Not So Friendly Anymore

Chapter 35: Old Flames

The heavy gold-and-silver doors of Asgard's great hall closed with a resonant thoom, the sound reverberating through the chamber like the tolling of a great bell, sealing away the fading echoes of laughter, the clink of goblets, and the petulant storm of Loki's retreat. The air shifted, the warmth of the feast giving way to the cooler, more solemn atmosphere of the palace's inner corridors. Peter Parker or Anansi, the Weaver of Stories, walked alongside Odin and Thor, their steps measured and purposeful, the weight of their presence filling the space. Behind them, Susan Storm and Silver Sable followed, their eyes darting across the grandeur of Asgard's architecture, their expressions a mix of awe and guarded alertness.

The corridor stretched before them, a golden maze of towering pillars carved with intricate reliefs depicting the sagas of gods and heroes, Odin's triumph over Ymir, Thor's battles with the frost giants, and older, stranger tales of realms beyond mortal ken. The vaulted ceilings soared high above, studded with gemstones that shimmered like captured starlight, catching the flickering torchlight and casting prismatic reflections across the polished marble floor. The air was warm, infused with the faint, heady scent of sacred oils, ancient stone, and the subtle hum of Asgard's latent magic, a pulse that seemed to resonate in time with Peter's heartbeat, or perhaps with the deeper rhythm of the Web of Life that coursed through him.

Their footsteps echoed softly, a rhythmic counterpoint to the quiet that had settled over the group. Odin's presence was a storm held in check, his single eye gleaming with the wisdom of ages, his fur-lined cloak trailing behind him like a river of shadow and light. Thor, at his side, carried Mjolnir with casual ease, the hammer's runes still faintly glowing from its recent polishing, his broad shoulders relaxed but his gaze alert, as if expecting trouble even in the heart of Asgard. Peter walked between them, his posture deceptively casual, but there was a tension in his frame, a flicker of something ancient in his eyes that set him apart from the mortal he had once been. Susan and Sable, a few steps behind, moved with the quiet grace of warriors, their senses sharp, taking in every detail of the divine realm they had entered.

Odin's voice broke the silence, deep and resonant, carrying a warmth that was more personal than his usual regal authority. "Tell me, Brother," he said, turning his head slightly, his single eye fixing on Peter with a look that pierced through the mortal shell to the ancient spirit within. "Have you visited Phal'kon since your return?"

The name struck Peter, or Anansi, like a hammer to the chest, a blow that reverberated through his very being. His steps faltered, his boots catching on the marble floor as he stopped mid-stride. His breath hitched, a sharp intake that seemed to pull the air from the corridor itself. Slowly, his eyelids drifted shut, not in serenity but in a heavy, almost unbearable weight, as if the name had unlocked a vault of memories too vivid, too raw, to contain.

Phal'kon. His beloved phoenix.

The memory surged into him, unbidden and searing, as sharp and immediate as if no time had passed at all. He could feel her, even now, her presence as real as the stone beneath his feet. The warmth of her skin under his touch, not the burning heat of fire but the vibrant, living warmth of a being who was life itself, radiant and eternal. The taste of her lips, sweet and intoxicating, a kiss that carried the power to set stars alight, to weave new threads into the tapestry of existence. The scent of her hair, that deep, rich red like the sky at dawn, when the world was theirs and the universe still young, its boundaries undefined.

Each detail was etched into him with agonizing clarity: the curve of her smile, fierce and knowing, as if she alone understood the weight of eternity and chose to laugh in its face. The fire in her eyes, not destructive but creative, a blaze that could birth worlds or burn away lies. The sound of her voice, a melody that wove itself into the Web of Life, harmonizing with his own stories, their laughter mingling under skies that stretched across realms now lost to time. He saw her wings, vast and shimmering, not of feathers but of light and flame, beating against the endless expanse of a cosmos they had once explored together.