The doors to the throne room loomed before them, impossibly tall, carved with the gilded stories of Asgard's victories. The golden inlays shimmered under the torchlight, their glow stretching like silent warnings across the cold metal.

Y/N ran her fingers over the surface, feeling the weight of what lay beyond. Her wings, edged in a faint metallic gleam, trembled—whether from fury or anticipation, she couldn't tell. Each feather felt charged, alive with the same restless energy thrumming in her veins.

Beside her, Loki stood as he always did—composed, unreadable. But she caught the way his fingers flexed at his sides, the slight tension in his jaw. He was bracing for what was to come, though whether for the battle ahead or for her, she couldn't tell.

The flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows across his face, deepening the sharp angles of his cheekbones, but his eyes—dark, watchful—never left her. He had seen this side of her before. He had been waiting for it.

Enough.

She exhaled sharply. Power coiled at her fingertips, restless, eager. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she let it loose.

The doors didn't open.

They detonated.

A violent blast of fire and frost tore them from their hinges, sending them crashing into the throne room in a storm of molten gold and ice-laced splinters. The force shattered the marble floor, cracks splintering outward like veins of fury.

Her wings unfurled fully, catching the smoke and debris in their wake, their razor-sharp edges gleaming as she stepped through the wreckage.

The vast hall stretched before her, cold and unyielding in its grandeur. Pillars rose like silent sentinels, their towering shadows stretching long beneath the flickering torchlight.

And at the center of it all—untouched by the destruction—sat Odin.

He did not flinch. Did not move. His lone eye gleamed like a predator's, fixed on her with a gaze that had seen the rise and fall of empires. Gungnir rested against his knee, its tip pulsing faintly, as if it, too, sensed the storm brewing.

To his right, Thor tensed. Mjölnir hung loosely in his grip, but the telltale flicker of lightning betrayed his unease. His gaze swept over her—her burning silver eyes, the wild energy crackling at her hands, the frost glistening along the veins of her wings.

Heimdall stood nearby, unreadable as ever, though his stance had shifted, weight balanced, ready.

Then-

the guards moved.

A wall of steel surged forward, blades unsheathing in unison, shields raised in defense of their king.

Y/N barely gave them a chance.

She swept her arm outward, and a wave of fire erupted across the room. The first line of guards vanished in an explosion of searing heat, their armor glowing red-hot before they were flung back like ragdolls.

Another lunged—a sword arcing toward her ribs.

Loki moved before she could, a glint of silver flashing as a dagger flew from his fingertips, striking the guard in the wrist. The sword clattered uselessly to the floor as the man staggered back, but Loki was already gone, weaving through the chaos like a shadow. His magic curled through the air—smoke and illusion, a trickster's weapon—until suddenly he was beside her again, his voice low against her ear.

"Try not to burn the whole palace down, will you?"

A third charged, faster than the others.

She caught him by the throat.

The moment her fingers closed around his neck, frost surged through her, cold as the heart of winter. It spread like wildfire through his armor, chilling his flesh to the bone. He gasped, the breath stolen from his lungs as his body stiffened, the icy tendrils creeping from his throat down his limbs, turning him to a brittle, frozen statue in her grip.

Before he could react, she threw him across the room. His body collided with a pillar, shattering the stone on impact, but it was the frost that lingered in his wake, spreading through the cracks like a creeping curse.

More came. More fell.

Her wings struck out like twin blades, slicing through the air with deadly precision. One guard reeled back, his armor split open where the razor-edged feathers had cut through like sharpened steel.

The air thickened with smoke and frost. The marble beneath her feet groaned as fractures split across its surface.

Then—

Heimdall moved.

His blade flashed, striking faster than most could see. But Y/N was ready.

She twisted, catching the weapon between her hands, fire licking hungrily at its edges. Their gazes locked—gold against silver, heat against ice. For a brief moment, neither moved.

Then-

she struck.

A burst of raw energy sent him flying back. He landed hard, rolling to his feet just as Thor stepped forward.

Lightning roared to life, illuminating the shadows. Mjölnir spun in his grip before he hurled it toward her.

She caught it.

The impact sent a jolt up her arm, electricity crackling against her skin, but she did not falter. The hammer vibrated in her grasp, resisting, fighting—

And then the frost in her veins answered.

Ice coiled around the hammer's head, creeping over its runes, dimming its glow. A deep, resonant crack echoed through the chamber as the temperature plummeted.

Thor's breath hitched.

Before he could react, she turned, hurling Mjölnir back at him. He barely dodged as it whistled past his head, embedding itself into the stone with enough force to send fractures spiraling outward.

Then-

Odin raised a single hand.

And-

the world obeyed.

The throne room held its breath, the air itself thick with his unspoken command. Embers, once crackling defiantly, flickered and dimmed. Shards of ice, suspended in the chaos, hesitated before clattering lifelessly to the ground. Even the echoes of battle—the groans of fallen guards, the settling of fractured stone—were swallowed by an unnatural, suffocating stillness.

Y/N felt the weight of it press against her, not just in the room, but in the very fabric of reality itself.

Slowly, deliberately, Odin lowered his hand. His gaze swept over the wreckage she had left in her wake—the shattered marble, the blackened banners, the creeping frost licking up golden pillars like veins of corruption. And then, at last, his lone eye settled on her.

Unmoving. Unshaken. Unimpressed.

"Y/N." His voice cleaved through the silence, deep and resonant. "Come to seek answers, have you?"

Her wings flared, catching the light, their metallic edges glinting like drawn blades. She stepped forward, each movement measured, deliberate. "No games."

Odin's grip tightened on the arms of his throne.

"Tell me the truth," she continued, power thrumming at her fingertips. "About me. About my mother. About why you've been manipulating me since the moment I stepped into this realm."

His eye darkened, unreadable. "You already know the truth."

"Say it," she demanded. No hesitation. No retreat.

Silence thickened, stretching like a taut wire, ready to snap.

And then-

Odin spoke.

"You are my daughter," he said, each syllable deliberate, heavy with finality. "By blood and by fate."

A breath hitched in Y/N's throat, though she did not let it show—not in her stance, not in her expression. But the fire at her fingertips betrayed her, flickering wildly before she forced it into stillness.

Beside her, Loki arched a brow, though the amusement in his expression was paper-thin, barely veiling the sharp intelligence flickering beneath. His fingers tapped an idle rhythm against his forearm, but Y/N knew better—he was measuring the weight of Odin's words, unraveling their intent like thread pulled from a fraying tapestry. He had spent his life parsing their father's lies. But even he, for all his cunning, did not look unaffected.

Thor—

His breath hitched, sharp and unsteady, barely audible over the silence that gripped the ruined hall. His gaze locked onto Y/N, blue eyes shadowed with something raw—shock, betrayal... and something deeper, something nameless. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white, his broad chest rising and falling with the weight of realization.

She wasn't the enemy. She never had been.

Slowly, his gaze shifted—turned—to Odin.

The flicker of disbelief in his eyes hardened, ice settling over fire, his stance rigid with the weight of too many unspoken questions. Too many truths twisted into lies.

His voice, when it came, was low, steady, but laced with something dangerous.

"What else have you lied about?"

Odin did not so much as glance at Thor. He remained as he was—unmoving, unbothered, as if his son's words were nothing more than wind in an empty hall.

Instead, his gaze remained locked on Y/N.

"Your mother," he said, voice weighted with centuries of regret, "Yrsa and I wed to prevent what the Norns foresaw—"

Y/N laughed, sharp and bitter, the sound splitting through the heavy air. "Prevent what?" she mocked. "Peace? Balance?"

Her fists curled at her sides, but she refused to let the tremor in her chest betray her.

Odin's brow furrowed, his voice deepening to a growl. "Balance?"

Y/N stepped forward, the energy crackling around her growing wilder, untamed. "I'm the balance between realms—the restoration you've spent your life trying to erase."

Odin's stare hardened. "You believe yourself an arbiter between worlds?" He leaned forward slightly, his presence like an oncoming storm. "No, Y/N. You are not balance."

A flicker of unease twisted in her gut, but she smothered it beneath her fury. "Then what am I?"

Odin's gaze drifted to the fire licking at her fingertips, as if recalling how that power once burned in his own grasp. "The power of fire..." His voice faltered as his eye trailed to the necklace resting against Y/N's chest. The gemstone pulsed, caught in an eternal struggle—flickering between searing orange and icy blue, fire and frost entwined in an unrelenting dance. Yet, it was the frost—delicate yet unyielding—that seemed to hold his attention, his gaze fixed upon it as if recognizing something he had long sought to forget.

"...And frost," he murmured, the weight of past decisions pressing down on him.

Y/N caught the flicker of something in his expression—regret, uncertainty... disappointment. It stirred a memory buried deep within her, a feeling that she had seen this look before, on another face, in another time. But the thought slipped through her fingers before she could grasp it, leaving only unease in its wake.

His silence stretched. He was studying her, calculating—perhaps even unsettled.

"These are ancient forces," he finally said, voice quieter but no less commanding. "Forces bound to the oldest of realms. How both came to be yours, I cannot fathom. Yet that is of little consequence. What matters now is control."

Y/N's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Control?" she echoed. "So that's what this was all along. You thought that by raising me, you could mold me—shape me into your weapon?"

Odin's reply was swift, unwavering. "No."

For the first time, something unfamiliar flickered in his expression—something dangerously close to sincerity.

"I believed I could shield you. Guide you through this," he continued. "Yrsa knew the danger, which is why she fled. But her defiance has left you exposed, unprepared for the burden you carry."

Y/N's wings unfurled fully now, their razor edges gleaming under the flickering torchlight. The air around her rippled, charged with the weight of barely contained fury.

"Vulnerable?" Her fingers sparked with fire, and the frost across her chest seemed to pulse with each breath. "You mean free. She gave me the chance to live without your chains."

Odin scoffed, his voice like ice scraping over stone. "You call this freedom?" His gaze cut through her, unwavering. "Look around you. Look at what you've already set into motion. Do you truly believe your mother could have prepared you for this?"

Y/N's pulse pounded in her ears as her gaze swept over the wreckage—the once-pristine hall now marred by her fury, a battlefield of scorched remnants and creeping frost.

Odin's voice dropped lower, each word a carefully sharpened dagger. "Your power is no mere gift, Y/N—it is chaos itself."

A thread of unease coiled in her chest. Chaos?

Odin's expression remained grim. "Do you think this was ever my desire? To watch my own flesh and blood bear the weight of such devastation?"

Y/N swallowed hard. Devastation?

Odin exhaled slowly, the weight of centuries pressing into his bones. Then, with a measured, deliberate motion, he pushed himself to his feet. The scrape of his armor against the throne echoed in the broken hall, and though he did not raise his voice, the sheer gravity of his presence filled the space like an approaching storm.

He took a step forward, and the air itself seemed to tighten.

"You are not balance, can't you see?" His voice was quieter now, almost pitying, yet no less damning. "You are the key to their destruction. That is the prophecy's truth. No matter how you twist it, you are the harbinger of doom."

Then, with the weight of inevitability, he delivered the final blow.

"You my child, are -

Ragnarok."

A sharp crack split the air as Y/N's wings snapped outward, their movement slicing through the thick tension. The truth dug its claws into her, threatening to consume her whole.

For the first time, she hesitated. Her breath came sharp and unsteady as she took in the wreckage once more.

The golden walls, once unshaken by time, were fractured, blackened with soot, and webbed with ice. Pillars stood in ruin, split where her power had clashed, and banners of Asgard—symbols of its might—hung in tattered defeat. The air itself felt heavy, thick with smoke and the bitter sting of cold.

Then she saw them.

The guards lay scattered across the floor, groaning in pain or eerily still. Their golden armor, once impenetrable, was ruined—some pieces warped by fire, others shattered by frost.

And Heimdall.

The all-seeing guardian, ever vigilant, now knelt, bracing himself on his sword. Ice clung to his golden breastplate, dimming its radiance. His gaze met hers, not with anger, not with judgment—but something worse. Understanding. As if he had foreseen this long before she had ever raised her hand against them.

A breath hitched in her throat.

And then there was-

Thor.

He stood at the heart of it all, his chest rising and falling with steady, deliberate breaths. Mjolnir hung heavy in his grasp, his knuckles white against the handle. His cape was torn, his armor scorched, and a thin cut ran along his cheek—a wound she had given him.

Her brother.

She had fought him before, tested his strength, challenged his will. But this was different. This was not training. This was not some childish rivalry.

This was war.

And the look in his eyes—gods, the look in his eyes—was not one of rage.

It was sorrow.

It hollowed her out in ways Odin's words never could. His stare wasn't filled with defiance, nor the righteous fury he so often wielded against his enemies. No, Thor looked at her like he was searching—for his sister, for the woman he thought he knew. And he couldn't find her.

Her breath stuttered.

The frost across her chest ached as if it, too, recognized what she had done. The fire in her hands wavered, flickering like a dying flame.

Odin's voice echoed through the ruins, a ghost of the past rising from the wreckage.

"You are not balance... You are chaos itself."

She staggered back, her wings twitching, feathers rustling in the cold air. The destruction pressed in on her, suffocating, unbearable.

This was her doing.

A choked breath escaped her lips, sharp and uneven. The frost at her feet crept further, slow and unrelenting, as though her own power sought to consume what little remained.

She looked at Thor again. At Heimdall. At the guards who had fought to protect their king, their home—protect it from her.

And then, for the first time, she felt it.

Not just regret.

Fear.

A deep, gnawing fear that whispered of things she could never take back.

Her hands flexed at her sides, flames struggling to hold form. She wanted to speak, to say something, anything—but the words were lost, drowned beneath the weight of what she had become.

And the worst part?

Odin had seen it coming all along.

Her wings curled inward, her breath shallow, as realization settled in her bones.

She was Ragnarok.

And there was no undoing what had already begun.

Then, at last, she lifted her gaze—burning, unyielding.

"If you're so sure of this prophecy, let me see it for myself." Her voice was a blade, honed and steady. "Or are you afraid I'll learn the truth?"

Odin's jaw tightened. "Then seek the Halls of Prophecy, if you still question me." His voice was final, absolute. "It is the one place where fate remains untouched—untainted by gods or mortals. There, you will see what I have long kept from you."

The silence that followed felt deeper than before.

Y/N turned to Loki. Doubt flickered—just for a breath. He met her gaze, expression unreadable, then gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

"Fine." The word cut through the stillness. "If what you say is true, I'll find out soon enough. But if you're lying—"

"You will see," Odin interrupted, quieter now, yet no less resolute. "And in time, you will understand why I did what I did."

Y/N didn't answer. She only turned on her heel, wings folding tightly against her back. The tension in the room pressed in like a storm about to break, rolling off her in unseen waves as she strode toward the exit.

Loki followed, silent and watchful, but as they stepped beyond the ruins of the throne room, his voice finally broke the silence.

"You realize," he murmured, "if Odin is right, we may not like what we find."

"Y/N exhaled sharply, her hands curling into fists. 'Then let's hope he's lying.'

"Loki smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

For the first time, uncertainty gnawed at her resolve.

Could Odin—manipulator, liar—be telling the truth?

The Halls of Prophecy held the answers.

And she wasn't sure she was ready to face them.