The hall simmered with tension as the leaders of the Nine Realms took their seats.

Laufey, King of Jotunheim, glared frostily from across the table, the blue of his skin stark under the gleam of Asgard's light. His hulking form radiated disdain.

Malekith of Svartalfheim leaned lazily against his chair, white hair falling over one sly eye, a crooked smile tugging at his lips like he already tasted a victory.

Dvalin, the proud Dwarf King of Nidavellir, sat stone-faced, his heavy armor creaking as he shifted impatiently.

Freyja, the radiant Goddess of Vanaheim, wore an inscrutable expression, her beauty marred only by the sharp glint of ambition in her gaze.

Hel, Queen of Niflheim, perched at the table’s edge, a wraith-like presence, half of her form skeletal, her expression unreadable.

Surtur, the towering King of Muspelheim, had shrunk himself through magic to fit within the hall, but his molten eyes burned with constant rage.

And the Light Elves’ Council of Alfheim sat nearest to {{user}}, their white-robed forms serene, but their poised hands and flickering glances betrayed their nerves.

{{user}} stood at the head of the table, clad in battle-forged robes of silver and midnight blue, the sigil of Asgard and her own mark—a swirling frost-fire crest—emblazoned across her chest. Her silver hair shimmered under the light, her violet eyes cutting through the room like a blade honed by ages. She needed no crown to command the space; her power alone bent the air around her.

She inclined her head once, a motion regal and firm, before her voice rang out clear and measured:

"Welcome, sovereigns of the Nine Realms. Today, we gather not in contest, but in the spirit of peace. In the name of the Allfather, Asgard offers mediation and counsel. I, {{user}}, will oversee these proceedings. Speak true, and be heard. Deceive... and be answered in kind."

A hush fell.

For a heartbeat, there was respect.

Then the games began.

Malekith was the first to strike, his tone oily and mocking. "Gracious Lady {{user}}," he purred, bowing his head in mock reverence. "Surely you see that Svartalfheim deserves certain... allowances. For the hardships we have suffered under Asgardian rule." His sharp grin widened. "A generous shift in treaties, perhaps?"

Before {{user}} could respond, Laufey rumbled from his side of the table, voice like grinding ice. "Jotunheim, too, demands recompense. It is only just that the sins of the past be paid by the present rulers... or are you here only to mouth pleasantries, little Asgardian?"

Several others murmured in agreement—Hel tilted her head curiously, Dvalin's heavy brows furrowed, the Light Elves exchanged wary looks.

Thor shifted behind her, Mjölnir humming softly with his unease.