Life in Asgard settled back into its familiar rhythm with such effortless ease that, after only a few days, Harry began to wonder whether he had truly been away at all.
Each morning began almost exactly the same.
As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the crystal windows of the royal palace, servants quietly moved through the halls, opening curtains and preparing the day's activities. The smell of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and sweet honey drifted through the corridors, mixing with the cool mountain air that flowed in from the open balconies.
Whenever Harry stepped out of his room, someone always greeted him.
"Good morning, Prince Harry."
The palace guards saluted respectfully as he passed.
The servants smiled warmly.
The maids bowed their heads before continuing with their work.
None of it felt ceremonial.
It simply felt... natural.
Even the palace cooks seemed to know exactly what he wanted before he reached the dining hall. His favorite breakfast was always waiting for him—fresh bread with thick honey, roasted meats, fruit gathered from Vanaheim, and warm cider prepared exactly the way he liked it.
Everything simply continued as though Harry had never left.
At first, the familiarity felt strange.
Nearly a full year had passed on Midgard. To Harry, that year had been filled with adventures, friendships, discoveries, battles, and responsibilities. He had lived an entirely different life.
Yet to the people of Asgard...
Nothing seemed different.
One quiet morning, while sharing breakfast with Frigga in one of the palace's smaller dining rooms, Harry finally voiced the question that had been lingering in his mind since his return.
"Grandmother?"
Frigga looked up from her cup of tea, smiling gently.
"Yes, dear?"
Harry glanced around the hall before answering.
Servants moved naturally between the tables, speaking quietly among themselves while preparing breakfast for members of the royal household. A pair of elderly attendants argued amiably about the proper polishing method for ceremonial silverware. Two young guards standing outside the windows laughed at some private joke before immediately straightening as another officer walked by.
"I've been gone for almost a year."
Frigga nodded.
"You have."
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
"So why does it feel like nobody thinks I ever left?"
For a moment Frigga simply looked at him.
Then she laughed softly.
"My dear Harry..."
She reached across the table and gently rested one hand atop his.
"To humans, a year is a very long time."
Harry nodded.
"But not to us."
Frigga smiled patiently.
"An ordinary Asgardian may live for four thousand years."
She continued in the same gentle tone.
"Some live even longer."
"A year..." she said thoughtfully, "passes rather quickly from our perspective."
Harry remained silent as she continued.
"Imagine asking a human to remember what happened three days ago."
"They would."
"They would remember it clearly."
She smiled.
"To us..."
"One year feels much the same."
Harry leaned back slightly as realization slowly dawned on him.
"When you put it like that..."
Frigga nodded.
"It is little more than another season."
Harry looked around the hall once more.
The elderly steward who had served Odin for centuries noticed his empty cup and quietly refilled it without needing to be asked.
One of the younger maids smiled brightly and waved as she hurried past carrying a stack of clean linens.
Several palace guards bowed respectfully as Harry met their eyes.
No one treated him like someone returning from a long absence.
To them...
He had simply gone on a short journey.
Harry found himself smiling.
"...I like that."
Frigga's own smile softened.
"So do we."
She looked at him with unmistakable affection.
"To us..."
"You simply came home."
Those simple words remained with Harry for the rest of the day.
There was something deeply comforting about them.
Midgard changed constantly.
People grew older.
Children became adults.
Entire generations passed.
But Asgard...
Asgard endured.
For the first time since his return, Harry truly understood what it meant to belong to a race that measured time differently.
Unfortunately, the comforting rhythm of palace life could not completely hide the truth.
Asgard was preparing for war.
Every evening, after the palace quieted and the city's celebrations faded into the distance, the war council gathered inside Odin's private strategy chamber.
Maps covered nearly every wall.
Maps of distant realms.
Military reports arrived daily.
Loki's spies delivered information gathered from dozens of worlds.
Messengers from Vanaheim brought troop counts and supply inventories.
Weapons were counted.
Food reserves measured.
Fortifications inspected.
The city itself appeared peaceful.
Yet beneath that peaceful surface, every citizen understood that preparations were underway.
Harry attended several of the meetings.
Mostly as an observer.
Nobody expected him to contribute military strategy.
Instead, Odin encouraged him simply to listen.
To learn.
And the more he learned, the more frustrated he became.
Because he also understood something else.
If war truly came...
Nobody would allow him anywhere near the battlefield.
The realization irritated him more than he cared to admit.
Not because he desired glory.
Not because he wanted recognition.
He simply hated standing idle while others risked their lives.
One evening, unable to quiet his thoughts, Harry sat alone upon one of the palace balconies overlooking the golden city below.
The cool evening breeze carried the scent of flowering trees through the air.
Far below, lights glittered across Asgard like scattered stars.
His wand—containing the Reality Stone—slowly rotated between his fingers.
"I need to do something."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
He stared out toward the distant mountains.
"If they won't let me fight..."
The thought lingered.
Then suddenly...
A slow smile spread across his face.
"I can't fight..."
"But nobody said I couldn't prepare everyone else."
The idea grew larger with every passing second.
He stood abruptly.
By the time he returned to his room that evening, he already had sketches filling half a notebook.
The following morning, Harry marched directly into Odin's throne room.
The Allfather looked up from several reports spread across a large table.
"Harry?"
"I need a favor."
Odin smiled faintly.
"I suspected as much."
Harry immediately pointed at the map, toward an old storage chamber connected to the family's private wing.
"I want that room."
Odin looked toward the chamber.
The room had not been used for generations beyond storing broken furniture and ceremonial decorations.
"For what purpose?"
Harry answered immediately.
"A forge."
Thor, who had been passing through the open doorway, stopped in mid-step before walking inside.
"A forge?"
Harry nodded.
"I want to make weapons."
Thor looked toward Odin.
Then back toward Harry.
"...You do realize Asgard already possesses the finest blacksmiths in the Nine Realms."
"I know."
Harry smiled.
"I've spent years learning from them."
That was undeniably true.
Harry had apprenticed under dwarven smiths.
Runesmiths.
Enchanters.
Master metallurgists.
Odin remained thoughtful.
"What exactly are you intend to create?"
Harry's expression became unusually serious.
"If everyone insists I stay away from the battlefield..."
He looked directly at the Allfather.
"...then I'll make sure everyone else comes home alive."
Thor slowly looked away.
He had been one of those determined to keep Harry away from the coming conflict.
Hearing those words made something tighten painfully inside his chest.
Odin walked down from his throne.
He stopped before Harry and rested one hand upon the boy's shoulder.
For several moments he said nothing.
Finally...
"...Very well."
Harry immediately smiled.
"The room is yours."
The transformation began that same afternoon.
Servants cleared away centuries of accumulated storage.
Stone masons reinforced the walls.
Dwarven craftsmen helped install enchanted ventilation.
Harry personally designed the workshop layout.
By the third morning...
The old storage room had completely disappeared.
In its place stood one of the finest private forges in Asgard.
An enormous furnace burned with brilliant blue Asgardian fire that never required coal or wood.
Rune-carved anvils rested upon reinforced stone foundations.
Floating enchanted tools organized themselves neatly whenever someone finished using them.
Entire walls were lined with shelves containing enchanted metals gathered from every realm.
Uru.
Silversteel.
Moon iron.
Star bronze.
Even small quantities of rare dwarven alloys rested inside carefully protected containers.
Thor walked through the completed forge in open admiration.
"This..."
He slowly turned in a full circle.
"...is incredible."
Harry smiled proudly.
"I designed every part of it."
"I can tell."
Soon the palace craftsmen themselves began visiting.
At first they came merely out of curiosity.
Then they stayed.
One elderly dwarven smith scratched thoughtfully at his beard after studying Harry's design.
"You've placed the cooling pool too close to the furnace."
Harry looked over.
He frowned.
Then nodded.
"...You're right."
Within minutes the two of them had redesigned nearly half the workshop together.
Nobody treated Harry like a prince.
Nobody treated him like a child.
Inside the forge...
He was simply another craftsman.
And Harry loved every second of it.
Before long the first creations began emerging from the workshop.
Harry deliberately ignored swords and spears.
Asgard already possessed countless masterwork weapons.
Instead, he concentrated on something else.
Enchantment.
Helmets capable of resisting mental magic.
Bracers that absorbed portions of magical impacts before dispersing the force harmlessly.
Shields that slowly repaired small cracks between battles.
Armor whose tremendous weight disappeared entirely the moment its rightful owner put it on.
Every completed piece impressed the palace craftsmen a little more.
Soon warriors from the royal guard quietly began requesting equipment personally enchanted by Prince Harry.
One afternoon, however, Harry found himself staring thoughtfully at a particular collection of sketches.
Hela.
She presented an entirely different challenge.
Traditional armor would never work.
She preferred speed.
Freedom.
Movement.
And relied almost entirely upon her Necroswords.
Heavy breastplates and cumbersome pauldrons would simply gather dust.
Harry stared thoughtfully at the drawings for nearly an hour.
"It can't look like armor..."
"It can't slow her down..."
"It needs to protect her without interfering."
Suddenly...
He smiled.
"I've got it."
Instead of designing armor...
He began sketching jewelry.
Elegant black rings.
Thin bracelets.
A delicate necklace.
Every piece covered with microscopic runes almost invisible to the naked eye.
The enchantments would remain dormant.
Until danger approached.
Then, for a fraction of a heartbeat, invisible magical barriers would manifest precisely where needed before disappearing again.
Enough to deflect fatal attacks...
Without Hela ever feeling restricted.
Harry immediately began engraving the first bracelet.
Hours passed unnoticed.
Late that evening, Wanda quietly entered the forge carrying a tray filled with fresh food.
She stopped just inside the doorway.
Harry hadn't even noticed she had arrived.
His face was blackened with soot.
Tiny burns marked his gloves.
His eyes remained completely fixed upon the silver bracelet held delicately beneath an enchanted magnifying lens.
Wanda smiled fondly.
"You skipped lunch."
Harry looked up, genuinely surprised.
"...Did I?"
"You also skipped dinner."
Harry blinked.
"Oh."
She carried the tray over and placed it beside him.
"You can't protect everyone if you forget to eat."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"I was almost finished."
Wanda picked up the bracelet carefully.
The craftsmanship was extraordinary.
Tiny runes shimmered across its polished surface like strands of silver silk.
"For Hela?"
Harry nodded.
"I don't think she'll ever wear armor."
"No."
Wanda laughed softly.
"She absolutely won't."
Harry smiled.
"So..."
He gently accepted the bracelet back.
"...I thought I'd cheat."
Wanda examined it once more.
"So she'll be protected without realizing she's wearing armor."
"Exactly."
She gently kissed the top of his head.
"I'm proud of you."
Harry looked down, embarrassed.
"I'm just helping."
"No."
Wanda's voice was warm.
"You're doing exactly what a prince should do."
Harry looked around his forge.
Weapons.
Armor.
Runes glowing softly beneath blue flames.
Outside those walls, thousands of Asgardian warriors continued preparing for the coming war.
Perhaps he would never stand beside them on the battlefield.
Perhaps he would never swing a sword beside Thor.
But every shield he strengthened...
Every weapon he enchanted...
Every life saved by his creations...
Meant that, in his own way...
He would be fighting beside them all the same.
And somehow...
That was enough for him.