of them squinted, eyeing Rowe from head to toe. His appearance was wild and worn—his clothes torn, animal furs draped around his shoulders, dried blood caked across his chest. The guard wrinkled his nose.
"Are you even from Asgard?" he asked skeptically.
Rowe hesitated, then carefully answered, "I just returned from Jotunheim. I'm a healer, and I request an audience with Princess Hela."
The guard raised an eyebrow. "A healer? From Jotunheim? What business could you possibly have with Princess Hela? You bringing back a battle report or something?"
"Uh…" Rowe had no response.
The other guard narrowed his eyes. "You want to see Princess Hela? If it's official, show us proper documents. If it's personal—well—I suggest you go take a bath, check the mirror, and maybe get some sleep first."
Rowe looked down at himself and suddenly felt ashamed.
What the hell am I thinking? Of course she wouldn't want to see me like this.
He gave a stiff nod, offered his thanks, and walked away.
After leaving the palace, he made his way back to Lifia Town and soon arrived at Peter's Herbal Shop.
"Aunt?" Rowe called out when he spotted a familiar woman entering the shop.
The woman turned, squinted at him for a long moment, and then cautiously asked, "Rowe?"
It had been five years. Rowe left Asgard at twenty-five, and now thirty, he looked older. His hair was long and unkempt, his face weary. His clothes were in tatters, barely recognizable.
Rowe stepped forward, wiping grime and dried blood from his cheeks. "Yeah, it's me, Aunt. I just returned from Jotunheim. I got into a bit of trouble, but I'm alright now."
She looked at him in disbelief. "Jotunheim? But El told us you were transferred to Vanaheim."
"There was a large reassignment recently," Rowe explained. "I was redirected from Vanaheim to Jotunheim."
He paused. "Where's El?"
At the mention of El, a smile brightened her face. She tilted her head proudly. "Oh! You haven't heard. El was chosen as an apprentice by the Duchess of Norn herself. She's been studying magic and herbalism in Nornheim ever since!"
Rowe froze. "What?"
He couldn't believe it.
The Duchess of Norn?
The actual ruler of Nornheim—Frigga's adoptive mother and the highest-ranking enchantress in all Nine Realms?
El… was her student?
Then again, it made sense. Despite her humble beginnings, El had always been a prodigy. People in Lifia had once called her "the Herbal Goddess of Lifia." With such talent, it wasn't impossible that the Duchess herself would take interest.
"When's she coming back?" he asked.
His aunt shook her head. "No idea. The Duchess keeps things strict. El's only returned once—and just for a few days—before heading back to Nornheim."
She smiled fondly. "Oh! When she came back, she even brought a staff with her. You should've seen it! That staff…"
Rowe listened for a while as she gushed, then quietly asked, "Is Uncle home?"
"No. He's out drinking," she replied.
Rowe sighed in relief. He and Peter hadn't spoken on good terms in years. A reunion now would have been tense.
"I'll go bathe first," he said.
He retreated to his old room, unearthed clean clothes, and finally shed his wilderness rags for something decent. The sensation of the hot water hitting his skin was pure bliss. It was his first real bath in over two years.
Back in Jotunheim, bathing meant using the Fist of Verrigan to melt tiny pools of ice, then diving in like a desperate loach. He'd roll in the freezing puddles, scrubbing away grime with frozen fingers. The moment the water froze again, he'd activate his fire, only to be seared by steam and ice. The memory was almost funny now—almost.
After bathing, he borrowed his uncle's razor and cleaned his face. He stared at himself in the mirror, stunned.
Under the filth and hair, he was still handsome.
"If only I were taller… and bulkier," he muttered.
Then his thoughts turned to the Talent Flask.
Five years had passed. Yet he still lacked six ingredients.
Thunderflower Core. Purple Lotus Bloom.
Arkin Bone. Dragon Blood. Mountain's Heart. Sand of Time.
He needed to act. Quickly.
Rowe sat in the quiet of his room for a long while. Then, rising with purpose, he found his aunt again and asked about the date.
It was official. He had reached Asgard's legal age of adulthood.
His aunt must've realized the same thing. She looked at him thoughtfully. "So, Rowe. You're an adult now. What are your plans?"
Rowe pondered, then answered, "I plan to live on my own. I want to settle in Landvety Town."
"Landvety? It's busy there. A good choice," she nodded.
Then, as if remembering something, she stood up, led Rowe to the storeroom, and pulled out a locked chest.
She handed it to him.
Rowe blinked. "What is this?"
She smiled gently. "It's your father Gary's legacy. Now that you've come of age, it's time it belonged to you."