The aftermath was exactly as Emrys had predicted.
The thick, oily clouds that had gathered in the night sky seemed to hesitate after his defiance, then slowly began to unravel. This confirmed his suspicion: Odin was not in a true Odinsleep. This entire scenario—the banishment, the hammer, the fall—was a masterfully crafted trial designed by the All-Father to temper his headstrong son.
Poor Loki, currently plotting to seize the throne while his father "slumbered," was oblivious to the fact that he was merely a supporting actor in a larger play. Odin wasn't just watching; he was directing. And as long as Emrys didn't derail the core lesson Thor needed to learn, the God-King of Asgard would tolerate a certain amount of... external interference.
This was the leverage Emrys needed. He hadn't just beaten Heimdall for the sake of his pride; he had done it to knock on Odin's door.
"I know you're watching," Emrys said, looking up at the swirling remnants of the storm. He rubbed his chin, a bold, dangerous idea taking root. "How about we skip the theatrics and make a deal?"
Rumble!
Thunder roared in a deafening crescendo. Lightning bolts intertwined within the dark clouds, knitting together to form a colossal, luminous face against the backdrop of the night. The "face" was a map of raw power, its single eye a swirling vortex of concentrated electrical energy that looked down upon the Rogue Trader with absolute indifference.
"I am Emrys," the merchant began, unperturbed by the celestial gaze. "A Rogue Trader of the Imperium. You might think of me as a traveler between worlds—a merchant who deals in things far more valuable than gold."
The giant face remained silent, the thunder serving as its breath.
"Thor was cast out and stripped of his divinity. Your hand, I assume?" Emrys paced the edge of the crater. "And Mjolnir sits here as a carrot on a stick. This is a trial of character, a way to break his arrogance."
A single, sharp crack of thunder echoed across the desert—the All-Father's confirmation.
"Let me guess why a King would go to such lengths," Emrys feigned a moment of contemplation. "You're worried. You see a son who knows only war and glory, but has no heart for the burden of the crown. You want to teach him humility before you pass the torch."
Suddenly, the thunder ceased. The silence was absolute.
In the heartbeat between one breath and the next, the world shifted. The desert sand was replaced by the lush, vibrant green of an endless grassland beneath a twilight sky. Emrys' pupils constricted. He hadn't felt a ripple in the Warp, no sorcerous flare—just a seamless transition of reality.
The power of a Skyfather, he noted, adjusting his collar.
In the distance stood a seemingly ordinary old man, wrapped in a simple traveling cloak, observing him with a solitary, piercing eye. Emrys walked toward him, his boots brushing against the grass.
"The All-Father, I assume. Lord Odin."
"You... are a stain upon the tapestry of this reality," Odin spoke, his voice like the grinding of ancient stones. "I look at you, and I see things that should not exist."
"And what exactly do you see?" Emrys asked, curious.
Odin's eye narrowed. Through the power of the Runes, he saw the truth of the man before him. He saw mountains of corpses that stretched into infinity. He saw a galaxy gripped in a ten-thousand-year scream of agony. He saw the cold, unyielding malice of the Warp and the endless, grinding gears of a war that had no beginning and no end.
Even for a conqueror who had unified the Nine Realms through blood, the vision was staggering. Odin felt a rare flicker of hesitation. He couldn't see Emrys' future; it was shrouded in a fog of entropy and static.
"What is it you want, Traveler?" Odin asked, his voice wary.
"Your son is a blunt instrument," Emrys said directly. "He is arrogant, foolish, and obsessed with the songs of battle. You want to teach him kindness and humility. I think I can offer a more... practical education."
"Continue," Odin said, his expression unreadable.
"I will take over Thor's 'training' during his exile. I will ensure he learns the weight of responsibility and the true meaning of leadership. In return, I want access to certain Asgardian technologies—and a seat at the table when the trial is over."
"You would train my son?" Odin's brow furrowed. "What could a creature of war like you teach the Prince of Asgard?"
"In my homeland, we serve a Master of Mankind who has ruled for millennia. We understand that leadership isn't about being 'kind.' It's about being necessary," Emrys replied with a sharp, predatory smile. "I won't just teach him to be a good man, All-Father. I'll teach him to be a King who can survive what's coming."
Odin pondered this. He looked at the shadows clinging to Emrys—the "Warhammer" spirit that followed him. He knew Thor needed a perspective he couldn't provide himself.
"And the price?" Odin asked.
"As I said, I am a fair merchant. Integrity is the foundation of the Emrys Dynasty," Emrys lied smoothly. "Let's call this a trial period. If you aren't satisfied with the results, you pay nothing. If you are... well, the Forge of Nidavellir is a very interesting place."
Odin stood silent for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Very well. I entrust my son's guidance to you, for now. But remember, Midgardian—if you break him, I will unmake you."
"A fair bargain," Emrys said, the world beginning to fade back to the desert.
As he reappeared in the crater, Emrys began calculating. Odin wanted a "qualified" heir who understood mortals. Emrys intended to give him an heir who understood duty.
Thor was about to be the first student of the Emrys Academy. It wouldn't be easy, and it certainly wouldn't be 'kind,' but by the time Emrys was done with him, the God of Thunder would be ready to serve the Emperor—or at least, act like someone who could.