Queen Calista, sensing the rising tension, placed a gentle hand on Daphneia's arm. "Calm yourself, dear. If it is fated for them to be together, it will happen. If not, it won't. There's no sense in rushing fate."

But Queen Daphneia wasn't done. "But, Selene is of marriageable age. It's only appropriate that we begin looking for potential suitors, at the very least. She cannot remain in this state of limbo forever. If we wait a few years, we lose those opportunities to establish relations with kingdoms like Kemet, Kush, Kievan Rus…"

Selene's heart sank, and she pushed her chair back, standing up from the table. "I'm not interested in anyone else. Icarus is the only one for me."

Zephyr, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, looked at his sister with a mixture of concern and sympathy. He knew her heart was set on Icarus, and during the past 8 years, Selene kept on thinking about the person she had never met in her whole life. He doesn't understand what's going through her head, but he knows how stubborn his sister is, and the fact that he had no say in the family. Hence, he became a silent spectator.

Meanwhile, Queen Calista watched the scene unfold, her expression softening with understanding. "We all want the best for you, Selene," she said gently, siding with neither.

Selene didn't respond. Instead, she simply turned and left the room without even finishing her dinner, her footsteps echoing through the empty hall.

The soft clink of silverware against porcelain plates had subsided, leaving an uneasy silence hanging over the dining table.

Queen Daphneia, who had been speaking less and less since their daughter left the room, turned to King Pyranthos, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Why are you so quiet, Your Majesty?" she asked, her voice tinged with frustration and worry. "You have been brooding since the discussion about Selene."

King Pyranthos shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked at his wife, then down at his hands, unsure of how to express his thoughts. But in the end, he cleared his throat, his tone slightly nervous.

"We don't need to talk about Selene's future right now," he replied quietly, ending the discussion right away. "She just returned. Give her some time to figure out her thoughts."

Queen Daphneia raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Later that night, after the household had quieted, Selene sat alone by the window in her chambers. T

he moonlight spilled in, casting a silvery glow across the room, illuminating the canvas in front of her.

Her thoughts wandered to him—the prince who would always be in her heart, the one she still believed would return.

With a soft sigh, she picked up her brush and began to paint.

Each stroke on the canvas seemed to bring him to life, her imagination filling in the details.

She painted him as she expected him to be, based on his eleven-year-old portrait she had on the side.

In the end, the result turned out to be the painting of a man with blue eyes like hers, tall, broad-shouldered, with shoulder-length blonde hair that shone in the light like woven gold.

Putting the brush down, she smiled to herself. "You're so handsome," she whispered, the words slipping out in an almost inaudible sigh. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she wondered what he was doing at this very moment. Where was he? What had he become in the years that had passed? Was he thinking of her too?

At the same time, far across the realms, beyond the mortal world and the safety of Athens, in the grassy expanse of Vanaheim, another scene unfolded under the cruel chill of an icy sky.

A young man stood at the center of the battlefield, his broad shoulders squared against the looming threats around him.

His face was set with determination, his grip firm on the hilt of a weapon. He looked strikingly similar to the figure Selene had painted, only far more hardened by the trials of war.

The young prince's golden hair whipped in the biting wind, his eyes narrowed as he faced an army of towering ice giants that moved with thunderous steps. With a tight grip on his bow handle, he conjures an arrow enveloped by sparks of lightning.

The arrow shot from the bow toward the dark clouds looming over the region. At once, strikes of lightning descended, striking a bunch of icy giants. The remaining, however, continued to charge at him.

"That's a neat trick, Icarus." A voice commented from nearby. "But, it is too boring. Check out mine."

As Icarus turned his head, Mjölnir, the hammer of Thor, swung with tremendous force, smashing onto the Earth and releasing lightning strikes from the ground instead, striking the remaining icy giants and killing them in an instant.

"Thor…" Icarus smiled.

The battlefield, once teeming with the roar of ice giants, was now eerily quiet.

The ice giants, hulking creatures of massive strength, lay scattered across the grassy field, their bodies reduced to lifeless heaps of charred flesh and broken ice.

Icarus stood amidst the devastation, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths.

His golden armor, though dented and streaked with the remains of battle, still glimmered in the cold light of Vanaheim.

He raised his bow once more, pulling it with effortless precision as his eyes scanned the darkened sky above. His fingers loosened the string, and the arrow shot into the heavens, soaring higher and higher before disappearing into the clouds.

Then, a soft, steady drizzle began to fall.

The rain was warm, almost like the touch of a forgotten summer, and it washed over the battlefield.

It splashed against the charred remains of the giants, the blood-soaked battlefield, and the stains on his own armor. The droplets shimmered in the air, cleaning the blood.

Icarus closed his eyes for a moment, letting the rain fall on his face.

A faint, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It's finally over," he murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper.

Once the rain ceased, Icarus started to walk away amidst the cheers of victory from this bunch of Asgardians with his bow slung over his shoulder, planning to return home.

But just as he reached his winged unicorn, his mount, the magical beast that can travel through realms with ease and take him anywhere he wants, he felt a large, warm hand land heavily on his shoulder.

Before he could react, Thor's boisterous voice cut through the quiet like a thunderclap.

"Where do you think you're going, young Icarus?" Thor asked, his voice deep and filled with playful authority. "You won't leave without a proper after-war feast. Not on my watch."

Icarus turned to face the Asgardian god.

"I've had enough feasts to last a lifetime," He replied dryly, trying to shrug off the god's grip. "And I don't celebrate deaths, Lord Thor."

But Thor wasn't having it. "Well, you do, now." He casually pulled Icarus along, his massive strength making it impossible to break free from the friendly hold.

The sight of the mighty god dragging the prince was almost comical, and Icarus couldn't help but chuckle after failing to break free. Thor's infectious energy was as overwhelming as his strength.

"It's not every day we put down a dozen ice giants, Lad," Thor grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischievous light.. Besides, no one gets away from me before the ale is poured and the roasted meat is carved. Come, let us eat. And drink. And forget the world for a while."

Icarus gave in with a sigh, his resistance slipping away like sand through his fingers. He could feel his tense muscles relaxing as Thor dragged him toward the campfires, where the warriors had already begun to gather.

As they approached, the smell of roasted meats and warm bread filled the air. The fires were roaring, and the warriors who had fought beside Icarus were already celebrating—laughing, singing, and clinking mugs of mead in the air.

Thor gestured for Icarus to join them, pulling out a seat beside him at the large, wooden table.

"Now, sit, relax, and enjoy," Thor said, his voice softer now, a rare gentleness behind the usual thunderous bravado.

Icarus hesitated for a moment, but then, with a nod, he sat.

He looked around at the familiar faces of the warriors who had fought alongside him.

Soon, the feast began in earnest. Plates were filled with roasted boar, bread, cheese, and berries. Goblets were passed around, brimming with mead and wine.

Thor raised his mug, his eyes gleaming with pride as he looked at Icarus.

"To the victor, to the warrior, to you, my friend," he boomed, the sound of his voice carrying over the laughter of the men around them. "To Icarus."

"To Icarus," The others cheered at once, raising the mugs filled with wine or ale.

Icarus took his own mug and raised it in response. "To the gods and the warriors who fight by our side," he replied, his voice steady with a pleasant smile before chugging down the drink.

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