Marvel x Genshin: Mavuika, The Sun Goddess Rules Asgard — Chapter 184

Chapter 184: You Should Call Me Brother

Thor hummed a tune, ignoring his brother as he continued to shovel food into his mouth.

Wanda ate quietly, her gaze occasionally drifting across the others at the dining table. Each person was so different, yet sitting together like this, they formed a strange, unexpected harmony.

Her mind suddenly flashed back to the HYDRA base, to a scene that could never have existed there. The mess hall was always cold, the seats assigned, the food strictly rationed. Eating was a task to be completed, never an enjoyment.

But now… now she was sitting at a round table, surrounded by four other people, and no one was ordering her what to eat, how much, or how fast. She could eat slowly, pick out the dishes she liked, and even set down her bowl to have some soup before continuing.

‘Is this… the feeling of home?’ Wanda wondered, the thought both foreign and fragile.

She didn’t know for sure. But if this was what “home” felt like, she thought she would be willing to stay.

After the meal was finished, Pietro took the initiative, gathering the dirty dishes and carrying them into the kitchen. Wanda followed silently behind him, picked up a dishcloth, and began to wash.

The two of them worked without speaking, falling into a practiced, unspoken rhythm. Pietro would place the dishes into the sink, Wanda would wash them and hand them over, and he would dry them with a clean towel before stacking them on the dish rack.

Mavuika appeared in the kitchen doorway, her presence soft and unassuming. Seeing them washing the dishes, she didn’t try to stop them, simply leaning against the doorframe and watching them with a quiet warmth.

“You don’t have to do everything by hand, you know,” she said, her voice gentle. “There is a dishwasher.”

Pietro turned his head. “A dishwasher?”

Mavuika pointed to the sleek, built-in silver machine next to the stove. “You put the dishes inside, press a button, and it washes them for you.”

Pietro stared at the machine, then glanced down at the bowl in his hand. After a moment’s thought, he went back to washing it by hand. “We’ll use it next time. We’re almost done with these anyway.”

A small smile touched Mavuika’s lips. She said nothing more, turning and walking out of the kitchen.

Wanda kept her head down, focusing on her task. The sound of splashing water filled the small space, covering most other sounds. Even so, her heightened senses caught the sound of Mavuika’s footsteps as she left—very light, very steady, completely unhurried.

She suddenly spoke, her voice low. “Pietro.”

“What do you think… Mavuika actually wants from us?”

Pietro’s hand, which was wiping a bowl, paused for a fraction of a second. “Maybe… she doesn’t want anything?”

Wanda looked up at him, her expression searching.

He placed the clean bowl on the dish rack, picked up another, and continued his work. “Back at the base, everyone wanted something from us. The scientists wanted data. The training officers wanted obedience. Those men in suits wanted weapons. But her—”

He paused, his brow furrowed in thought.

“The way she looks at us… it’s different from how they looked at us.”

Wanda fell silent.

She remembered the look in Mavuika’s eyes. It wasn’t the gaze one directed at a weapon, an experimental subject, or a tool that needed to be controlled and used. It was the look of one person seeing another, one soul acknowledging another.

“Maybe,” Wanda whispered.

After the dishes were done, Wanda and Pietro left the kitchen, intending to head upstairs to their rooms.

“Wait a second.” Wanda’s eyes caught something on a nearby bookshelf. She walked over and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book.

She looked down at the cover: Norse Mythology.

“Is this what they were talking about earlier…?” Wanda murmured, tracing the embossed title with her finger.

Pietro leaned over her shoulder to get a look and nodded. “That’s it. Something about Asgard…”

Wanda opened the book to the first page. It was dominated by a dramatic illustration of a blond man wreathed in thunder and lightning, holding a hammer aloft and roaring at the sky. Next to the image was his name: Thor.

She lifted her head and looked over at the real Thor.

He was currently curled up on the sofa watching television, his hoodie stained with what looked like tomato and egg sauce. His slippers were askew, and his entire posture was a far cry from the godlike figure in the illustration.

“Is this him?” Wanda asked, a note of disbelief in her voice.

Pietro seemed just as hesitant. “It should be… Blond, strong, uses a hammer, can shoot lightning…” He suddenly clapped his hands together. “It’s him, no doubt about it!”

Thor, overhearing them, turned his head and flashed a wide grin. “I’m much more handsome than the drawing, aren’t I!”

Loki didn’t even look up from the book he was reading as he turned a page. “You’re much fatter than in the drawing.”

Thor’s face flushed a deep red. “That’s not fat! It’s muscle!”

“Muscle and fat can be difficult to distinguish at times,” Loki replied with an air of complete indifference.

Thor was so incensed he was rendered speechless. He snatched a cushion from the sofa, ready to hurl it at his brother, but a quiet glance from Mavuika had him silently putting it back down with a pout.

Watching the exchange, the corners of Wanda’s mouth lifted in a small, genuine smile.

She lowered her head and continued flipping through the book, turning to another page. This one depicted a black-haired man in green robes, a hint of a cunning, knowing smile playing on his lips.

God of Mischief, Loki.

Wanda studied the illustration, then glanced at the man on the sofa, lost in his reading.

As if sensing her gaze, Loki looked up, one eyebrow arching slightly.

“Do I resemble him?” he asked, his tone smooth as silk.

Wanda considered it for a moment. “The temperament is similar.”

A self-satisfied smirk curled Loki’s lips. “Thank you.”

Wanda kept turning the pages until she reached the very last one. The title on that page read “Sun Goddess,” and the illustration was of a woman whose hair burned like a living fire, her presence radiating an immense, solar power.

Wanda looked up at Mavuika. Intuition, sharp and certain, told her that the figure in the book was her.

‘A sun goddess, huh…’she thought.’Truly unbelievable…’

Pietro, standing beside her, was watching with wide-eyed fascination, as if he were reading a storybook whose characters had magically come to life.

It was late at night.

Wanda lay in bed, tossing and turning, sleep refusing to come. The mythology book rested on her bedside table, the image of Thor on the cover shimmering faintly in the moonlight.

Her door creaked open, and Pietro poked his head in. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were half-closed with sleep.

“Wanda? Still not asleep?”

Wanda set the book aside. “Can’t sleep.”

Pietro walked in and sat on the edge of her bed. “Me neither.”

The two of them sat in a comfortable silence for a while.

Then, Pietro spoke suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think… we could be like them?”

Wanda looked at him. “Like what?”

Pietro thought for a moment. “Like them… just living. Without needing to hide, without being afraid, without anyone ordering us around. Just… doing whatever we want.”

Wanda was silent for a long time, her gaze fixed on the world outside her window.

Finally, she said, “Maybe we can.”

Pietro turned his head to look at her, his expression hopeful.

Wanda’s eyes followed the moonlight spilling across the floor. “At least,” she said softly, “we can try.”

Pietro nodded, a determined look settling on his face. “Then let’s try.”

He stood up and started back toward his own room. When he reached the door, he paused and looked back at Wanda.

“Good night, Wanda.”

“Good night, Pietro.”

Pietro’s eyes widened in mock offense. “You should call me brother!”

Wanda simply turned over in her bed, pointedly ignoring him.

He pursed his lips, but didn’t press the issue, turning and leaving her room.

The door clicked shut. Wanda lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, her hands still resting on the cover of the mythology book. Moonlight leaked through the gap in the curtains, casting a silvery-white stripe of light on the floor.

Outside the window, the night wind of Long Island blew gently, carrying the faint scent of lavender and the low, distant murmur of the waves.

Wanda closed her eyes and, for the first time in a long time, slowly drifted off to sleep.

This time, she didn’t have a nightmare.