Wu Yanzu watched Frigga's retreating back.
He said nothing more, merely picked up the golden apple he had bitten and pondered it.
"Fate has already been decided..." he quietly repeated the queen's words.
In his previous life, as an award-winning actor, he had read countless scripts. He knew that some characters were written to survive until the end, while others were written to die for a reason.
Frigga, the most powerful sorceress in the Nine Realms—if she had not wanted to die, that Dark Elf would not have been able to touch even the hem of her robes.
She had seen through the future, and she had seen through her own ending as well.
In Asgardian tradition, only souls who died bravely in battle were qualified to enter Valhalla and drink with their ancestors.
For a queen of the gods, dying in bed or of old age might have been the greatest disgrace.
She had chosen her own exit.
Respecting another person's fate was a basic mark of adulthood.
Especially when that "person" was a god who had lived for thousands of years.
Earth, London.
The rain poured endlessly, and the biting wind chilled them to the bone.
In the open space of the abandoned factory, the enormous charred rune was still giving off wisps of heat.
Jessica Jones sat in the muddy water, looking utterly disheveled.
She clutched her chest. This damned thing seemed alive, restlessly slithering through her veins with every heartbeat, bringing waves of burning pain and a strange sensation of power.
"That bastard..."
Jessica glared at the empty ground, gritting her teeth. "What happened to the vacation? What happened to the two million pounds? He just dumped me here alone in this godforsaken place?"
"Um..."
At her side, Darcy Lewis cautiously edged closer. "Jane and