The new table, a finely carved piece of Asgardian craftsmanship, was placed before them with swift efficiency by the valkyries. The scent of freshly polished wood mixed with the lingering tension in the air. Muriel watched in silence, standing behind Phanuel as he folded his hands before him, unbothered by the spectacle of divine power that had just played out.
Thor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression a mix of irritation and scrutiny. His fingers still tapped restlessly against Mjölnir's handle, but he let Sif take the lead. She sat poised, one leg crossed over the other, her golden hair catching the dim candlelight of the shrine.
Phanuel exhaled softly, his gaze locked onto Sif's with a quiet amusement. "I must commend Asgard's artisans. This table is far more elegant than the one we brought."
Sif smiled, but it was the smile of a warrior poised to strike. "You brought a table assuming we'd need one. A negotiation should be conducted on a foundation that will not shatter so easily. I only hope your terms are more sturdy than your furniture."
Muriel held her breath, watching Phanuel's reaction. He chuckled lightly, his six wings twitching in amusement. "If terms alone could end wars, I suspect we would both be out of a job, Lady Sif."
Thor grunted but said nothing. His blue eyes remained fixed on Phanuel, like a wolf watching another predator. Muriel noted how his grip tightened ever so slightly on Mjölnir with each verbal exchange.
Phanuel leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting from lighthearted to firm. "You asked for the right to deploy Heaven's armies at your discretion. A demand that is not only unreasonable but impossible. You might as well ask me to surrender Heaven itself."
Sif traced her fingers along the rim of her cup, her gaze thoughtful. "Not all wars begin with sword and fire, Phanuel. Some begin in the shadows, unseen, until the moment to strike is upon us. You speak of a third party interfering between Heaven and Asgard—yet I see no urgency in your actions. No movement from your forces. If Heaven truly seeks to avoid war, why does it not act as if it wishes to prevent it?"
Phanuel's smile faded, and for the first time, Muriel saw the faintest flicker of something beneath his composed exterior. Not anger—no, it was calculation.
He folded his hands before him. "Because true wisdom and power, Lady Sif, is knowing when not to act. Asgard wields strength like a hammer, mighty and indiscriminate. Heaven, on the other hand, knows that power used unwisely can burn more than the enemy—it can burn the wielder as well."
Sif tilted her head slightly. "Poetic. But tell me, Phanuel, if your wisdom is so refined, why is it that we stand on the precipice of war? Surely an Archangel so well-versed in restraint should have ensured we never reached this point."
A flicker of amusement returned to Phanuel's eyes. "I could say the same of you, Lady Sif. If Asgard's diplomacy was as renowned as its warriors, we might have been better allies long before this day."
Thor shifted in his seat, but it was not restlessness—it was annoyance. Muriel could tell he was growing impatient, though he respected Sif enough to let her handle the talking. He glanced briefly at Muriel, his gaze assessing her before turning back to Phanuel.
Sif set her cup down gently, the sound barely audible in the heavy silence between them. "Then let us put aside empty philosophy and speak plainly. You will not grant us the right to deploy your forces at our will. Very well. But tell me, Phanuel—if war comes, will Heaven stand with us, or against us?"
Muriel stiffened. This was a direct challenge, one that left no room for flowery words.
Phanuel remained still. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he picked up his own cup of tea, took a sip, and placed it back on the table. The pause was deafening.
"Heaven will stand where it must to preserve the balance between ourselves and all other Pantheons," he finally said. "That is the only answer I can give."
Sif exhaled softly, as if she had expected as much. "And what if I told you that Sophia's disappearance might only be the beginning? That the outer forces move even now, soon they'll take to the battlefield before we can even draw our blades and wipe us all out."
Phanuel's gaze sharpened. "Then I would ask what evidence you have."
Sif leaned back. "That is precisely why we wanted control over your armies. Not for conquest, not for dominance—but because the All-Father has seen omens that you have not. Now we know of whispers that even your vaunted messengers have not heard."
Phanuel remained quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, "Tell me what you know."
Sif's lips curled slightly. "Only if you give me something in return."
Muriel's pulse quickened. This was the heart of the negotiation—the point where words alone would not suffice.
Phanuel gestured with an open palm. "What is your price?"
Sif's expression grew serious. "We still demand Sophia be handed over to us the moment you find her."
Phanuel nodded. "That is within reason."
Sif continued, her voice measured. "You may keep this sector but in exchange, we want unrestricted access to all records of celestial activity in this sector for the past five centuries."
Muriel tensed. That was not a small demand. Now nothing that happened in this area could be hidden from Asgard. Basically, Lady Sif was forcing Heaven to keep their hand off this sector for the next five centuries. This would work in her favor since she needed to erase all of Zero's mana should any be left but only if Phanuel accepted this condition.
Phanuel, to his credit, did not react immediately. He simply regarded Sif with quiet intensity. "You suspect Heaven will keep any secrets we unearth here from you."
Sif's gaze was unwavering. "I suspect that Heaven has been keeping secrets from even you so what's there to say about Asgard."
A flicker of something passed through Phanuel's eyes, but it was gone in an instant. He leaned back slightly, exhaling. "I will consider it."
Sif smiled, but there was no triumph in it—only expectation. "Then we have something to discuss after all."