Marvel: The Awakened One

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In the minds of humanity, the Solar System is a relatively simple concept.

It consists of the Sun, eight major planets, and a smattering of asteroids and comets.

Vast.

Mysterious.

And unquestionably lonely.

In the primary universe, this isolation was an objective truth. Earth was the only planet in the Solar System capable of supporting life.

At least, it was, before Earth’s timeline fully detached from the World Tree and plunged into the temporal current of the primary universe.

But now?

Hovering in the void of space, Hawk stared at a spectral, impossibly massive tree that was beginning to flicker into existence right before his eyes.

The World Tree, Yggdrasil.

And clinging to its branches, like ripe fruit, were the realms of the Norse Gods.

Asgard, home to Odin and the Aesir.

Vanaheim, home to the Vanir—and Frigga’s birthplace.

And the other remaining realms.

Originally, Yggdrasil supported nine realms.

But—

Midgard had been severed. It was now fully, irrevocably Earth.

With the loss of Midgard, the foundational stability of the World Tree had been shattered. Now, as the temporal current of the primary universe invaded, the entire cosmos of Yggdrasil was destabilizing, phasing in and out of accordance with the primary reality.

Every time it appeared, it meant the primary universe was gaining ground.

Every time it faded, it was a fervent act of resistance by the World Tree itself.

Unfortunately!

The loss of Midgard was like severing the taproot of a mighty tree. And the invasion of the primary universe’s timeline was like a swarm of locusts descending upon the dying leaves.

With every shudder of the World Tree, its cosmic light waned. When Ragnarok finally arrived, it would be the lumberjack’s axe striking the trunk. Once the tree fell, nothing would stop the primary universe from completely assimilating its remains.

But Hawk had no intention of intervening.

Whether he planned to claim the World Tree for himself or not, he wasn’t going to make a move right now.

The reason was simple.

Just like he only had one chance to manifest his Phoenix Universe, he only had one chance to steal the World Tree.

The moment he made his move, he would instantly expose himself to Time.

So!

His timing had to be perfect.

His execution had to be ruthless.

Because just as the World Tree resisted assimilation by the primary universe, it would absolutely resist being conquered by Hawk.

What about cutting a deal with Odin?

It wasn’t that Hawk didn’t want to.

He did... But it was pointless.

Once again, Odin ruled the World Tree cosmos, but he did not own it.

In short, Odin couldn’t just hand over the keys to the kingdom.

If Odin had that kind of authority, the World Tree wouldn’t have grown dissatisfied with him after the loss of Midgard and started looking for a replacement Chief God. And if the World Tree hadn’t turned against him, the primary universe wouldn’t have found the opening it needed to invade.

Time is merciless.

And the World Tree is no different.

Therefore, Hawk’s role wasn’t to play the savior.

He was the opportunist.

The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. Hawk was going to be the oriole.

And most importantly, even if Odin could just hand him the World Tree, Hawk wouldn’t accept it.

He wanted a World Tree that belonged entirely to him, not a hand-me-down from a dying king.

He wasn’t Asgard’s savior, and he certainly wasn’t their babysitter. His friendship with Thor was strictly personal.

A competent Chief God doesn’t let personal feelings dictate cosmic strategy.

Look at Zeus.

So, he wasn’t here today to steal the World Tree. He was here for Nidavellir. More specifically, he was here for his Gold Cloth.

After meditating on the insights into ’Life’ he had gleaned from Ego and Odin, Hawk hadn’t achieved a complete, qualitative breakthrough into the Eighth Sense. But he had accumulated a massive, quantitative leap in understanding.

And that was more than enough to finally forge the true, physical Phoenix Gold Cloth he had been dreaming of—

Normally, because the World Tree cosmos existed parallel to, but independent of, the primary universe, the only way to reach Nidavellir was via the Bifrost.

But that was no longer the case.

The primary universe was actively invading the World Tree. Every time Yggdrasil phased into this reality, it created a temporary, physical bridge between the two cosmos.

Speaking of which...

According to the timeline, this should be right around the time Thanos paid a visit to Nidavellir to force Eitri to forge the Infinity Gauntlet, right? After all, when Thanos intercepted the Asgardian refugee ship right after Ragnarok, he was already wearing the Gauntlet.

Hawk hovered in the void, waiting for the perfect moment to slip into the World Tree’s space, his mind wandering.

But Thanos probably wasn’t coming today.

Xandar hadn’t been destroyed yet, which meant Thanos didn’t have the Power Stone.

Then again, maybe he was wrong... Maybe Xandar was already burning, and Thanos was currently en route with the Power Stone in hand?

A trace of concern crossed Hawk’s mind, and he instinctively glanced toward the sector of space where Xandar was located.

He had no intention of actually going there to check.

Well... If he hadn’t decided to steal the World Tree, he might have popped over just to make sure.

Gwen’s prenatal care was all set up at the hospital on Xandar.

If Thanos destroyed Xandar now, he wouldn’t just be destroying a planet—he’d be personally inconveniencing Hawk’s wife.

Where was Gwen supposed to get her checkups?

But right now? He was committed to the World Tree heist. Everything else was secondary.

So, Xandar was on its own.

Hawk refocused his attention.

Just then—

VMMMM!

The fabric of spacetime in the primary universe quivered violently. The colossal, spectral image of the World Tree materialized, its roots and branches spanning the cosmos.

For a brief window, the Eight Realms were perfectly aligned and physically accessible from the primary universe.

”Now!”

WHOOSH!

Hawk focused his Cosmo, transforming into a streak of gleaming light. He passed through the dimensional barrier without any resistance and shot straight toward Nidavellir.

From the outside, Nidavellir looked exactly like what it was: a forge.

But it was a forge on a stellar scale.

The structure of Nidavellir was unique. Its core was a massive, solid metallic sphere, surrounded by an unimaginably complex system of concentric, mechanical Dyson rings.

These rings acted as the engine, channeling the power of a fading star to fuel the realm’s colossal forge. Because of its purpose, Nidavellir had no mountains, no rivers, and certainly no vegetation. From top to bottom, inside and out, it was a great expanse of gargantuan machinery.

Chilly metal floors, gears the size of cities, massive pressure valves, thundering conveyor belts, mountains of raw, exotic ores, and a staggering display wall of weapon molds. This was Nidavellir, where every creation was guaranteed to be a God-tier artifact.

Odin’s spear, Gungnir.

Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir.

The Destroyer armor. The right-handed Infinity Gauntlet sitting in Odin’s vault. These were just a few of the legendary items forged in these fires.

And the master behind them all was—

Eitri!

The Dwarf King.

Calling them ’Dwarves’ was the greatest misnomer in the Nine Realms. They really should have been called Giants.

Every single member of the Dwarf race was massive. Why they were called Dwarves was a mystery—perhaps whoever named them had a very twisted sense of irony.

An average Dwarf stood between eight and ten feet tall—and Eitri, the Dwarf King—was a towering ten-foot-two. He was an absolute behemoth.

Hawk, at a very respectable six-foot-one and built like a fighter, looked like a toddler standing next to him.

But Eitri didn’t underestimate Hawk because of his size.

Because while size can be deceiving, power cannot!

The moment Hawk touched down on Nidavellir, he didn’t bother masking his presence. He fully unleashed the aura of the Phoenix.

The surrounding Dwarves felt the oppressive, suffocating heat of his Cosmo and shared a single scary thought.

This is a God!

A True God.

Because of this...

Hawk was escorted directly to Eitri without any hassle.

When he arrived, Eitri was wielding a hammer the size of a minivan, relentlessly pounding a glowing, white-hot block of uru metal.

This was forging on a scale that exceeded human comprehension.

With every strike of Eitri’s hammer, Hawk could feel the solid metal floor of the realm vibrating beneath his feet.

Hawk didn’t interrupt the Dwarf King’s work.

He waited patiently, passing the time by studying the massive, cliff-like wall where countless weapon molds were displayed.

His eyes immediately found the mold for the Infinity Gauntlet.

The right hand!

Clearly, this was the mold used for the Gauntlet in Odin’s vault, not the left-handed one Thanos would eventually wear.

It made sense.

Thanos must have attacked Xandar, secured the Power Stone, and then come to Nidavellir. Using the stone, he would have forced Eitri to create a new, left-handed mold for his own Infinity Gauntlet before ambushing the Asgardian refugee ship.

Tsk.

Thanos really is a dishonorable piece of work...

Hawk thought to himself. Logically, Thanos must have used the lives of the other Dwarves as leverage to force Eitri to build the Gauntlet.

’Build this for me, and I spare your people.’

That was the only way Eitri would have ever agreed to forge a weapon for a monster like Thanos.

If Thanos had just shown up and slaughtered everyone first, leaving only Eitri alive, Eitri would have told him to go to hell.

’You murder my entire race, and you expect me to build you a weapon? Do I look like an idiot?’

So, Thanos had to have made a promise.

And what was the result?

Eitri built the Gauntlet. Thanos immediately broke his word, slaughtered the remaining 299 Dwarves, and while he technically let Eitri live, he encased his hands in solid metal, ensuring the greatest smith in the universe could never forge another weapon.

It was a masterclass in psychological torture.

But it was completely classless.

A real man can be ruthless, brutal, and even wicked, but he never breaks his word.

If you say you’re going to do something, you do it.

As Hawk was lost in thought.

CLANG!

With a deafening strike, the ten-foot-tall, heavily bearded, and gruff-looking Dwarf King lowered his massive hammer. He turned, looking down at Hawk standing a short distance away, his voice deep.

”What is it you want me to forge?”

”A Sacred Armor!”

”...”

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