Marvel x Genshin: Mavuika, The Sun Goddess Rules Asgard — Chapter 51

Chapter 51: Long Time No See

In the desolate expanse of Helheim, Hela stood at the heart of her great hall. In her hand, she held a carving knife, not of steel or bone, but of pure Death Divine Power condensed into a blade of shimmering darkness.

Before her rested a colossal Netherstone, its surface a swirling canvas of countless intertwined runes, some glowing with a faint golden light, others with the deep, sickly green of her realm. This was the grand project of her long exile, the prototype of the Reverie Rule, a cosmic law she had been meticulously carving, bit by bit, over untold years in this kingdom of the dead.

The dark blade paused its elegant dance, hovering over a specific runic node. Hela’s brow furrowed slightly, a subtle shift in her otherwise impassive expression. The energy flow at this juncture was flawed; the transition between the concepts of life and death it governed was not seamless enough, creating a discordant hum in the display of power.

And then, she heard it.

A voice, familiar and warm, connected not in her ears, but in the very core of her being. It was like the first ray of sunlight finally breaking through the eternal gloom of Helheim, a warmth she had almost forgotten.

Hela’s hand froze, the carving knife of pure death energy held perfectly still in mid-air. For the briefest of moments, a ripple of emotion disturbed the placid, dangerous surface of her dark green eyes—surprise, a deep and aching nostalgia, and perhaps a flicker of joy she would never admit, even to herself.

Immediately, the expression vanished, replaced by a genuine smile that curled the corners of her lips, a stark contrast to the cruel sneers she usually wore.

“You’re slow, Sister,” her consciousness responded, her voice traveling across the impossible distance, through the connection between the Netherworld and the mortal realm. “I’ve been trapped here for ages. Did you only just remember to look for me?”

By the cliffside on Earth, Mavuika closed her eyes, a gentle smile gracing her features.

“Thor and Loki were still so small,” her own consciousness replied, her tone carrying the warmth of her smile. “I had to wait for them to grow up a little. I came as soon as I could.”

Hela’s thoughts fell silent for a moment. When her voice returned, it was laced with a trace of concern so faint it was nearly undetectable. “Are they well? Father… Mother…”

“Of course,” Mavuika answered without hesitation. “They are all very well. Thor refuses to let go of Mjolnir, even sleeping with it by his bedside like a child with a toy. Loki has become utterly obsessed with his magic. Father is still his old self—handling matters of state, reviewing the legions, and gazing at the stars every night. And Mother… she misses you dearly.”

This time, Hela’s silence stretched on for much longer.

Across the psychic link, Mavuika could faintly perceive the subtle fluctuations in her sister’s emotions—a current of softness rarely shown by the formidable Goddess of Death.

“Tch,” Hela finally let out a short, sharp sound, as if to cover the brief lapse in her composure. “That’s good, then. The army’s daily training had better not have slackened. I’ll be giving them a proper inspection the moment I return!”

“Of course.” Mavuika nodded with a smile, though she knew Hela couldn’t see the gesture. “Brynhildr has trained the Valkyrie Legion to perfection. And the Death Guard, led by Fenrir, is just as formidable. Though, his howling for you at the moon every night has become a bit of a nuisance for the nearby residents.”

“Fenrir…” Hela’s mental voice softened as she seemed to reminisce. “Now that you mention him, I find I actually miss that great beast.”

For the next while, Mavuika sat down cross-legged on the cliff’s edge. Her greatsword, the Sun-Blaze of a Thousand Suns, remained plunged into the earth beside her, its power acting as the anchor that maintained her connection to the Netherworld.

She began to recount the passage of years, starting from the very day Hela had departed Asgard.

She spoke of the thunder that shook the heavens when Thor first proved worthy of Mjolnir, of the time Loki made fools of half the Golden Palace guards with his first high-level illusion. She described how Odin would steal moments between his duties to secretly observe his two sons’ training, his stern face hiding a father’s pride, and how Frigga would sit up late into the night, weaving protective runes into cloaks for her daughters, one in a distant realm and the other on a foreign world.

She painted pictures of grand celebrations, of fierce martial competitions, and of the formal visits from diplomatic envoys. She also shared the smaller moments: the sweat and effort on the training grounds, the late-night lights burning in the royal library, and the familiar arguments and reconciliations between Thor and Loki during family dinners.

She told her everything, her voice a smooth, steady current of memories, leaving no detail untouched.

Hela did not rush her, nor did she show a hint of impatience. She even set down her carving knife, walked to her obsidian throne, and sat, listening with an intensity she usually reserved for battle.

Occasionally, she would interject.

“That Thor boy really overloaded all the protective runes on the training grounds in one go? Tsk, his potential is decent…”

“Loki transformed himself into Father to attend a council meeting? The nerve… How did Father punish him for that?”

“Mother’s garden is now filled with flora from all across the Nine Realms? I remember she always wanted to build a garden like that.”

The sun rose and the moon set; the stars wheeled across the sky.

Mavuika sat by the cliffside on Midgard, while Hela sat upon the throne of the Netherworld. The two sisters, connected by the lingering fragments of the Bifrost Bridge, crossed the very boundary between life and death to hold a conversation that lasted a full day and night.

By the time Mavuika finished recounting the details of the most recent family dinner, the eastern sky was once again turning the pale, pearlescent color of a fish’s belly.

Hela was quiet for a long time before she finally asked, “So, Mjolnir was given to that Thor boy by Father?”

Mavuika nodded, a gesture Hela would feel rather than see. “Yes. His divine power and Mjolnir are a perfect match. I’ve tested it myself; the resonance between them is even stronger than it was between you and the hammer, all those years ago. It seems to have taken a great liking to him.”

She paused, her mental voice taking on a slightly teasing tone. “By the way, you wouldn’t be jealous, would you?”

“Hmph.” A classic, cold snort echoed through the connection. “Me, jealous? What a joke. While Mjolnir is a decent weapon, it never suited my style. My own night-sky blades are far more versatile. I can change them as I wish and strike wherever I please.”

Mavuika laughed softly. She could perfectly picture Hela’s expression as she said it—chin raised slightly, her dark green eyes flashing with a light that was both arrogant and undeniably genuine.

“That’s good, then,” she said. “Actually, Father once discussed with me whether he should have a new artifact forged for you.”

Hela did not respond immediately. A beat of silence passed, heavy with unspoken questions.

A moment later, her voice returned, softer than before. “…Father really asked that?”

“Yes. It was in the third year after he gave Mjolnir to Thor. King Eitri of the Dwarves was visiting, and Father asked him in private.” Mavuika’s tone was gentle. “He has always been thinking of you, Hela. We all have.”

This time, Hela’s silence was absolute, stretching on for what felt like an eternity.

When the sisters finally concluded their long reminiscence, the morning light had fully illuminated the sea, turning the waves to liquid gold. Only then did Mavuika turn the conversation to more serious matters.

“How goes the carving of the Reverie Rule? Is it proceeding smoothly?”

Hela’s voice regained some of its usual lazy impatience. “Smoothly enough, but the workload is simply massive. Every single point of connection between the Netherworld and the Nine Realms needs to be adjusted. I don’t know when this blasted thing will ever be finished.”

“You’ve worked hard,” Mavuika said, her sincerity clear.

“If you know I’ve worked hard, then you should come and spar with me more often,” Hela immediately shot back, her tone carrying a rare emotion that could almost be described as anticipation. “Anyway, now that you’re on Midgard, it’s much more convenient for you to visit Helheim. I’m bored to death. Staring at these runes all day, I feel like my body is getting rusty.”

Mavuika couldn’t help but smile, imagining Hela pacing the Eternal Hall, her black blades manifesting and dissipating, with no worthy opponent to face. “No problem. I also need to stretch my muscles. On Earth, I have to carefully control my power to avoid attracting unnecessary attention.”

“Then it’s a deal,” Hela’s voice became noticeably more cheerful. “Every month… no, at least once a week. If you dare break your promise…”