(General P.O.V)
Dia's last memory was teeth—rows of them—then heat, unbearable and raw. She screamed as she fell into a burning void. When she hit, it wasn't solid ground but something worse: thick, churning liquid that stung like fire.
She was inside Fafnir.
His stomach acid boiled around her, dissolving what remained of her torn dress, eating at her skin. Her limbs thrashed weakly in the pitch black, but she was too far gone to fight.
Her thoughts drifted— memories of the farm, of Siegfried, of her father's face she could barely remember. She wondered if a Valkyrie would come and fly her soul to the halls of Odin's Valhalla. She'd fought. Tried, at least. Maybe that counted.
But the pain kept growing.
'I don't want to die,' she thought. 'Not like this.'
With the last of her strength, she screamed:
"Someone… anyone—HELP ME!"
And then the world trembled.
Flesh tore. Heat shifted. A roar of pain echoed from all directions. Fafnir.
Suddenly, the stomach was split open, and light flooded in through blood and steam.
Standing in the shredded gut of the dragon was a man—bloody, burned, naked—eyes lit with power, lightning still dancing across his body.
"Sie…gfried…" she whispered, barely conscious.
He caught her as she collapsed into his arms.
Gently, he carried her from the ruins of the stomach. Outside, the wind had changed. The storm had passed. The mountain was quiet.
He laid her down beside a boulder. Her body was almost bare—her dress reduced to tatters. Her skin was blistered and raw, lips cracked. But she breathed.
Siegfried knelt beside her.
"Sorry," he muttered. "You shouldn't have been part of this."
Then he stood and walked to the dragon's corpse.
Fafnir, neck twisted, was already dead. His maw frozen mid-snarl. The flesh still steamed from where Mjolnir had struck.
Siegfried gripped the dragon's chest and ripped it open. Bone cracked, ribs splintered.
With one pull, he tore out Fafnir's heart—a pulsing, black-red mass nearly as large as his own torso.
He lifted it over his head.
Then crushed it.
Dragon's blood poured down his body, trailing over burned skin and rune-lit flesh.
And then—
A voice.
Snide. Amused. Too casual for the ruin around it.
"You missed a spot on your back," it said. "Don't worry, I'll get it."
Siegfried didn't turn. He simply lifted a hand.
Mjolnir—still buried in Fafnir's back—ripped free and shot through the air like a comet.
It slammed into the new figure—
Who shattered into dozens of snakes.
They hissed and scattered before slithering back together into the form of a man in a black cloak, green eyes glowing, a smirk on his face.
"Peace, peace," Loki said, raising both hands. "I'm not here to fight. Just admire."
Mjolnir boomeranged back into Siegfried's waiting hand.
Loki clucked his tongue. "Already comfortable with it, I see. That's more than just strength."
He tilted his head. "You didn't just guess dragon's blood would help, did you? No. The hammer told you. Didn't it?"
Siegfried said nothing.
Loki waved it off. "I'm getting ahead of myself. You've got questions, I'm sure. Go on. Ask away."
There was a pause.
Then Siegfried said, dry and tired, "Do you always talk this much?"
Loki grinned. "Only when I'm nervous. Or lying. Or both. That's just who Loki is."
He stepped closer, hands still raised.
"But right now, I'm doing neither. You've just been reborn, brother. Welcome to the storm."
The air had just begun to settle, still heavy with the scent of scorched dragon flesh and blood-soaked earth, when the rhythmic thunder of hooves broke the silence.
Siegfried turned toward the mountain path.
Lord Egon and a squad of mercenaries approached on horseback, swords drawn, armor clinking with every step. Egon's face twisted in disbelief as he saw the corpse of the dragon.
He raised his hand to point. "That's him! The traitor—kill him!"
Siegfried sighed.
He raised Mjolnir, spinning it once.
The clouds above, still echoing with residual storm, answered his call. Lightning danced in the sky, crackling with intent.
He brought the hammer down.
A bolt split the heavens—jagged, white-blue, and wrathful.
It slammed into the earth just ahead of the riders. Men and beasts alike were consumed in flame, armor melted, screams cut short.
And yet, as the thunder echoed down the mountain, Siegfried's brow furrowed.
The horses—they'd died too. Creatures that had no say, caught in the fury meant for their masters.
"Tsk," he muttered, lowering Mjolnir. "Too wide."
Behind him, Loki clapped slowly. "Ah, the burden of power," he said with a smirk. "You wield a weapon that holds a cosmic storm in its belly, and expect it to behave like a scalpel."
Siegfried said nothing.
Loki stepped closer. "You have all the might of Thor, yes. But control? That takes more than instinct. I can teach you. Help you regain your past memories. No one knew Thor better than I did."
Siegfried turned his back on him and walked to Dia.
She still lay where he'd placed her—breathing, but shallow. She looked like she'd barely survived hell.
Loki approached slowly, hands behind his back.
"I can heal her scars," he said. "If you come with me. To Asgard. Your real home."
Siegfried looked between Dia, and the hammer in his hand. He didn't know why it had chosen him—only that it had. Unlike the rusted sword and broken spear, Mjolnir didn't resist him.
It fit.
The runes along the head of the hammer pulsed faintly.
He didn't need to read them—he somehow understood.
"Whosoever lifts this hammer, be they worthy, shall inherit the power of Thor."
He looked back at Loki.
Whether this man was a friend, liar, or something else entirely… Siegfried knew one thing: the only way to find answers, was forward.
"Fine," he said, gripping Mjolnir tighter. "Heal her."
Loki smiled, eyes flashing. "With pleasure."
-
They stood at the edge of the forest, just beyond the scorched trail that once led to Lord Egon's farm—a place that had chained them both in different ways.
Now, Siegfried stood free.
Loki lingered a short distance away, silent, watching as Siegfried knelt beside Dia, saying quiet words she alone could hear.
She was resting now, her skin pale but whole again, the cruel burns of dragonfire erased by Loki's magic. Her strength hadn't fully returned, but her fire—her spirit—remained intact.
Loki studied the scene with a calculating glint in his eye.
When he had arrived on the farm disguised as Fafnir's messenger, Siegfried had been lean, ragged, no different than the other field slaves. His hair had been pale blonde, his build strong but mortal.
Now, after raising Mjolnir, Dragon blood still streaked across his bare chest, Siegfried had changed.
Even without noticing it himself, the transformation was clear.
His body had grown—broad-shouldered, red-haired, runes etched subtly into his skin. He no longer looked like a man pretending to be Thor. He looked like Thor reborn.
But Loki knew better than to be impressed by appearances.
Lifting Mjolnir was only the beginning.
Siegfried's mortal shell may house Thor's Immortal divine soul, but no mortal can contain the god's full might without burning from the inside out. The dragon's blood had helped—made him immune to mortal harm—but the divine? The magical?
Still fatal. Still dangerous.
And now that the hammer had awakened, its power rippled through all the realms. Gods were watching.
'Which means I have to get him to Asgard before one of them tries to kill him.'
Loki's thoughts were broken by Siegfried's voice.
"I'm ready," he said, turning to face him, Mjolnir resting across his back.
His tone was steady. Focused. He was ready for answers.
Loki smiled. "Good. Let's not keep the destiny waiting."
He raised a hand. "Heimdal! If you will?"
Above them, the sky cracked open—a roar of color, wind, and blinding light as the Bifrost began its descent.
But before it touched down, Dia rushed forward.
"Siegfried!"
He turned just as she ran into his chest and kissed him—firm, brief, and without hesitation.
When she pulled back, she smiled up at him. "You better come back to visit."
He nodded, a rare smile touching his lips.
Then the Bifrost struck, light engulfing him and Loki in a burst of rainbow fire—
And just like that,
Thor returned to Asgard.
-0-
The world reassembled around Siegfried in a flash of light and wind.
He opened his eyes to find himself standing in a tall, circular chamber carved from obsidian and starlight, the floor laced with glowing runes. At the center stood a towering figure clad in golden armor, his white, pupil-less eyes calm and unblinking. A long, two-handed sword rested against his back.
Even before Loki spoke, Siegfried already knew.
"Heimdall," he said.
The golden guardian bowed, surprising Siegfried. "Welcome home, my prince. And… old friend."
Siegfried, startled by the familiarity, hesitated—then reached out and shook Heimdal's hand. The grip was strong. Sincere.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Loki stepped in between them, clearly pleased. "Heimdall, is everything ready?"
"The glider is cloaked," Heimdall replied. "Shielded from sight and magic. No one will know that he is coming."
Loki's smile turned sly. "Excellent. I'd hate to ruin the surprise—for the All-Mother, and our dear brothers."
They stepped into the glider, a sleek, rune-inscribed vessel that hovered on quiet engines above the ocean of stardust and sea separating the Bifrost Tower from Asgard's heart.
Siegfried noticed Loki had gone silent as he piloted.
He used the quiet to look out the window.
Asgard.
Gold stretched across the skyline in elegant arcs and sharp towers. The roads glowed with light. The air shimmered with subtle magic. Bridges ran between floating towers, gardens bloomed atop domes. It was beautiful—grand.
Yet… strangely familiar.
Something in his bones recognized these streets. These shapes. As if they were not new, but remembered.
And at the center of it all—looming, massive—was the Royal Palace. A structure so large Siegfried could barely comprehend it. Easily the size of a hundred of Lord Egon's farms, stacked and woven into one golden fortress.
Soon, they descended into a secluded, more modest estate. The glider landed beside Loki's private mansion, a smooth structure of green and silver nestled between terraced gardens and crystal fountains.
Loki led Siegfried inside, motioning toward a large bedroom—bigger than the barn he once slept in. A balcony opened over a lush garden. A pool shimmered nearby, and near it, beautiful women in fine robes waited, smiling politely.
One servant handed Siegfried a golden mug, filled with spiced rum from Nidavellir.
"Make yourself comfortable," Loki said. "If you want to wash off that dragon blood, the pool's warm, and the elf maids are far from shy. I'll be back soon. I need to… take care of something."
He turned to leave.
But the door slammed shut behind him with a crack of thunder.
Mjolnir hovered in place, having flown across the room to seal the exit.
Siegfried stood, arms folded, eyes locked on Loki.
"Before all that," he said, "I want answers."
Loki turned, sighing, theatrically disappointed. "You're not acting like the real Thor would."
Siegfried narrowed his eyes.
"Then the real Thor was a fool."
::---------------------------::
Chapter 5 Title:- Thunderer.