This was a legend whispered through the ancient halls of Asgard.
Long before history itself was forged—when ti was still shapeless and the universe cloaked in chaos—the Nine Realms were bathed in eternal darkness. From that primal void arose a terrifying race: the Dark Elves. Pale as bone, their skin bore the mark of living for countless eons beneath the crust of dead stars.
The legend was so old that even Odin, the All-Father himself, only rembered fragnts. Back then, Odin had not yet claid the throne of Asgard. That honor belonged to his father, King Bor. And at the ti, Asgard was far from the mighty realm it would beco.
According to the ancient chronicles, the Dark Elves' leader—Malekith—sought to return the universe to its original state of darkness and chaos. His instrunt of rebirth?
The Aether.
One of the six primordial forces of creation, the Aether was the vessel of the Reality Stone—an Infinity Stone capable of bending matter and rewriting the rules of existence itself. Among the Dark Elves, secret rites had been passed down to wield the Aether. And with its power, Malekith could plunge the Nine Realms into an eternal abyss, reshaping them into a mirror of the void from which his kind was born.
Fortunately, King Bor had thwarted that nightmare.
Leading the warriors of Asgard into a cataclysmic battle, Bor managed to defeat the Dark Elves after a brutal and bloody campaign. Most of Malekith's forces were wiped out. The rest—including Malekith himself—escaped into the uncharted edges of space aboard a stealth warship. The Aether, however, was claid by Bor.
Bor had wanted to destroy it.
But he quickly realized: the Aether could not be destroyed. It was too ancient. Too powerful.
So instead, he ordered it hidden—buried in a place so obscure that no living being would ever find it again.
Of course, the universe has a strange sense of humor. The more sothing is sealed, buried, or forgotten… the more inevitable its return becos.
Sowhere deep in the void...
A faint crimson pulse blinked in the darkness—growing stronger by the second.
Soon, the glow shaped itself into a burning crimson cross. Within it shimred the cold outline of a massive starship.
The ship stirred. Systems flickered online. Crimson lights ignited row by row. The ancient beast was waking.
At the heart of the vessel, a central core illuminated. The great panels opened. And as distant starlight stread through the windows, a pair of yellow eyes snapped open.
Malekith, the exiled Dark Elf king, had awoken—after five thousand years of slumber.
The centuries had dulled his muscles. He fumbled, uncoordinated, as he detached from the stasis chamber. His thin hands touched the freezing walls of his command deck. Through the grand observation window, he saw the long-silent stasis pods light up, one by one.
His kin were awakening.
"The Aether has called to us," Malekith rasped, voice echoing through the resurrected corridors. "Find it. Use the Convergence. Our era has returned."
His yellowed eyes glinted with a hunger untouched by ti.
Back on Earth…
Inside Gene Mason's neural network, a voice spoke: "Sir, the phase-fluctuation readings are weakening. Only light and limited energy can now pass through the rift. Physical transit is no longer viable."
"I know," Gene replied calmly.
Golden energy flared around his palm. He extended his hand into empty air—then twisted it, as though wrenching open a sealed vault.
With a hum of power, a shimring circular glyph blood before him. A portal. A fading one.
The phase rift had almost collapsed, but Gene's manipulation kept it open. Barely.
"Estimated stability: three minutes. After that, you'll need a new extraction point," the AI warned.
"I understand." Gene stepped into the void.
On the other side lay a barren wasteland, cold and abandoned. Gene imdiately spotted the collapsed form of Jane Foster on the ground. He approached swiftly, activating a scan.
A holographic display popped up, listing her vitals and cellular data.
"What's her condition?" Gene asked.
"Sir, she's in a weakened state. Her life force is deteriorating rapidly. There is also an unknown energy embedded within her system. No known record matches this energy. Even our biosensors cannot identify it."
Gene's visor flashed red.
He saw it clearly now—a glowing red liquid coursing through her veins under the scan.
"The Reality Stone," Gene murmured.
The Aether.
It had chosen Jane Foster as its host.
"What are your orders, Sir?" the AI asked.
Gene didn't hesitate.
"Take her back. We deal with this… from ho."
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