As Rowe dashed frantically through the icy terrain of Jotunheim, he pulled out a bottle of Swiftness Potion and downed it in one gulp.
The fiery warmth surged into his legs like lightning. Instantly, he felt as light as air, his strides extended, and his speed surged by nearly 80%. It felt like soaring across the snow.
After a few moments of sprinting, a familiar figure came into view—Princess Hela, also fleeing with determined vigor.
Hela glanced back and spotted him. As they closed the gap between them, she suddenly asked, "What's your name?"
Rowe blinked in surprise. Of course, it made sense—three years had passed since their last meeting, and they had only exchanged brief words back then. Hela, noble and battle-hardened, wouldn't likely remember the name of a child she met in passing.
"Rowe, Your Highness," he replied respectfully.
A small smile formed on Hela's lips. "Didn't expect you to be a mage."
"Strictly speaking, I'm not a mage…" Rowe began to clarify. Ever since he took up the enchanted staff, people kept assuming he was one.
But Hela's expression darkened suddenly, and she interrupted, "Little one, don't follow me."
"What?" Rowe stumbled mid-step, confused.
"Split up. You'll only get yourself killed if you keep running with me," Hela snapped, urgency in her voice.
Just then, sharp whistling sounds pierced the air—ice thorns fired at blistering speed, slipping between the two like arrows.
Rowe instinctively twisted around—and his blood turned cold.
The monstrous frost giant pursuing them was none other than King Laufey himself, the monarch of the Frost Giants. He'd come in person—his chilling gaze locked on Hela like prey.
Although Laufey's icy beast had been lost, he skated effortlessly across the frost beneath him, gliding like a wraith.
His speed eclipsed even Rowe's potion-enhanced pace. The distance between predator and prey narrowed rapidly.
"Don't follow me. Turn now, or you won't have a chance," Hela repeated, her voice harsh.
Rowe was still unsure but trusted her instinct. "I hope we meet again, Your Highness."
"Mm," she replied, her tone distant.
Gritting his teeth, Rowe veered off course and darted in the opposite direction.
But Laufey wasn't about to let him go. As soon as Rowe turned, another cluster of ice thorns shot out—one aimed right at the back of his neck.
He had no time to react. The spike would have pierced him—if not for the sudden flash of steel.
Clang!
Hela's sword sliced through the air, smashing the ice thorns in a precise arc. She had shielded Rowe at the last moment.
Rowe finally sensed the danger and paused, turning around in shock.
Laufey was nearly upon them, now only meters away.
"The mage behind you is intriguing," Laufey rumbled, eyes fixated on Rowe. "I've never seen that kind of power. Curious indeed."
Hela, sword in hand, didn't turn back. "Rowe, I can't hold him off forever. Get out of here."
But Rowe stood frozen. Something in him refused to leave.
Laufey raised an arm, and more ice thorns crystallized in an instant. He hurled them again at Hela.
Ch-ching! Hela swung her sword, slicing the deadly projectiles, advancing as she deflected, her eyes locked on the Frost King.
Yet Laufey remained still, firing a barrage of spikes without moving. They came faster, stronger, relentless.
Hela was already injured and worn from earlier battles. Each movement showed strain. And soon, her defense faltered. One ice thorn scraped across her thigh—ripping through her armor and drawing a line of crimson across her pale skin.
Still, she gritted her teeth and pressed forward. Her sword danced like wildfire, finally bringing her within striking distance of Laufey. With a primal cry, she slashed.
But Laufey was prepared. Frost formed a second skin over his body, and he caught her blade effortlessly.
She tried to yank it free—no use.
With a brutal kick, Laufey hurled her aside and seized her sword.
Hela tumbled through the snow, landing hard. Blood trickled from her mouth, but she didn't hesitate. Drawing a hidden dagger, she launched herself at him again.
He caught her once more. This time, his cold surged into the blade. Hela's hand froze around the hilt—skin turned blue, fingers trembling.
The frost crept up her arm, agonizing and swift.
She screamed, unable to hold back the pain. "AHH—!"
"I once heard a prophecy," Laufey said, voice like glacial thunder. "Odin All-Father would make me lose a son… but perhaps I'll make him lose a daughter first."
He raised Hela's stolen sword, preparing the final blow.
Just then, a stone hurtled through the air, wrapped in golden light—crack!—it struck the back of Laufey's head.
He flinched, surprised more than hurt. He turned to see its source.
"HEY! I'm right here, ugly!" Rowe shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Beside him, a small rock construct stood—his summoned rock golem, emanating a faint holy glow.
"Throw again!" Rowe commanded.
The golem tossed another glowing stone—smack!—again hitting Laufey's head.
But Laufey no longer cared. His attention returned to Hela. He lifted the sword again. "I'll cut off your limbs first."
Rowe growled under his breath and extended a hand.
Hand of Reckoning!
A bolt of divine energy shot forward and struck Laufey square in the back. The frost king staggered, his body tensing up as divine judgment coursed through him.
His features twisted in fury as he turned around. "So many tricks… little mage. You want to reach Valhalla? Let me send you there!"
"Run, Your Highness!" Rowe shouted toward Hela.
Fwoosh! Laufey hurled another ice spike at him.
Rowe activated Verigan's Fist. Flames burst from the gauntlet as he met the ice with fire.
BOOM!
The collision erupted in an explosion of steam and shards. The frost was powerful, and even Rowe staggered, his arm trembling from the impact. The force drove him back toward the cliff's edge—he barely kept his footing.
Another shard followed. This time, the rock golem jumped in to block.
Crash! The golem shattered under the hit.
A third spike shot forward.
Rowe ducked and twisted—too late. It grazed his arm, tearing a bloody gash.
Laufey hovered forward, effortlessly skating over the ice. He loomed close.
"Speak," he snarled. "What is that power you wield? Tell me, and maybe I'll let you live."
Rowe clutched his arm, panting. "It's… the power of Azeroth."
Laufey frowned. "Azeroth?"
"Want to hear the story?" Rowe smirked, blood on his lips.
"Hmph." Laufey saw through his attempt at distraction. He conjured another ice spike.
"You really shouldn't," Rowe warned, voice low. "Or I swear—I'll kill you with my own hands."
"You're bold," Laufey said coldly, preparing to strike.
The spike shimmered in his grasp—then launched toward Rowe.
But just before it hit, Rowe turned sharply, threw himself backward—and leapt off the edge of the cliff.
His body vanished into the abyss.
Laufey rushed forward, peering into the dark chasm, his expression unreadable.
Jotunheim's depths were endless and black. Snow and mist swallowed the falling figure.
Only silence remained.