Back in Asgard, the infirmary was filled with silence most of the time, broken only by the soft murmurs of the healers and the faint crackling of healing Aethere energy. Liam lay on the bed. His face was so pale contrast to the dark, palm-like scratch that marred his neck. His breathing was shallow, each rise and fall of his chest a painful reminder of the curse that now gripped him.
By his side, Thomas, Liam's grandfather, sat with a deeply worried expression etched on his weathered face. The lines of age seemed deeper now while he looking at the sight of his grandson in such a vulnerable state. He sighed heavily, the sound filled with sorrow.
As he sat there, Freya quietly entered the room. Her steps were slow as she approached the bed where Liam lay. She could feel the guilt gnawing at her insides. Without a word, she sat down beside Thomas, fighting to maintain her composure.
After a long moment, Freya finally spoke.
