The Bifrost didn't feel like travel.
It felt like being torn out of the world and stitched into another.
Light collapsed around me in a column of ancient energy, and when it faded… I was standing in war.
Jotunheim.
Endless ice.
Endless screams.
The sky was split by crimson cracks of lightning as Frost Giants clashed with Asgardian legions. The ground was fractured, frozen, and stained with blood that steamed where it touched the snow.
This wasn't a drill.
This wasn't training.
This was real.
And I was in command.
The moment my boots touched the frozen ground, I felt them—every soldier, every captain, every terrified recruit. Their eyes turned toward me instinctively.
Not because of rank.
Because of pressure.
Because of presence.
"I'm taking control of this battlefield," I said calmly, my voice carrying unnaturally far.
No one argued.
They simply listened.
A thought struck my mind.
My dimension answered.
Reality bent.
Two portals unfolded behind me like dark, silent wounds in space.
Out stepped my lieutenants.
Tom Riddle appeared first — tall, calm, eyes sharp with controlled darkness.
Behind him, like a shadow given form, came Sauron.
A dark crown of presence. A walking storm of will.
They didn't question me.
They didn't hesitate.
They bowed their heads slightly — not in weakness.
In loyalty.
The Frost Giants noticed.
A roar shook the plains as the first wave surged forward.
I raised my hand.
The Elder Wand felt… alive in my grip.
Not borrowed.
Not stolen.
Mine.
Magic responded like it had been waiting for me.
The snow didn't melt.
It evaporated as fire spiraled from the tip of the wand.
Not simple flame.
Living infernos.
Serpents of fire tore through the charging giants, wrapping around their massive forms and burning through frost-forged armor like paper.
"Formation Gamma!" I commanded.
Tom moved instantly.
Dark chains of magic burst from the ground, binding giants in place.
Sauron lifted his hand.
And the battlefield trembled.
A pressure descended like a god placing his foot on the world.
The Frost Giants slowed.
Their movements turned heavy.
Fear crept into creatures that had ruled ice for millennia.
I walked forward through the storm.
Every step left molten footprints in the frozen ground.
"Expulso."
A word.
A flick.
The spell detonated inside a giant's chest, not outside.
Clean.
Surgical.
"Incendio Maxima."
The air ignited.
Not sparked.
Ignited.
Whole waves of Frost Giants burned in synchronized pillars of fire like execution pyres offered to war itself.
And still I felt calm.
Focused.
Cold in my own way.
This was control.
This was command.
This was what I had been preparing for.
I lifted into the air, the white Merlin cloak unfolding behind me like wings of a fallen god.
Fire gathered.
Bigger.
Denser.
Hotter.
A miniature sun formed at the tip of my wand.
I looked down at the battlefield.
All of it.
Every frozen structure.
Every giant.
Every soldier.
"I am not here to test myself," I said quietly.
"I'm here to end this."
The sun fell.
And Jotunheim burned.