The Weight of Immortality - CH - 65

As the group settled into the empty booth at Black Hearth, Sif couldn’t help but steal glances at the man Thor called Harry Black. She was known for her composure and battle-hardened demeanor, but something about this man unsettled her—not in a threatening way, but in a way that made her stomach flutter. His striking green eyes, his chiseled features, and his effortless charisma drew her attention like a moth to a flame. He moved with a quiet confidence, his apron tied neatly around his waist, as if he were more at home commanding a battlefield than running a restaurant.

Jane, sitting across from Sif, noticed the Asgardian warrior's flushed cheeks and smirked knowingly. "It’s not every day you meet someone like Harry," she said in a teasing tone, her voice low enough not to attract attention from the others.

Sif quickly straightened up, her warrior’s pride kicking in. “I wasn’t... I wasn’t looking at him like that,” she said defensively, which only made Jane chuckle.

“You’re not very good at lying,” Jane replied, her smile widening.

Thor, oblivious to the exchange, leaned back in the booth with a relieved sigh. "Harry is an excellent chef. You’ll love his cooking, Sif. Trust me, this place is worth every battle scar we earned today."

Harry approached the table with a warm smile, his apron slightly dusted with flour. “Thor said you’ve just come from a fight. You all look like you could use some food,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll whip something up.”

The four Asgardians exchanged curious glances. Fandral, ever the charmer, leaned forward. “Well, if Thor speaks so highly of you, I must say, I’m intrigued.”

Harry chuckled lightly. “I’m a man of many talents,” he replied, his tone laced with humor.

As Harry walked back to the kitchen, Sif couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her mind raced with thoughts she didn’t fully understand. She was a warrior of Asgard, and yet, here she was, captivated by a man who didn’t even seem fazed by their divine presence.

Volstagg, breaking the silence, clapped Thor on the shoulder. “Your friend has quite the demeanor. I wouldn’t mind seeing him wield a sword if he fights as well as he cooks.”

Thor smirked, his eyes glinting with pride. “Oh, you don’t want to challenge Harry. Trust me, you’d regret it. He’s far more than he seems.”

The group shared a laugh, but Sif remained quiet, her thoughts still on Harry. There was something about him—something powerful, mysterious, and grounded. She couldn’t quite place it, but it drew her in.

Jane leaned toward Sif again, her voice soft but teasing. “He’s married, you know.”

Sif blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Jane gestured subtly toward a picture hanging on the wall near the kitchen. It was a photo of Harry and Hela, both smiling warmly, with a small plaque beneath that read Haraldin and Helena Black, Founders of Black Hearth.

Sif felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. “I wasn’t interested,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushing even more.

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Sure you weren’t.”

Harry Black entered the booth, balancing a large tray overflowing with food, the scent of grilled meat, freshly baked bread, and perfectly crisped fries filled the air. It was a feast by any standard, and the Asgardian warriors and Jane's excitement was palpable. Thor’s companions leaned forward, their mouths practically watering as they caught a whiff of the heavenly aroma.

“This,” Volstagg said, his voice reverent, “is a meal fit for warriors.”

Harry smiled, placing the tray down carefully. But as he was about to set the dishes on the table, his eyes fell on Mjolnir, Thor's hammer, resting casually in the middle of the table. Without a word, Harry adjusted the tray to his left arm and, with his right hand, reached out and picked up the hammer as if it were a mere trinket.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Thor froze mid-breath, his jaw dropping in utter shock. Sif's eyes widened as she gripped the edge of the table, and Fandral nearly choked on his drink. Hogun sat back in disbelief, while Volstagg dropped his fork. Even Jane, while understanding the significance of the hammer, couldn’t help but chuckle at the stunned expressions around her.

“Did he just—?” Sif began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Impossible,” Fandral muttered, his eyes glued to Harry.

Harry, seemingly oblivious to the commotion, calmly moved the hammer off the table and placed it beside Thor’s seat. “No weapons on the table,” he said matter-of-factly, as if this were a simple rule everyone followed. Then, with the same casual demeanor, he began setting plates of food before the astonished group.

Thor, still staring at Harry in disbelief, finally found his voice. “You... you lifted Mjolnir?”

Harry glanced back, noticing the dumbfounded expressions. “Oh, that thing? Yeah, it was in the way. Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything weird with it.” He shrugged, as though lifting the enchanted hammer of the God of Thunder was a routine part of his day.

Sif leaned toward Thor, her voice urgent. “Thor, are you sure this man is mortal?”

Thor looked at her, still trying to process what he had just witnessed. “I... I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “Even among Asgardians, only very few can lift Mjolnir.”

Volstagg, recovering from his shock, leaned forward with a grin. “Well, if this Haraldin is worthy of Mjolnir, I’d say we’re in very good company.”

Harry, seemingly unbothered, finished setting the table. “Enjoy the meal. I’ll be back to check on you later.” With that, he turned and walked away, heading toward another group of customers.

As soon as Harry was out of earshot, the table erupted in whispered speculation.

“Who is this man?” Sif asked, still staring at the spot where Mjolnir had rested.

“He must have some connection to the All-Father,” Fandral suggested. “Or perhaps he’s blessed by the Norns.”

Thor, still shaken, looked at Jane, who was trying and failing to hide her amusement. “You knew he could do that?” he asked her.

Jane shrugged, a sly smile on her face. “I had a feeling.”

Thor leaned back, rubbing his temples. “This world keeps getting stranger by the minute.”

As the first course of food disappeared faster than a blink of an eye, Harry returned with another tray, his smile widening as he saw the empty plates piled up. The Asgardians, who were known for their ravenous appetites, looked genuinely delighted, their expressions filled with satisfaction and disbelief.

“That was... divine,” Volstagg said, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. “I’ve never tasted anything so exquisite, not even in Asgard’s grand feasts.”

“Your skill in the kitchen rivals the greatest chefs of Asgard, Haraldin,” Sif added, her tone genuine, though her eyes still flicked occasionally toward Thor’s hammer beside him.

Harry set down the tray filled with steaming dishes—succulent roasted meats, creamy mashed potatoes, fresh salads, and delicate desserts—and took a seat on the only empty chair in the booth. He leaned back casually, watching as the group eagerly reached for the new course. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Harry said. “But you’ve only had a taste of what I can do. There’s more where that came from.”

Thor, wiping his hands, chuckled. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, Haraldin. I didn’t know Midgard had such culinary mastery.”

Harry grinned. “Midgard has its secrets, just like Asgard.” Then, he leaned forward, his voice taking on a more relaxed tone. “I’ve already asked my staff to take care of the restaurant for the evening. Once you’re done here, I’d like to invite all of you upstairs to my home. It’s on the top floor of the restaurant. Consider it a small gesture of hospitality.”

The group exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued. Thor raised an eyebrow at Jane, who nodded eagerly, clearly excited to see more of Harry and Hela’s life.

“We would be honored,” Thor said with a nod.

After the last morsel of food was devoured and the group expressed their profound gratitude for the meal, Harry led them up a hidden staircase at the back of the restaurant. The staircase opened into a grand apartment that was breathtaking in its design.

The first thing that struck the Asgardians was the blend of modern elegance and timeless magic that infused every corner of the space. The walls were lined with rich tapestries and enchanted paintings that moved subtly, depicting serene landscapes and mythical creatures. The floors were polished wood, warm and inviting, while the furniture was a perfect mix of comfort and sophistication.

The ceiling was enchanted to mimic a starlit sky, the constellations shifting gently as though alive. The kitchen gleamed with state-of-the-art appliances, yet the fireplace in the living room gave the space a cozy, homely feel. A grand piano sat in one corner, and a collection of rare artifacts and books filled a towering bookshelf that stretched to the ceiling.

“By the All-Father,” Sif whispered, her voice full of awe. “This is... incredible.”

Fandral, ever the charmer, ran his fingers over the edge of a sleek marble table. “You certainly know how to live, Haraldin.”

Thor walked to the window, which offered a panoramic view of New York City’s skyline, the twinkling lights casting a soft glow into the room. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of envy. “You’ve made a life for yourself here.”

Jane, who was equally impressed, turned to Harry. “You and Hela really have outdone yourselves. This place is stunning.”

Harry smiled modestly. “Hela deserves most of the credit for the interior design. I just provided the space and some of the magical touches.”

At that moment, Hela entered the room, her regal presence immediately commanding attention. She was dressed simply yet elegantly, her attire reflecting the perfect balance between her Asgardian heritage and her life on Midgard.

“Welcome to our home,” Hela said warmly, her eyes scanning the group. “I hope Harry has been a good host.”

Volstagg grinned. “He’s been more than generous. The food, the hospitality, and now this... it’s all beyond anything we expected.”

“Good,” Hela replied with a small smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. This is a place of peace.”

Thor leaned back in his chair, his voice brimming with excitement and a touch of pride as he recounted the events that unfolded after Harry and Hela left him in Jane’s care.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Thor began, gesturing animatedly with his hands. “The Destroyer came out of nowhere, wreaking havoc in the small town. I had to protect the people. I was powerless, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t about the hammer or my strength; it was about doing what was right.”

Hela listened intently, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Harry sat next to her, nodding occasionally as Thor continued.

“And just like that,” Thor said, lowering his voice dramatically, “Mjolnir returned to me. It flew from SHIELD’s facility straight into my hand. I reclaimed my power and sent the Destroyer back to the scrap heap. But now...” Thor’s voice turned serious. “I must return to Asgard. Loki sits on the throne, and I cannot let that stand.”

Hela tilted her head slightly, her green eyes narrowing. “You’re certain Loki has taken control?”

Thor nodded solemnly. “He is not fit to rule. I must confront him, no matter the cost.”

Before Hela could respond, a sharp knock on the door echoed through the room. Harry and Hela exchanged glances, distracted from Thor’s tale.

“Don’t worry, I’ll check it,” Thor said, rising from his chair and striding toward the door, Mjolnir still loosely in his grip.

As he opened the door, Thor froze, his mouth parting in shock. Standing before him, regal and composed, was his mother, Frigga.

“Mom?” Thor asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

Frigga looked equally surprised to see her son. “Thor?” she replied, her voice soft but urgent. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked first,” Thor said, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“And I answered,” Frigga replied, raising an eyebrow. Then, her gaze shifted past him, scanning the room beyond. “I am here to see my daughter.”