War broke out across the Nine Realms.
And I wasn't allowed anywhere near it.
Father's armies moved like thunder across the branches of Yggdrasil. Entire worlds shook. Asgard marched. Jotunheim burned. Alfheim sealed its borders.
And me?
I was benched.
Grounded.
Forbidden.
"Too young."
That was the word they used.
I was one hundred and twenty years old.
For a human, I'd be ancient. For Asgard… I was barely more than a child playing with weapons far too sharp for my hands.
The royal family lived tens of thousands of years.
I had centuries before I'd even be regarded as an adult.
Plenty of time.
That thought didn't comfort me.
I stood at the highest edge of my private realm, watching the false sky ripple gently with magic. From here, I could feel the tremors — faint distortions in reality every time Father's forces breached another realm.
But I wasn't allowed to move.
Not yet.
The system didn't object.
The system never cared about politics.
It only cared about progress.
So I did what I always do.
I trained.
While gods waged war, I built my world.
Forests expanded across my dimension — no longer fragile constructs of magic, but real ecosystems. Rivers flowed with mana-rich water. Mountains stabilized. The first city walls rose beneath floating crystals that acted as defensive pylons.
Outposts turned into fortresses.
Fortresses turned into citadels.
Every settlement was layered with seals. Barriers. Pressure fields. Detection arrays.
Because if Father could conquer realms…
Then something older, darker, and far more patient might look at mine and decide to test it.
I walked among my people.
Not as a goddess.
Not as a ruler.
But as a shadow.
They didn't remember Earth. Or battlefields. Or stolen lives.
Only their new homes.
New families.
New futures.
That was my design.
That was my lie.
Predator activated quietly around me, tasting the world.
Not feeding.
Not killing.
Just learning.
Great Sage spoke.
"Current combat restrictions acknowledged. Opportunity: internal optimization period."
I nodded.
Yes.
That was the point.
If I couldn't join the war…
Then I would outgrow it.
By the time I was finally allowed to step onto a battlefield…
There wouldn't be one left that could hold me.
I looked up at the artificial stars of my realm.
"Fight your wars, Father."
I whispered it like a promise.
"Conquer your realms."
Because when I was finally old enough to fight…
They wouldn't be calling me a child anymore.