SmilinKujo
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Chapter 83 – Shadows Beneath the Mead-Hall
🕑 Added 2025-05-05 15:12:03 +0000 UTCGolden mead spilled across the flagstones of Asgard’s great courtyard as Thor hoisted Mjölnir into the sky. His booming laughter rolled through the realm like thunder itself. “HAHAHAHA! Victory once again! The God of Thunder reigns!”
By his feet lay Ullr, sprawled on the icy ground, groaning. Even a new spectator could tell who had been bested in this so-called friendly duel. The god of winter, hunting, archery, and skiing winced as he clutched his side—still smoking slightly from Thor’s latest lightning-enhanced wrestling throw.
Ullr coughed. “You cheated, you lightning-lout...”
“No lightning in the last move!” Thor bellowed proudly, helping him up with one hand. “That was all raw might!”
From the side, Baldur stepped forward, sunlight practically glinting from his serene features. “Congratulations, brother,” he said, offering a smile that radiated warmth—one that never quite reached the corners of his eyes.
Thor turned, eyes alight, and crushed him in a bear hug, ruffling his silvery-blond hair like a child’s. “Come now, little brother! With your invulnerability, none of us can truly best you. Even I can’t scratch you! But I can still win at drinking!” he added with a wink.
Baldur chuckled politely, accepting the attention with his usual grace. But standing off to the side, arms crossed in shadows and silence, was Loki. His gaze was sharp. Watching. Measuring.
Where Thor’s golden hair blazed like sunfire, Loki’s jet-black locks curled like smoke. Where Thor’s muscles bulged like boulders, Loki’s frame was lithe, subtle. Every movement was coiled calculation. Next to Thor’s sunlit mirth, Loki looked like a long shadow at the edge of a bonfire—sharp, narrow, and cold. And he remembered. Angrboda.
It had been centuries since that fateful journey. His brother, ever the instigator, had rallied a band of warriors to sneak into Jötunheim, seeking thrills and sport. Loki had resisted at first—but in the end, he went. “Come, brother!” Thor had said, gripping his shoulder. “Even your silver tongue might charm the giants!”
He hadn’t expected the Giants' Witch, the Mother of Monsters. He hadn’t expected kindness beneath jagged eyes. Understanding. Whether it was love at first sight, or a slow and twisting fate, he couldn’t say anymore. Time had blurred the edges. Her voice, her defiance, her sharp laugh. Even her scorn made him feel seen.
The memory shattered like thin ice beneath a boot as Thor grabbed Loki in a one-armed hug, spinning him slightly. “Brother!” Thor boomed. “You haven’t congratulated me! Come now, don’t be shy in front of people!”
Loki forced a grin, his voice light with mischief. “Of course, dearest Thor. I simply let Baldur do the honors first. You know—courtesy.”
Thor laughed, clapping him on the back hard enough to rattle a mortal's spine. “Always so considerate!” Then, louder, to all the gathering warriors and gods. “Tonight—we FEAST!”
A roar of approval rippled through the crowd. Mead barrels were rolled out. Fires lit. Music struck up on golden strings. From the edges of the revel, Baldur could be seen gently guiding his blind brother, Hodr, toward the feast. “This way, little brother. Thor’s voice alone should be enough to find the table,” Baldur joked, with patient tenderness.
Hodr smiled faintly, letting himself be led. As they passed, Loki glanced at them—his expression unreadable. Then he turned and walked away. He had no appetite for mead. Not tonight.
…
Back in the glittering workshops beneath the North Pole, Askasleikir was seriously rethinking his decision to craft a personalized toy for Jack Hou. To be fair, he should’ve expected this. Jack had the energy of a sugar-loaded squirrel and the demands of a spoiled emperor.
But still—this? “You want what again?” Aska asked, holding his head as if nursing a headache.
Jack beamed, reclining lazily on a hovering sled-rig that was absolutely not part of the original tour. “A charm. Not clothes. Just a little something to protect my clothes from all the chaos of my extremely active lifestyle.”
He gestured dramatically at his flowing yellow robe as though it were a priceless artifact. “It’s a signature look! I can’t have it getting shredded every time I snowboard off a rocket or backflip through an avalanche.”
Aska groaned. “Why not just ask for new clothes? That would be easier.”
“No way!” Jack waved a hand. “The goal is aesthetic consistency. Since I own many robes of this style, I need to swap some out for the occasion!”
The craftsman pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold onto his patience. “Fine. A charm. Where do you want it?”
“Don’t make it look like a broach. Too obvious,” Jack said, examining his nails. “Needs to be subtle. How about a pinky ring?”
Aska stared. “A pinky ring.”
“Yup. Classy, minimal. I wear it, and it silently coats my clothes in a rune barrier. Boom—no more wardrobe malfunctions. All the cool kids on Earth want this kind of gear nowadays. Very trendy.”
Aska sighed again—an ancient, exhausted sigh only a centuries-old elf could produce. “This is not a toy, Jack.”
“Sure it is,” Jack said with a mischievous grin. “On Earth, we call this a stealth-tech fashion accessory. Trust me, the kids would go crazy for it.”
He said it with such confidence that Aska found himself questioning reality itself. “…Fine. But this is the first and last unreasonable thing I’m making for you today.”
“Of course, of course. You’re a gem. A frosty little gem,” Jack replied, already raiding the cookie tray by the forge.
…
Hours later, the workshop was filled with the scent of molten gold and peppermint oil. Aska finally emerged from his bench, presenting a small, glimmering ring with icy blue inlays. “It’s done,” he said wearily. “It draws from the leyline beneath this realm, anchors a weave of protection over anything you’re wearing when you put it on.”
Jack slipped it on with theatrical flair. At first—nothing. But then… Golden runes began to shimmer across his robe—lines and curves tracing seams and folds like starlight on fabric. They flashed once, then settled into near-invisibility. Jack’s eyes gleamed. “Ooooh…”
Aska blinked. “You can… see them?”
“Of course I can,” Jack said, tilting his head. “I see a lot of things.”
He gave his robe a tug. It felt sturdier now—still soft, still flowing, but beneath it, a sense of weight. Power. Like wrapping himself in enchanted silksteel. It wouldn’t tear or fray in battle, but if he really wanted to rip it himself, he could.
Jack gave a satisfied spin. “This is perfect. Thank you, my friend. I genuinely appreciate it.”
Aska's tired frown softened. “It’s in our nature. Gift-giving… is fulfilling. Even now.”
Jack paused. That last part stuck out. “Yeah, about that…” he asked, hands in his pockets. “Why’d you guys stop?”
Aska glanced away, polishing his tools for a moment longer than necessary. He sat back on his workbench, fingers laced as he stared into the soft glow of the runes still pulsing faintly from Jack’s clothes. His voice, usually light and dry with sarcastic edge, now dipped low with something older. Tired, even. “Well… for a young god such as yourself, it’s understandable not to know. Even I only witnessed the tail end of it.”
Jack blinked. “Tail end of what?”
Aska’s eyes unfocused slightly, as if peering through snow and centuries. “A war. Not just between gods. But pantheons. Entire cultures clashing. It was… catastrophic. And it didn’t start with some grand declaration or duel. It started with a ripple.”
Jack tilted his head. “What kind of ripple?”
Aska shook his head. “No one knows. But rumor has it… one god—no name, no origin known—did something so unforgivable, their very essence was shattered. Not defeated. Not banished. Erased. By the hands of many gods working together. That act broke the balance. It was the match to a powder keg.”
“And then boom?”
“And then… war. Gods who once toasted each other in celebration turned on each other. Even here in the North, we felt it.”
Jack rubbed the back of his head, a bit sobered by the weight of the story. “So what happened? How did it end?”
“The Great Agreement,” Aska said. “A pact. One that forced the gods to withdraw from Earth. Not completely, but… significantly. No more grand temples. No more public miracles. And yes—no more toys.”
Jack pouted slightly. “Dang. No wonder your workshop runs like a ghost town.”
Before Aska could respond, the heavy oak door swung open with a festive creak—accompanied by a gust of cold air and the subtle jingle of bells. “And that,” said a jolly voice, “is why we stopped.”
Jack turned, lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Santa!” wearing the iconic red-and-white garb with a lot less dignity and a little more divine swagger. Hermes gave a sly smirk. “It’s not that we don’t want to give gifts anymore. It’s that, well—we can’t. Not like we used to. The Agreement binds us. A god breaking it could risk another war.”
Jack gave a slow, exaggerated nod. “Oooohhh. Political divine tension. Gotcha.” Then he paused, sniffed the air like a fox catching a scent. Sniff. Sniff sniff. He leaned closer to Hermes. “Hmmmmm... is it just me or does it smell like booze in here?”
Hermes, caught mid-step, froze for a nanosecond. “Must be your imagination! Anyway—it's getting late!” He clapped his hands, voice an octave too high. “How about you stay the night, hmm? Tomorrow morning, I’ll take you for a sleigh ride. We’ll see the whole pole from the sky. Real special tour!”
Jack’s eyes sparkled. “Yessss! Let’s goooo. Santa, lead the way to my majestic snow-covered suite, please!”
Hermes led the way up a spiral staircase built into a crooked candy-cane column. The upper cottage was warm, dimly lit by ember-hued lanterns. Snow blanketed the windows outside, and the wood creaked softly as they reached the small room.
Inside was a cozy haven—walls lined with hand-carved wooden toys, a plush bed made of down and flannel, and an old rocking chair facing a frost-glazed window.
Jack stepped in and whistled. “Not bad. Not bad at all. Very storybook-chic. 10 outta 10 for magical ambiance.”
Hermes grinned. “Sleep well, Jack. Big day tomorrow.”
As the door closed softly behind him, Jack flopped onto the bed, arms spread wide. Outside, snow continued to fall in gentle spirals, unaware that inside these silent halls, ancient gods were still guarding the brittle peace of a world that had forgotten their war.
…
All was calm. All was quiet.
Jack lay tucked beneath a thick blanket of wool and cloud-stuffed pillows. His breathing had evened. His golden eyes, gently shut. For a few fleeting minutes, peace reigned in the quiet hush of the North Pole night.
Until—SIT-UP JUMP SCARE.
Jack sprang up like a spring-loaded jack-in-the-box. Eyes wide. Teeth gleaming in a maniacal grin. It was the kind of expression usually reserved for cartoon villains or kids who’ve just been told the cookie jar is “off-limits.”
From above, tucked among the beams of the wooden ceiling, Zephyr nearly choked on his own wind. The spirit creature flailed like a startled cat, his gusty form wobbling like jelly in panic. He stared down at Jack, air currents shifting as if to say. What the actual peppermint fudge are you doing!?
Jack whispered with a devilish smirk, “Yeah yeah, I know tomorrow’s a big day. Santa-sleigh ride, childhood dream, yaddi yadda. But aren’t you just a little curious about that private room Aska mentioned?”
Zephyr shook vigorously. Very clearly: NO. The spirit curled into a mini storm cloud of anxious wind and tried to blow himself back into a hiding corner.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a buzzkill. I bet Santa’s got a naughty little secret of his own tucked in there. Something scandalous. Embarrassing. Just enough to blackmail him into erasing my name from the Naughty List.”
Zephyr made a whining gust noise like a tea kettle slowly boiling. Jack raised a finger. “Look, Christmas is right around the corner. We don’t have time to play it safe. My reputation as a menace is on the line.”
He stood up and snapped his fingers. Instantly, his form blurred, shimmered, and vanished entirely—Bodily Concealment active. A faint trail of frost swirled where his feet once were. “Let’s go, Zeph,” his disembodied voice whispered.
Zephyr sighed—if wind could sigh—and followed, muting his presence with a swirl of snowy particles until he, too, faded from view.
The sneaking mission began.
Jack slinked through the hallways like a cat who’d seen too many spy movies. He hugged the walls, did unnecessary barrel rolls, and occasionally slid across the wooden floors even when walking would’ve sufficed. “Jack… you’re invisible,” Zephyr's wind whispered like a worried mom. “They can’t see you anyway.”
“I know,” Jack whispered back. “But this is the theater of stealth, Zeph. Gotta sell it.” They approached a corner, where two Alfar were sipping cocoa and chatting. Jack paused.
Step 1: Infiltrate Undetected. Step 2: Avoid the Elf Cocoa Circle of Doom.
He made a dramatic hand motion. Zephyr stared blankly. Jack whispered: “Smoke bomb distraction maneuver...” He kicked a pile of nearby snow off a windowsill with exaggerated flair. The powder exploded in a small poof of white, causing both Alfar to sneeze. Jack and Zephyr slid past their boots unnoticed.
Next came the staircase—creaky, ancient, and unfortunately placed right above a snoring polar bear plush that seemed to be very real. Jack tiptoed. Zephyr hovered. The bear snorted in its sleep.
A floorboard creaked under Jack’s foot. He froze mid-step, balancing on one toe like a ballerina in a blizzard. Zephyr curled in panic. GRRUUUHHKKK went the bear. Frrrrrrrt … also the bear.
Jack winced. “Oh my god. That was him, right? That wasn't you, Zeph?” Zephyr made a whooshing sound of total denial.
Finally, they reached it. A tall, iron-clasped, candy-cane striped door. No guards. No runes. No locks. Just a quiet hum, like the soft ringing of a bell that never stopped. “This has to be it,” Jack whispered, eyes glinting with delight. “Santa’s juicy secrets…”
He pressed a hand to the wood—and froze. Something beyond this door felt old. Older than toys. Older than Santa. Something that hummed with power and patience. Even Zephyr stilled behind him.
Jack grinned wider. “Let’s knock politely,” he whispered. Then he didn’t knock. He gripped the handle. And NOT ever so slowly… Began to pull.
Comments
Vrael333
Thx for the chapter! And what a great surprise! Who could have possibly guessed that Jack would go into the only room that is off-limits (I hope everyone notices that this was irony xD).
