Odin watched the young man with a mix of wariness and a strange, burgeoning nostalgia. Cunning, opportunistic, shameless when required, but iron-willed when challenged—Emrys reminded the Allfather of his own youth, back when the Nine Realms were conquered not through wisdom, but through blood and guile.
The King of Gods let out a weary sigh, his single eye drifting toward Thor and Loki. "How much simpler it would have been," he murmured, "if you were of my own blood."
Thor's innocent, bewildered eyes went wide. He stood like a confused child, wondering what new disappointment he had inflicted upon his father.
Loki, meanwhile, let out a sharp, genuine laugh. Having already abandoned his own claim to the throne and accepted his Frost Giant heritage, he found the entire scene delicious. To him, the throne was no longer a burden; it was merely a seat from which to watch the comedy of the universe unfold.
"Heh, pay no mind to an old man's rambling," Odin said with a dry smile.
Emrys, never one to let a vacuum of power go unfilled, stepped forward with a grin that was entirely too bright. "If that's an invitation, father—consider me part of the family."
Thor nearly stumbled over his own feet. Loki's eyes sparkled with frantic delight; this was better than any play he had ever orchestrated.
Odin's eyelids twitched. He looked at Emrys for a long moment, a heavy silence hanging between them. "I thought," the Allfather said slowly, "that you would be too proud to accept such a... familiar bond."
"Why should I refuse?" Emrys's eyes gleamed with cold calculation.
To a Rogue Trader, a sense of shame was a luxury one discarded for the right price. If calling Odin "father" gave him a legitimate claim to Asgardian resources, he would shout it from the highest peak of Valhalla.
He would have called Khorne "uncle" if it meant inheriting the Brass Citadel—though he'd likely wait for the right moment to deliver a taste of "filial piety" to the Blood God's throat.
Odin, seeing right through the young man's mercenary spirit, chuckled. "I was speaking metaphorically, Merlin. An old man's nonsense. Do not be so quick to measure the curtains in the palace just yet."
"Tsk." Emrys clicked his tongue, making no effort to hide his disappointment.
Odin looked at him with a glimmer of respect. He had cunning and he had brains—the archetypal "son of a rival" that every king feared. Then he looked at Thor again and sighed. The comparison was painful.
True to their agreement, Odin led Emrys deep into the bowels of the palace, through corridors of gold and stone, until they stood before the Great Vault.
"To mark our accord," the Allfather said, waving a hand toward the plinths of artifacts, "you may choose one item from this collection to take with you."
The vault was not crowded, but every object within it was a catalyst for legend. The Orb of Agamotto, the Life Tablet, the Warlock's Eye, and the Eternal Flame—each one a prize that could ignite a war.
Emrys strolled through the chamber like a customer in a high-end boutique, casually pointing at various treasures.
"This one?"
"If you wish."
"And that?"
"Also permitted."
Emrys paused before a pedestal holding a heavy, golden gauntlet. "Surely not this one?" he asked playfully.
"I gave you my word," Odin said, watching him with a half-smile. "Any item in the vault is yours. I am a man of my word. I trust you are as well?"
Emrys chuckled, turning away from the glove. "The Infinity Gauntlet. You're generous, Allfather—or perhaps just honest."
"What use is the Gauntlet?" Odin replied, his tone indifferent. "It is a tool of cosmic static. It cannot rewrite fate. It cannot stop Ragnarok. If it cannot change what matters, it is merely a heavy glove."
Emrys laughed. He knew the secret: the Infinity Stones were tied to their home universe. If he took them back to the Warhammer galaxy, they would be little more than colorful glass. Odin had clearly reached the same conclusion; the gauntlet couldn't save Asgard, so he treated it as a paperweight.
"Have you made your choice?" Odin asked.
"You're really giving this away as compensation?" Emrys mused. "Millions of human lives for a trinket?"
Both men knew the truth. This wasn't an apology for the Frost Giant invasion. This was "tuition" for Thor and Loki, and a down payment on a future alliance. Odin was buying insurance. He knew Ragnarok was coming, and he was seeking a sanctuary for his people after he was gone.
"As long as you dare to ask, I dare to give," Odin said, standing near the brazier of the Eternal Flame like an old man warming himself by a hearth. "You could even take this fire."
"No, thank you," Emrys waved his hand. "The Eternal Flame is Surtur's soul. I have enough trouble with daemons without bringing the herald of your apocalypse home with me."
"You truly do know everything," Odin said, his gaze sharpening. "A wise choice. Even if you took it, it would only bring you ruin."
Emrys scanned the remaining relics. The Orb of Agamotto was redundant; he had psykers for prophecy. The Life Tablet was too close to Nurgle's domain for comfort.
"Any recommendations, Allfather?"
Odin gestured toward a towering, silver-metallic suit of armor that stood silent and imposing in the corner. "The Destroyer. It is forged from Uru, the rarest of enchanted metals. It is a sentinel without equal, capable of storing and unleashing immense energy. It is Asgard's greatest weapon."
"Then I'll take the Destroyer," Emrys decided.
Even if he never wore the armor, the raw Uru was priceless. He imagined melting it down—not for a mere squad's weapons, but to coat the hull of a Gloriana-class battleship. A shapeshifting, Uru-clad titan of the void, equipped with a mounted Bifrost array. With a ship like that, even the Black Crusades of Abaddon would be nothing more than a nuisance.
"A fine choice," Odin said, his smile turning cryptic. "Let us see what you can build from the bones of Asgard."