The Dark World | Book 3

Twenty-Three: The Eye That Sees All

To rule with true purpose, her mother once said, is far different from just ruling the Realm of the Gods. Every shadow and every eye is watching. From wallflowers to warriors, they all observe, awaiting guidance from their leaders. But to truly rule, one must possess a strong mind and a soft heart, balancing wisdom with compassion. Ruling one nation is a feat, but to rule over nine realms—only a true ruler could bear such a weight.

Her father was a king who governed his kingdom with great wisdom. Odin, her father-in-law, was the king who conquered the nine realms. His legacy was etched into the fabric of the cosmos. And now, as she sat to his left in the grand opera house, Sigyn could feel the weight of that legacy looming over her.

Odin lounged in his seat, a horn of ale in his hand and a plate of fruits within reach. The orchestra's haunting melody filled the air, narrating a tale of doomed lovers. Violins screeched with the betrayal of their love, while the deep, soulful notes of the cello told a more tender, heartfelt story. Onstage, dancers moved gracefully, wordlessly enacting the lovers' journey—facing monsters, battling hardships, reconciling, and standing side by side through every trial.

Sigyn's heart tightened as she watched. The story felt all too familiar, a reflection of her own life. Her gaze flitted briefly to Odin, who chuckled softly at the unfolding tragedy.

Then came the climax—the prince's untimely death. The violins wailed in sorrow, and the stage dimmed, save for a single spotlight illuminating the grieving princess as she knelt beside the fallen prince. The moment hung heavy in the air before the audience erupted into applause. The sound roared through the opera house, but Sigyn heard none of it. Her eyes were fixed on the dancers, her cheek damp with tears she hadn't noticed falling.

She quickly composed herself, rising to applaud with the rest. Odin stood too, offering the crowd a nod of approval before his gaze met hers. He acknowledged her with a small gesture, a silent signal of understanding. The performance had been more than just entertainment—it had been a retelling of her and Loki's story. For the first time, their tale of love, betrayal, and tragedy was told truthfully.

As Sigyn left the opera house, the whispers of the crowd followed her. The performance had already become the talk of Asgard, and pamphlets circulated, stirring controversy. The truth about Loki's role in their shared history was finally out, and the people were shocked to learn what had truly happened between them.

"A fitting end to the festival, All-Father," Sigyn remarked, approaching Odin after navigating the throngs of well-wishers who offered her condolences for her late husband, yet again.

"I am glad you approve," Odin replied, offering her a drink, which she politely declined.

"Did you oversee it yourself?" she asked.

"I ensured every detail was truthful," Odin said with a sly smile.

Sigyn nodded. "Then you have my thanks, All-Father. For too long, our story has been either untold or twisted beyond recognition."

She bowed to him before excusing herself, pleading with her maidens to return home as weariness overtook her.

In the days that followed, Sigyn felt the change in Asgard. The festival had won the hearts of the people, and their compassion for her only deepened. Doors to new opportunities had opened—alliances, trade agreements—but there remained much work to do to gain the trust of all nine realms. The Jotnar, still feared and shunned by many, had not attended the festival. Yet, in a promising turn of events, the Dwarves, Light Elves, and Vanir had all been present in Asgard during the celebrations.

At the next council meeting, Sigyn stood tall, her voice filled with pride as she addressed the assembly. "A most successful event!"

"Asgard prospers... in new prospects," one council member remarked.