The air grew colder, thicker, pressing in on me as Hela's words reverberated through the chamber. Her gaze fixed on me, sharp and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey. Every instinct screamed at me to move, to run, but my legs were frozen. It was as if the very weight of her presence held me in place.
"You're trembling," she observed, her lips curling into an amused smirk. "Do I frighten you, little wanderer?"
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet her eyes. They burned with the intensity of emerald fire, sharp with malice, yet also... curious. A dangerous combination.
"Maybe," I said, surprising myself. "But perhaps we can remedy that. For example, you could tell me your story. About your life, your adventures, and how you ended up here. I could be… your listener."
Hela tilted her head, her lips twitching into a smirk. "A story listener? How quaint. Do you believe that humoring me will spare your life?"
"Not entirely," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "But everyone wants to be heard. Even gods."
Her smirk widened into a predatory grin, sharp and amused. "Well, I am certain you know who I am. But if you insist on entertaining my immortal soul, I'll indulge you... for now."
Just then, a sharp chime sounded in my mind:
[New Mission: Make Hela, Goddess of Death, into the Goddess of Life.]
[Reward: The host becomes the God of a Blank Dimension.]
"What the...?" I muttered under my breath.
Hela's eyes narrowed, and in a flash, her gaze snapped to me, a blade's edge to her attention. "You mumble to yourself quite a bit. A habit or a flaw?"
"Neither. Just… thinking aloud," I said, trying to regain my composure.
"How amusing," she said, the trace of amusement still in her voice, but now tinged with a sharp edge. "Now, sit. If you wish to hear my story, I won't have you pacing like a lost mortal."
I hesitated but obeyed, sitting on a jagged stone that cut through my clothes. The cold seeped into me, but I didn't dare show discomfort. Hela glided toward her throne, settling into it with an elegance that belied the overwhelming, primal power she exuded.
"My story begins at the dawn of Asgard's glory," she began, her voice rich, low, and resonant. It was the voice of someone who had lived centuries, who had seen kingdoms rise and fall.
She spoke of her earliest days as Odin's daughter, molded into a weapon, taught from birth that her worth was tied to her strength, her ability to fight and conquer. She was the God of Death, a title earned through blood, sacrifice, and endless war. Yet, when Odin no longer had use for her, he cast her aside, exiling her to this forsaken realm.
Her tale painted a life of endless sacrifice, of being someone else's instrument until she was no longer needed. She was discarded, forgotten—nothing more than a tool for a king's ambitions.
When she finished, the room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Finally, she broke the stillness with a quiet, dangerous whisper.
"Well, mortal?" she asked, her voice soft but edged with danger. "What do you think of my life?"
I hesitated, carefully choosing my words. I had to be cautious, but I couldn't lie either. "It's... pitiful."
Hela's laughter rang out, sharp and startling, echoing through the chamber like thunder.
"In all my lifetime," she said between bouts of laughter, "you are the first to call my life pitiful."
Her laughter faded, but the glint in her emerald eyes remained. "Tell me," she continued, her voice turning low and dangerous, "if you were me, what would you have done differently?"
The question hit me like a physical blow, pressing down on my chest. I paused, weighing the implications. My answer could change everything.
"I think... I'd have done something for myself," I said slowly, my voice gaining strength. "Just once. Instead of living for others, I'd have chosen to live for me."
Her expression softened for the briefest moment. In her eyes, I saw something unexpected—vulnerability. But it vanished almost instantly, replaced by a cool mask of control.
"Interesting," she murmured, almost to herself. With a flick of her wrist, the shadows around her throne rippled, swirling like smoke. "Return tomorrow," she said. Her voice was commanding, but not without an edge of something darker. "If you wish to keep your life, you'll continue to amuse me. And perhaps, you'll learn more than you bargained for."
I bowed slightly, though my heart raced. "As you wish."
As I turned to leave, something inside me made me pause. Hela hadn't spoken my name, not yet. The thought suddenly gnawed at me—how did she know who I was, where I came from? She might not have cared, but I had to know.
I glanced back over my shoulder. "Wait—Hela. You never asked my name."
She turned her gaze toward me again, her emerald eyes narrowing as if to size me up. For a moment, I thought she might strike me down on the spot for my audacity. But then, she simply regarded me with a raised eyebrow, a trace of amusement in her eyes.
"Your name?" she asked, her voice soft, almost mocking. "Why would I care about the name of a mere mortal who stumbles into my realm?"
I took a deep breath, trying not to let my unease show. "It's Kael. Kael Alaric."
"Kael," she repeated, the sound of my name leaving her lips with a strange resonance. It felt like she was testing it, tasting it. "A name as ordinary as you."
I bristled at her words, but I kept my composure. "Perhaps. But names are more than just sounds. They hold power. And I think you might find mine... useful."
She smirked, that predatory grin playing on her lips again. "Perhaps. But for now, Kael, you're still a curiosity. Don't mistake this moment for anything more. I may humor you for a time, but remember this—when you enter my domain, you do so at your own peril."
The weight of her words pressed down on me as I turned to leave. My thoughts spun, caught in the strange mixture of fear, curiosity, and determination. Hela, the Goddess of Death, was more than I had imagined. If I was to survive this, I needed to not just win her trust—I needed to help her become something greater. But how?