"There is no silence like the one that follows betrayal. It is louder than war."
Part One: The Bone Throne
Suttung stood before the shattered altar where the mead had once rested.
The air still shimmered from Odin's theft. The vessels were bone-dry. The magic was gone.
But what made the mountain shake was not the absence of the mead.
It was the scent of his daughter's tears.
Gunnlöð knelt on the cold stone floor, her face hidden by her hair. The flames in her veins were dim. Her fists were clenched so tightly blood seeped between her fingers. But she made no sound.
Suttung, giant of stone and storm, stared at her—eyes wide, breath uneven.
"What did he do to you?" he asked.
She didn't look up.
"Gunnlöð."
Still nothing.
So Suttung stepped forward. One hand reached out—not in rage, but in fear. A father, not a king.
And when he touched her shoulder, she flinched.
"I let him in," she whispered. "I let him in, and he took everything."
A long silence followed.
Then Suttung's voice dropped into something cold. Something ancient.
"I'll tear his heart from his chest."
Part Two: Storms Over Asgard
The skies over Asgard had not cleared.
Even days after Odin's return, the clouds remained choked with ash and thunder. The gods held feasts to distract themselves, pouring mead into golden cups, speaking of riddles and runes and the wisdom of their Allfather.
But not all were convinced.
Freya, golden-haired and sharp-eyed, stood on the balcony of her hall, watching the skies.
"He stinks of guilt," she muttered.
Frigg stood beside her, arms folded. "He always stinks of guilt. It's his favorite cologne."
They didn't laugh.
Below them, Odin walked alone—his steps uneven, his eyes sunken. Something was wrong. The mead had changed him.
And not for the better.
Inside the great hall, Odin poured over scrolls, whispering verses to himself, eyes darting. The mead still lingered in his blood—its visions, its truths, its lies.
He saw too much now. He heard too much.
He could no longer sleep.
And every time he closed his eye, he saw Gunnlöð's face.
Not angry.Not vengeful.Just broken.
Part Three: The War Council
Suttung did not scream when he declared war.
He simply rose from his throne of roots and bone, summoned every giant loyal to him, and pointed his great obsidian axe toward the northern sky.
"Bring me the thief," he said. "Or I will turn Asgard to rubble."
Word traveled quickly.
The ravens—Huginn and Muninn—brought the message to Odin's chambers by dusk.
The moment he read it, Odin's hands trembled.
He closed the scroll slowly.
Then said, "So it begins."
The war council convened beneath the Yggdrasill's great shadow.
Thor arrived first, hammer already crackling with thunder. "Let him come," he snarled. "I'll break his jaw on the Bifröst."
Tyr leaned against a pillar, calm but deadly. "This is your fault," he said to Odin. "You started this war with your lies."
Loki, grinning in the shadows, said nothing.
Odin stood in the center, his voice low.
"I did what I had to do."
"You seduced a woman to steal a weapon," Freya said coldly. "You didn't just lie. You loved her."
"I still do."
They stared.
The Allfather of Asgard, conqueror of realms, warrior of a thousand years—in love with the daughter of his enemy.
Part Four: Gunnlöð's Fire
In the ruined chamber where the mead once stood, Gunnlöð lit a fire and stepped into it barefoot.
She let it crawl up her legs, let it burn away the memory of his hands.
The spirits of the mountain gathered to watch. Silent. Pale. Old as the frost itself.
"Let me forget him," she said aloud.
But the mountain did not answer.
Instead, the flames turned gold.
The same gold as the mead he had swallowed.
The same gold as the light in his eye when he lied to her.
And Gunnlöð screamed.
She screamed until the mountain split at its peak and lightning cracked across the sky.
Then she rose from the flames—her eyes no longer soft. Her skin etched with glowing runes. Her voice a whisper of death.
"I am not his shame," she said."I am his reckoning."
Part Five: The Eve of War
The sky tore open with the scream of a giant eagle.
Suttung had arrived at the Bifröst.
Behind him came frost giants with axes taller than men, earth giants who shook the ground with every step, and fire beasts whose breath melted stone.
He did not ask for parley.
He called Odin's name into the sky like a curse.
"Oath-breaker. Liar. Thief."
And Odin stepped forward to meet him.
No weapons. No armor.
Just a single rune, burning across his chest.
And a heart heavier than the mountain behind them.