Chapter 10

It was a typical weekend at Camp Half-Blood—if "typical" meant preparing to portal to Asgard with a goddess, her top-tier huntresses, and a Valkyrie in disguise. For 8-year-old Harry, it was just another day in his extraordinary life. He glanced around, hoping to see Fleur, his best friend, but she was busy at Beauxbatons, starting her first year. Still, having his mom, the literal goddess Artemis, and his honorary big sisters—Zoe, Phoebe, and Atalanta—made things feel a little less weird. Well, as normal as it could get when they were on high alert. Atalanta had sensed someone snooping around the camp's magical barriers, probably with some nasty intentions. Typical.

And then, there was Hilda. Or, as Harry now knew, Brunhilde the Valkyrie, sent by his grandma, Queen Frigga, to train him. Right now, they were gathered at the outskirts of the camp, ready to call up Heimdall and the Bifrost for their trip to Asgard. Privacy was a must, especially with that sneaky lurker outside the camp's wards.

Just as they were about to move out, a golden Ferrari screeched to a halt in front of them, sending a gust of dust flying. Artemis sighed, already recognizing the gleaming car. Of course.

Her twin brother, Apollo, stepped out, all sandy hair, outdoor good looks, and a grin that screamed "I'm cooler than you." He was dressed in his usual jeans, loafers, and a sleeveless T-shirt combo, looking like he had just rolled off the cover of Olympian Monthly. "Hey, sis! Fancy running into you here! Did you miss me?"

Artemis rolled her eyes so hard Harry worried they might get stuck. "Apollo, what are you doing here?"

Apollo sauntered over, hands in his pockets, clearly enjoying himself way too much. "I'm coming to Asgard with you. Gotta look out for my favorite nephew." He gave Harry a wink, which made him grin. "And, you know, make sure Thor doesn't steal my spot as favorite uncle."

Harry stifled a laugh. His mom, not so much.

"You're not coming," Artemis snapped, crossing her arms. "We don't need your showboating."

Apollo gasped, all mock horror. "Showboating? Me? That's hurtful, sis." He then smirked. "But if I don't get to come along, I'll have to curse you to only speak in haikus for a year."

Artemis froze. The last time he did that, the Huntresses had nearly lost their minds. Artemis was a lot of things, but a poet was not one of them. She gritted her teeth. "Fine. But no unnecessary dramatics."

Apollo beamed, like he had just won a gold medal. "Deal!"

Before Artemis could protest further, Apollo casually shrunk his golden Ferrari—er, Sun Chariot—into a toy-sized car and pocketed it. Harry's eyes lit up. "That is so cool."

Apollo grinned, clearly sensing an opportunity. "Tell you what, Harry—once you learn how to drive, I'll make sure you get a chariot just like mine."

"Really?" Harry asked, eyes wide with excitement.

"Really," Apollo said with a wink. Score one more point in the "cool uncle" competition.

With that settled, the group finally headed towards their secret meeting spot, Hilda leading the way as Artemis grumbled under her breath about how annoying Apollo could be. But even as she bickered with her brother, she kept one hand resting protectively on Harry's shoulder.

Because as much as they joked, there was something lurking out there. And soon, they'd be stepping into Asgard, where the real family drama was about to unfold.

—

As the colorful Bifrost shimmered to life, eight-year-old Harry—who sometimes fancied himself a mini superhero—bounced forward, excitement bubbling in his chest like a shaken soda can. He stepped through the swirling colors, his eclectic entourage in tow. Honestly, if someone had told him he'd be hanging out with the likes of gods and goddesses, he would have thought they were nuts. But here he was, ready to dive headfirst into adventure.

When they landed at the gates of Asgard, Harry's jaw dropped. Everything was shiny and gold, like the universe had decided to throw a rave in a fairy tale. "Wow," he breathed, taking in the grandiosity of the palace that loomed ahead. "This place looks awesome!"

"Don't get too excited, little prince," warned Atalanta, one of Artemis's most trusted Huntresses. She stood tall and fierce, her green eyes glinting like sharpened arrows. "You might trip over your own feet."

"Or worse," chimed in Zoe, another Huntress, smirking as if she held all the secrets of the universe. "You might embarrass us in front of the gods."

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. With his mom, Artemis, leading the charge like a warrior queen, they made their way toward Heimdall, the watchful guardian of the Bifrost. The anticipation crackled in the air like static electricity, a precursor to something epic.

"Welcome, young Harry," Heimdall's voice boomed, echoing like thunder but wrapped in warmth. He bent down slightly, his all-seeing golden eyes twinkling with mischief. "You are a beacon of light in these dark times."

"Thanks!" Harry replied, feeling a rush of pride. It was like being knighted by a superhero. He was about to ask Heimdall what his favorite snacks were when Queen Frigga appeared, radiating warmth and love like a cozy fireplace on a winter night.

"Oh, my darling Harry!" she exclaimed, sweeping him into an embrace that threatened to crush him into a little pancake of affection. "Look how much you've grown! You're positively radiant!"

"Gran, I can't breathe," Harry squeaked, but he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. This whole doting-grandma gig? He could get used to that.

"Such a charmer, just like your father!" Frigga gushed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Now, come along! Your father is waiting, and I assure you, he's just as excited to see you."

As they walked through the glittering streets of Asgard, Harry felt like a rock star with a fan club. His mom strode confidently, flanked by Apollo, who was channeling his inner big brother. Apollo was trying to outdo everyone with corny jokes about hunting and archery, clearly enjoying his role as the family clown.

"Hey, Harry!" Apollo suddenly declared, stepping up beside him with a grin that could light up a cave. "Did you know I can turn any situation into a Haiku? Watch this!" He cleared his throat like a drama king.

"Golden gates of Asgard,

Magic flows through the cool air,

Harry's home at last!"

Harry couldn't help but giggle. "That was terrible, Uncle Apollo," he teased, sticking his tongue out playfully. "You should stick to hunting and leave the poetry to someone who can actually rhyme!"

"I'll take that as a challenge!" Apollo shot back, his competitive spirit ignited like a match in a fire. "Just wait until I have a real audience. Thor won't know what hit him!"

They soon reached the grand palace entrance, and Harry's heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. This was it—the moment he'd been waiting for. He was about to meet Loki, the legendary god of mischief, and—oh boy—what an introduction this was shaping up to be.

"Prepare yourself, my little warrior," Artemis whispered, a smirk playing on her lips. "Your father has a knack for turning moments into chaos."

As they stepped inside, Harry spotted Loki standing there, looking slightly bewildered, as if he'd just stumbled into the wrong family reunion. He was the ultimate trickster but right now, he looked like a cat caught in the spotlight of a dog park. Harry couldn't help but think, "If anyone was going to screw this up, it'd be my dad."

"Dad!" Harry shouted, taking a brave step forward, excitement bubbling over like an overzealous fountain.

All eyes turned to Loki, who blinked at his son as if trying to figure out if he was awake or in some sort of wild dream. The moment hung in the air, thick with anticipation—this was going to be one legendary meet-up, provided Loki didn't accidentally set anything on fire first.

—

As soon as Loki stepped into the throne room, it felt like he'd been sucker-punched by memories. Not the fun kind, like the time he tricked Thor into shaving his head, but the heavy, gut-wrenching ones. Just days ago, he'd remembered his life as James Potter—yeah, that James Potter—wizard, father, husband. Now, he was back to being Loki, the god of mischief, and none of it made sense. But, honestly? That didn't matter right now.

Why? Because an eight-year-old kid with wild black hair and a grin that screamed "I'm up to no good" was sprinting toward him like a bolt of lightning, yelling, "Dad!"

Before Loki could blink, Harry launched himself at him, wrapping his tiny arms around Loki's waist and squeezing with all his demigod strength. The moment Harry made contact, every single memory of holding him as a baby came flooding back—teaching him magic, watching him change his hair color for fun, and calming him down when his accidental magic went haywire. Loki—chaos incarnate, trickster extraordinaire, feared and revered across realms—was now a blubbering mess, sobbing uncontrollably as he hugged his son for the first time in what felt like centuries.

"I-I thought I lost you," Loki choked out, his voice trembling. "But you're here. You're really here."

Harry, looking slightly confused but still smiling, peered up at his dad. "You're crying, Dad."

Loki let out a breathy laugh, running his hand through Harry's messy hair. "Even gods cry, son."

After what felt like forever, Loki finally pulled back and wiped his tears. His eyes landed on a figure standing nearby, watching them with a familiar intensity. Silver eyes locked with his—Artemis. Or, as Loki remembered her, Lily Potter. She looked just like she did back on Midgard, but there was this glowing, otherworldly aura around her now that screamed, "Yeah, I'm an Olympian." The emerald eyes he remembered were now silver, and every shared moment from their mortal lives flashed through his mind—their love, their arguments, raising Harry together.

They didn't need to speak. Just a look between them, and Loki felt like everything made sense again. Artemis stepped forward, and in the next second, they were hugging, just James and Lily again, not gods or legends, just two people reunited.

And, of course, no family reunion would be complete without someone making things awkward. Leaning against the wall, looking like he was trying way too hard to be cool, stood Apollo. He had that annoying, smug smirk on his face, arms crossed, sizing up Thor like a rival at the gods' Olympics.

Apollo, decked out in his usual casual god gear—jeans, a sleeveless tee, and sunglasses perched on his head—was clearly planning something. "Thor may have muscles, but I've got haikus and sunglasses," he muttered to himself, like this was some sort of competition for the title of "Best Uncle Ever."

Thor, for his part, looked thoroughly confused, glancing at Apollo like he wasn't sure if he should challenge him to a wrestling match or offer him mead.

Just as Apollo was likely preparing to bust out a sarcastic haiku or something equally over-the-top, the sound of Odin clearing his throat echoed through the hall, snapping everyone to attention. Everyone turned to face the Allfather, whose gaze was sharp and all-seeing, but also a little tired—like a dad trying to figure out which kid broke the vase but knowing he'd never get the truth.

Loki, composing himself with all the grace of a prince of Asgard, rested a hand on Harry's shoulder and stepped forward. "Father," Loki began, his voice calm but firm, "may I introduce my son—Haris Lokison."

Harry, eyes wide, looked up at the Allfather. Was he supposed to bow? Wave? He settled for a nervous nod, kind of half-hiding behind Loki's leg.

Odin's gaze fell on Harry, studying him for what felt like an eternity. Everyone held their breath. Finally, Odin gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Welcome, Haris Lokison, to Asgard."

The air in the room eased slightly, though Harry was still clutching Loki's tunic for dear life. He'd survived meeting Odin, but in the back of his mind, he knew this was just the beginning. His secret identity—being the child of two gods from different pantheons—was still under wraps for now, but it was only a matter of time before Zeus and Odin started asking questions.

And then, of course, there was still the ongoing rivalry between Apollo and Thor for the "Best Uncle" title. Thor cracked his knuckles, and Apollo shot him a challenging grin. The first round was about to begin.

This was going to get messy.

—

As they strolled through the royal gardens, Harry, sporting a mischievous grin, began regaling Loki with tales of the pranks he'd pulled on Sirius and Remus. "You should've seen their faces the time I turned Sirius's hair pink for a week! And Remus? Well, let's just say the enchanted fanged slippers in his quarters weren't exactly a hit."

Loki—no, James—felt a warm surge of pride. My boy, he thought, grinning. Even while I was out of commission, he's been carrying on the Marauder legacy. Sirius and Remus had done their job well, filling in the gap after his own memory was wiped, ensuring Harry got a solid education in mischief. Honestly, Loki couldn't have done better himself. The smile faded for a brief moment as darker memories crept in—Voldemort, his own death, and Peter Pettigrew's betrayal. He made a silent vow to track down the rat and make him pay. But for now, thinking of how he could creatively get back at Voldemort—with a touch of Asgardian flair—was oddly satisfying.

As Harry continued talking, Artemis—once known as Lily—walked beside them, sharing knowing looks with her Huntresses: Zoe, Phoebe, and Atalanta. These three, Harry's honorary big sisters, took their role as his protectors very seriously.

"You should've seen him," Zoe said proudly. "He took down a practice dummy with a single strike. He's got Artemis's fierceness."

Phoebe nodded. "And that time with the bow! Five targets in a row. He's a natural."

Atalanta crossed her arms, nodding solemnly. "Our little brother is already shaping up to be a mighty warrior."

Artemis smiled, watching her son with pride. Raising Harry among the Huntresses had been an adventure, to say the least. She'd watched him grow stronger every day. Still, she knew his connection to both Midgard and Asgard would eventually lead him down a path of trials. But she'd be there every step of the way.

Meanwhile, across the garden, Apollo—forever seventeen, with sandy hair and a bright grin—strolled up to Thor, who stood with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Dressed in jeans, loafers, and a sleeveless T-shirt, Apollo exuded laid-back confidence. "Well, if it isn't Thunderpants and his merry band of sidekicks," he said, voice playful.

Thor raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, Sun Boy?"

Apollo placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "Is that any way to greet the future Favorite Uncle of young Harry? I'm here to officially declare my claim on that title. Naturally, being Artemis's twin brother gives me a head start."

Thor straightened, eyes narrowing. A challenge? "Favorite Uncle? Is that what this is about?"

Apollo nodded. "Exactly. And let's face it, Thor, you've got some stiff competition. I mean, have you seen my haikus? They're legendary."

Thor couldn't help but grin. "Haikus? Ha! I don't need poems to win this. I'll teach him how to wield a hammer, how to fight like a true Asgardian warrior. Harry will learn the art of war from the best."

Apollo, already half-distracted by a nearby tree, nodded absentmindedly. "Uh-huh. Sure, you do that. I'll just be over here, contemplating the deep mysteries of life through this majestic oak." He pulled out a notepad and scribbled furiously. "Ode to an Oak... no, no... Haiku of the Mighty Bark."

As Apollo wandered off, Thor turned to Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. "I'll win this. Harry will be calling me his favorite uncle in no time. Flying lessons or hammer-throwing, what do you think?"

Fandral chuckled. "You do know the lad has magic in his veins, right? Maybe start with something less… destructive."

"Destructive?" Thor scoffed. "Flying lessons it is, then."

Sif smirked. "I think you're both underestimating just how much mischief Harry inherited from Loki. This might be harder than you think."

Thor laughed, imagining his inevitable victory over Apollo. Little did he know, the journey to winning Harry's affection would involve more pranks, haikus, and ridiculous antics than either of them could ever predict.

—

In the grand yet slightly stuffy office of Odin, the All-Father, Brunhilde the Valkyrie stood like a gladiator ready for battle. She had just returned from Midgard, where her latest mission had been far less about slaying monsters and far more about babysitting a pint-sized powerhouse—Harry Lokison, son of Loki and grandson of Odin. No pressure, right?

"Your grandson is quite the talent, All-Father," Brunhilde began, her tone a mix of respect and barely-contained excitement. "He's the son of Artemis, which means he can shoot arrows like a god—literally. Frigga's birthday gift—a bow made of Uru and Celestial Bronze—has become an extension of him. The kid's aim is so sharp, I'm pretty sure he could shoot the wings off a gnat in mid-air."

Odin's eyebrow arched, his expression as inscrutable as the weather in Norway. "Good enough for a Bilgesnipe hunt?" he asked, his tone somewhere between genuinely curious and playfully challenging.

"More than good enough," Brunhilde replied confidently. "He's a natural hunter. I'd put money on him being one of the best even at this age."

Frigga beamed with maternal pride, while Odin remained stoic, his mind clearly grinding away like an ancient gear. "And what about his other skills? He's not just a one-trick pony, is he?"

"Not even close," Brunhilde said, shaking her head like she'd just seen the most ridiculous stunt. "Chiron has taken a personal interest in him, teaching him the ancient art of Pankration—the all-out brawling? Yep, that's the one."

Odin's eyebrows shot up. "A little rough around the edges, isn't it?"

"Just a tad," Brunhilde confirmed, not even a little fazed. "But Harry is taking to it like a fish to water. I've even been working with him on spear combat, and let me tell you, it's like the spear is singing when he holds it. He's already so good that Chiron and I think he's ready for swordplay soon. Talk about multi-talented!"

Odin stroked his beard, deep in thought. "Swordplay already? Impressive. I shouldn't be surprised, given his lineage."

Frigga leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with motherly concern. "But has he been happy, Brunhilde? Training aside, is he enjoying himself?"

Brunhilde's smile softened, something that didn't happen often for the legendary warrior. "Yes, my queen. He's surrounded by friends and mentors who genuinely care for him. His best friends—young Fleur Delacour, daughter of Aphrodite, and Jasper, son of Apollo—are always by his side, along with little Clarisse, daughter of Ares. They've become a family of their own."

Odin sighed, a storm of pride and caution brewing in his chest. "A family of demigods and gods... We'll need to keep a close eye on him. This child has the potential to stir realms, and I'm not just talking about a little sibling rivalry."

Frigga placed a gentle hand on Odin's arm, grounding him. "He is our grandson. And Loki's son. We must not forget that."

"Right, right," Odin nodded, but his mind was already cooking up the next grand adventure—or disaster—he had planned for Harry. Maybe something involving a Bilgesnipe hunt? He could practically see the boy's eyes sparkling with excitement, and possibly fear. "He will need to prove himself in ways beyond archery and spear combat."

Brunhilde, noticing the familiar glint of mischief in Odin's gaze, stood a little taller. "He's more than ready, All-Father. When the time comes, Haris Lokison will show the strength of both Asgard and Olympus. And if he doesn't, well, I'll just blame it on you."

Odin chuckled, a deep rumble that could shake mountains. "Then we shall see," he replied, his voice low and rumbling like thunder in the distance. "Sooner than he thinks."

As the Valkyrie turned to leave, she couldn't help but feel a rush of anticipation for what lay ahead. Harry Lokison was bound to shake things up in a way only a child of Loki could. And in that moment, the office crackled with the energy of impending adventures—some wild, some uncertain, but all guaranteed to be unforgettable. Welcome to the family drama, cosmic style.

—

Meanwhile, in the sun-drenched garden of Asgard, 8-year-old Harry Lokison was living the dream. With a grin that could rival a Cheshire cat, he was the star of a mythological talent show, showcasing the chaos that came from having Loki as a father and Artemis as a mother. Onlookers included a motley crew of demigods, gods, and goddesses, all of whom had their eyes glued to the scene before them.

His dad, Loki, leaned against a tree with that trademark mischievous smirk of his, looking both proud and plotting something devious. Next to him, Artemis beamed with maternal joy, her presence radiating the fierce love of a mother who also happened to be a goddess. Zoe, Phoebe, and Atalanta—the Huntresses of Artemis and Harry's honorary big sisters—stood nearby, all wide-eyed and excited. And there was Thor, still working on his strategies to earn the title of "favorite uncle," while attempting to outshine Apollo, who was busy composing haikus about Harry's performance, because of course, that's what Apollo did.

"Okay, everyone! Watch this!" Harry shouted, his voice full of bravado. He took a deep breath, summoning the energy of his divine heritage. With a little flick of his wrist, he conjured a bolt of lightning that danced like it was auditioning for a spot in a superhero movie. Thor's eyes lit up. "That's my nephew! Just like your old uncle! Now make it bigger!"

Next, he shifted gears faster than a lightning bolt itself. Harry focused and spun a sphere of shimmering water on his finger, courtesy of Poseidon's blessing. The crowd erupted into cheers, with Atalanta, practically shouting, "You can do it, Harry! Just like a pro!"

And then came the part Harry loved the most. "Now for the grand finale!" He grinned wickedly and vanished in a puff of shadows, courtesy of Hades' blessings, only to reappear behind his dad with a dramatic flourish. "Boo!" he yelled, causing Loki to jump a foot in the air. "Did I scare you, Dad?"

"Ah, well done, my son!" Loki laughed, ruffling Harry's hair as if he were still a little boy. "But we really don't want to give your mom any ideas about needing more Huntresses on duty!"

Then Lady Sif stepped in, her warrior spirit shining through. "Harry, show us your archery skills! You are a son of Artemis, after all! Surely you must have a trick up your sleeve!"

"Alright! I've been practicing!" Harry exclaimed, leading the group to the training area, where targets awaited like unsuspecting foes. He pulled a shimmering bow from thin air—it had transformed into a sleek piece of art crafted from Uru and Celestial Bronze.

Thor leaned over to Sif, whispering conspiratorially, "If he hits a bullseye, I'll take him for ice cream. If he misses, we might have to tell him ice cream is a myth!"

With all eyes on him, Harry steadied himself. He felt the weight of the bow in his hands, the anticipation buzzing in the air. He glanced at his cheering squad—his friends, family, and a small army of demigods—and grinned. This was his moment, a chance to prove he could be a hero in his own right.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on the target ahead. As the son of Artemis, he had some serious targets to hit—and maybe, just maybe, this would be the moment that knocked Apollo off his high horse.

With a smirk and the confidence that only a kid with divine parentage could muster, he drew back the string, ready to unleash a little chaos in the most delightful way. After all, being Harry Lokison meant one thing above all else: adventure was always just an arrow's flight away!

—

Harry stood on the training grounds of Asgard, practically vibrating with excitement. Today was the day he'd finally get to show off his archery skills to his dad, Loki. You know, the Trickster God who had just got back a whole new set of memories. No pressure or anything.

With a mix of nerves and determination, Harry gripped his enchanted bow, a stunning creation of Uru and Celestial Bronze. This was no ordinary bow; it was like having a magic wand, but cooler—because it was a bow. And it could conjure any kind of arrow he could think of. Honestly, it was the perfect weapon for a kid with a godly heritage like his.

"Okay, Harry, let's see what you've got!" Artemis', his mother,  encouraged him from the sidelines. Harry felt the eyes of his Honorary big sisters—Zoe, Phoebe and Atalanta—boring into him like laser beams. They were practically vibrating with excitement themselves, ready to cheer him on.

Taking a deep breath, Harry focused on the targets lined up before him. They looked like sad, inanimate circles just begging for some action. With a swift draw of his bowstring, he envisioned a shimmering arrow of pure light. "This one's for you, Dad!" he thought, channeling every bit of energy he had. No pressure, right?

With a satisfying twang, the arrow zipped through the air and—BOOM!—obliterated the target into splinters, raining down like confetti at a victory parade.

"Whoa! Nice shot!" Sif cheered, her eyes sparkling with admiration. It was kind of adorable, really—if he wasn't also worried that she might be in danger of swooning.

"Bet you can do better!" Apollo shouted, bouncing on his feet as if he were the one with the bow in hand.

Harry's grin widened. "Watch this!" he said, feeling the thrill of competition surge through him.

He drew back another arrow, this time picturing it as a burst of fiery light. "Fire arrow, go!" He released it, and once again, the target met a fiery fate, disintegrating into nothingness.

Across the training ground, Lord Ullr, the Asgardian God of Archery, watched with raised eyebrows, nodding approvingly. "Impressive," he murmured to himself, not realizing just how special this young boy was. To him, Harry was simply an exceptionally talented child with a promising future in archery. After all, he didn't know that this boy was the son of Loki—the god who had often been viewed as a coward for relying on magic instead of brute strength.

As Harry sent yet another arrow soaring through the air, he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. He was proving to his dad that he was more than just Loki's son—he was destined to be a champion, both on Earth and in Asgard. And today, in front of his friends and a god, he was one step closer to proving it.

But beyond his divine heritage and exceptional skills lay a complex web of expectations and pressures. After all, he was caught in that peculiar limbo between godhood and demigodhood, trying to balance the wild chaos of Loki's blood with the disciplined honor instilled by Artemis.

As Harry prepared for his next shot, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just about proving himself. It was about carving out his identity—one arrow at a time. With every twang of the bowstring, he embraced his mixed heritage, his strategic brilliance, and the playful trickster spirit that flowed through his veins. Harry was more than just a boy with a bow; he was a force of nature, a shape-shifting strategist, and a warrior with the world at his fingertips.

And just like that, he was ready for whatever adventure awaited him next.

—

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the Training Grounds of Asgard, Amora lurked with a wicked glint in her eye, her heart racing with excitement. She was joined by her henchman, Skurge, who trailed behind her like a lovesick puppy, his brain clearly too addled to grasp the seriousness of their scheming. They were both cloaked under an invisibility spell, peering out at the vibrant scene where eight-year-old Harry was showing off his archery skills.

"Look at him," Amora cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness as Harry drew back his bow. He looked fierce and focused, like a tiny Norse god ready to take down a giant. "Such potential! And yet, he's blissfully unaware of the chaos headed straight for Asgard."

Amora's mind was a whirlwind of mischief and malevolence. She imagined herself as the mastermind of a grand upheaval, ready to unveil Harry's true identity to Zeus. Sure, the king of Olympus already knew he was Artemis's son, but did he have any clue that Loki was the boy's father? The thought made her giggle with glee. When Zeus found out, she envisioned him exploding in a jealous rage, and with any luck, it would trigger an all-out war between Asgard and Olympus.

"Chaos and destruction! Perfect ingredients for my master plan," she said, barely containing her excitement. "In the heat of battle, I'll swoop in to save Thor, and then? I'll claim my throne as the next Queen of Asgard. Can you imagine the crown on my head?"

Skurge nodded, his face a blank canvas of confusion. "Sounds great, Amora! Can I smash something?"

"Not yet, dear Skurge," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Patience is key! We need to watch our little hero a bit longer. Soon, the entire realm will be wrapped around my finger."

While Amora plotted, Harry took another shot, hitting the bullseye with the grace of a young archer who had been born for this. Unbeknownst to him, his innocent archery demonstration was about to ignite a conflict that could change the fate of two realms forever.

Amora leaned in closer, excitement bubbling within her. "This is going to be so much fun."

As Harry nocked another arrow, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in the shadows, Amora's laughter echoed softly, blending with the whispers of fate swirling in the air.

---

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