Rowe turned his head sharply as the sound of heavy footsteps neared. A large, burly young man with a massive axe slung across his shoulder came jogging over. It was Skorch.
After three years apart, Skorch's physique had transformed—taller, broader, more muscular. He stood out starkly among the warriors scattered across the training field of the camp.
Skorch looked Rowe up and down before grinning and thumping him on the shoulder. "You haven't grown a bit."
Rowe frowned. "…"
This guy never changes, does he?
Skorch glanced around the bustling encampment, scanning faces and surroundings as if searching for something. He raised a brow and asked, "I just got to Vanaheim. Are you getting transferred?"
"Yeah," Rowe replied with a nod.
Skorch's expression fell into slight disappointment. "Damn, I was hoping you'd stick around long enough to see the Boy Scout Fighting Champion in action."
"You're the champion?"
With a confident smirk, Skorch twirled his battle axe effortlessly, striking a showy pose. "Of course."
Rowe was momentarily surprised, but on reflection, it added up. Skorch had always been gifted physically—tall, solidly built—and now, clearly, he'd been putting that strength to good use. With his build and some refined combat training, he could likely overpower most of their peers.
"Get ready. The Bifrost approaches," Heimdall's deep voice cut in.
There was no more time for catching up. Rowe quickly turned to Skorch. "We're leaving. If you're staying here, look for a healer named Sigurd and a Vanir warrior named Wayne. They're friends of mine."
"Where are you headed?" Skorch asked curiously.
Before Rowe could respond, a nearby soldier tugged Skorch aside—it was clear the Bifrost was already activating.
"To the Seventh Outpost of Jotunheim," Rowe called out just as the rainbow light descended in a whirl of energy, engulfing the mobilization group.
"Seventh outpost in Jotunheim... isn't that…" Skorch mumbled to himself, the words trailing off.
---
Moments later, the swirling prism of light dissipated.
A biting chill surged over Rowe like a crashing wave, forcing him to shiver. It was an unusual sensation for a god. The Aesir were resistant to extremes of cold and heat—few environments could shake them.
But this place was different.
Since arriving in the Nine Realms, this was the first time Rowe had physically felt cold.
Around them stretched a bleak, frozen wasteland. Mountains and plains alike were sheathed in a dark blue, glassy ice, and the wind howled endlessly across the terrain.
They had arrived in Jotunheim.
Much like Svartalfheim, home of the Dark Elves, the sky above Jotunheim was cloaked in eternal darkness. There were no sunrises or sunsets here—only an unchanging shroud of night. Cold and shadow ruled this realm unchallenged.
Yet amidst this frozen realm, the Asgardian outpost was a blaze of defiance.
What greeted the newly arrived warriors wasn't just the frostbitten terrain—but a radiant orb of light floating over a mechanical pedestal. Roughly a meter wide, the sphere glowed red and gold, casting waves of heat and light that pushed back against the Jotunheim chill.
It was bright as a sun—and nearly as warm.
Thanks to this radiant orb, the biting cold was bearable within the outpost perimeter.
"That's the Sun Mirror," Heimdall explained beside Rowe. "Without it, the Frost Giants could obliterate our defenses with their environment alone."
"Protecting the Sun Mirror is one of our core duties here. And naturally, it's one of the frost giants' prime targets."
Rowe nodded, absorbing the information.
From the horizon, a group of golden-armored warriors approached. Among them was a striking woman—tall, long black hair, aristocratic beauty, and an aura of cold authority.
"Welcome to the Seventh Outpost. I am its commander—Hela," she said.
Then, turning slightly, she addressed Heimdall. "Welcome, Heimdall Ullersson."
"The honor is mine, Your Highness," Heimdall responded with respect.
Rowe stared, stunned.
He remembered her. That woman he met after Amora's rejection—this was her.
Hela.
Asgard was smaller than he thought.
She seemed to recognize him too. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as her eyes brushed over him, but the moment passed swiftly—so subtle only Rowe noticed.
Under Hela's authority, and with the help of the Heroic Spirit Warriors—elite soldiers clad in shining armor—the new arrivals were assigned their respective duties.
Rowe, naturally, was stationed in the medical sector. After dropping off his gear, he ventured out to explore the outpost.
He found himself drawn to the Sun Mirror once more, standing before its brilliant radiance.
On closer inspection, it wasn't just a glowing orb—it resembled an actual miniature sun. Corona-like flares rippled across its surface, and the energy radiating from it was immense.
Encircling it were Heroic Spirit Warriors, Asgard's elite. They stood statuesque in their golden armor, silent and unyielding.
Rowe stepped a bit too close. One of the warriors instantly raised his spear in warning.
He stepped back in haste, offering a nod of apology. He moved on, wandering deeper into the outpost.
Compared to Camp Three in Vanaheim, the Seventh Outpost was massive and far more militarized. Its atmosphere was tense, its soldiers alert and on-edge.
There was no idle chatter here—only vigilance.
Eventually, something unusual caught Rowe's eye: the massive corpse of a monstrous beast.
It lay motionless, but its presence dominated the area.
Dark blue in color, its body matched the icy landscape. Its maw was massive enough to swallow several men whole, and large, curled tusks protruded from its jaws like a prehistoric mammoth.
Two warriors were working to remove its tusks, while several others stood watching.
An Ice Beast.
Rowe recognized it immediately—the same terrifying creature Thor's team had faced in the first Thor film during their expedition to Jotunheim.
A voice beside him spoke.
"First time seeing an Ice Beast up close?"
Rowe turned to see a young soldier standing nearby. He seemed vaguely familiar, though Rowe couldn't place him.
Rowe nodded. "Yeah."
The young man continued, "They're terrifying the first time you see one. They're not just big—they're brutal. Ice Bears are nothing compared to them."
He glanced at the beast again, eyes narrowed. "I heard Grimir's been trying to tame them. If he ever succeeds… Asgard will be in deep trouble."
Grimir—one of the Frost Giants' most powerful champions. Second in fame only to King Laufey and Queen Fabti.
According to rumors, Grimir was monstrous even by Frost Giant standards. A twisted being, as savage and primal as the beasts he sought to command.
The young warrior continued chatting, offering snippets of knowledge, his tone casual yet informed. Rowe listened intently, but something gnawed at the back of his mind. The soldier's voice, his mannerisms—they were oddly familiar.
And then he saw it.
A metal cane in the young man's grip.
A memory stirred.
Rowe's eyes widened slightly. "Are you... Randolph?"