In the study of Morgan Manor, Thor sat in an armchair, the wounds on his body having been roughly treated by Loren's servants.
The golden bloodstains on his armor had congealed into a dark golden crust, and his broken ribs had barely been secured beneath the servants' bandages.
Yet his breathing remained heavy, every inhale like swallowing shards of glass.
His left hand gripped the final fragment of Mjolnir. Its runes had gone completely dark, leaving only a piece of cold Uru Metal, like a dead heart.
Loren stood before the window with his back to Thor, his gray eyes fixed on the moonlit lawn outside.
His hair stirred slightly in the night breeze as his fingers lightly tapped the windowsill in a slow, steady rhythm.
He said nothing. He was waiting for Thor to finish.
Thor had already said a great deal.
About Hela, about her power, about how she had crushed Mjolnir with one hand, and how she had effortlessly defeated both him and Loki.
His voice gradually changed from hoarse and trembling to calm and steady.
Not because his fear had vanished, but because he had accepted reality.
His sister had returned, Asgard had fallen, and he was no match for her.
"My father once said something to me." Thor looked at the hammer fragment in his hand, his voice low, as though speaking to someone who was not there.
"When I first picked up Mjolnir, he said, 'This hammer will help you focus your power, but remember, power comes from within you, not from the hammer.'
I thought I understood, but it was not until the moment the hammer shattered that I truly understood what those words meant. It turned out I had never understood them at all."
Loren turned around and looked at him.
"Your