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Chapter Text

The battlefield lay silent, smoldering in the aftermath of Hela’s wrath. Skies churned a deep, bruised purple above, casting shadows that stretched over fallen soldiers, their armor glinting under the dying light. Hela stood alone amid the wreckage, her dark, formidable silhouette cutting through the haze. Her gaze was steady, cold, as though death and ruin were as familiar to her as breathing. From the edge of the battlefield, concealed within the fading mist, Patecatl watched. He had heard tales of Hela, of her unquenchable thirst for dominance over the Nine Realms. She was a being to fear, but to him, there was more than awe and terror here. He sensed the echo of something hollow in her, the gnawing absence of something lost. Stepping forward, he revealed himself, his figure wrapped in the elegant, loose robes of the Aztec empire. He held himself with calm dignity, his dark eyes warm and steady, an embodiment of life in the midst of death. As he approached, Hela turned her gaze on him, and for a moment, surprise flickered across her face, though it quickly hardened to suspicion.

"Who are you to tread upon my victory?" Her voice was edged with steel, her words coiled and ready to strike.

“I am Patecatl,” he replied gently, his voice a steady counterpoint to her intensity. “A healer, a god who brings life, not one who takes it. This is not my realm, yet I found myself drawn here.” His gaze held hers, unwavering.

Hela raised a dark eyebrow, a slow, sardonic smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “A healer, come to witness the power of death? Or do you seek to judge it?”

Patecatl’s expression softened, a quiet calm that refused to break beneath her challenging gaze. “I seek neither to judge nor to alter what is already done,” he answered. “But I am curious. A woman who commands such death must know life deeply.”

She scoffed, though something in his words unsettled her, loosening the iron she’d forged around herself. “Life is… temporary. Fleeting. It exists to be conquered.” Hela’s voice was firm, but in it was the slightest hint of weariness, of the weight of endless battles fought and won, yet somehow never enough.

He stepped closer, eyes never leaving her face. “Is that truly all you see in life?” His voice was soft, yet beneath it was a challenge that piqued her interest, stoked her frustration. “Perhaps you know only conquest, yet even gods of war were born to something beyond it.”

Her eyes narrowed, annoyance flashing like lightning across her features. “Do not presume to understand me, healer,” she hissed, though her tone lacked venom, curiosity softening its edges. “I have seen realms rise and fall. I command death because it is eternal, unlike the fragile things mortals cling to. Power, that is my purpose. I forge it, shape it, and bend it to my will.”

Patecatl tilted his head, his lips forming a gentle smile that was neither mocking nor reverent. “Even eternity is empty when it holds nothing but shadows.” His gaze held hers, steady as stone, his presence radiating a calm she found unnerving. “You may conquer realms, but who conquers the heart of Hela?”

For a moment, her resolve faltered. In his words, she felt an inkling of vulnerability she despised but could not ignore. She looked away, her jaw clenched tightly as if to trap whatever emotions his words had stirred within her. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet, yet razor-sharp. “The heart of Hela belongs to no one.”

Patecatl nodded, neither surprised nor defeated by her answer. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you have simply yet to discover what it means to allow someone to truly see you.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy, unyielding. She should have turned away, dismissed him as another fool enamored by her power. Yet she lingered, her gaze returning to his, drawn by a force she did not understand. His eyes did not hold the fear or reverence she had come to expect from those who beheld her. Instead, they held understanding, compassion, even acceptance. The air between them grew taut, charged with the electric tension of something unknown, something neither of them was ready to acknowledge. Finally, Hela broke the silence, her tone more measured, almost contemplative. “You speak of vulnerability as though it were strength,” she murmured, the faintest hint of something fragile threading her words.

“It can be,” he replied simply, and she realized that he truly believed it. “Strength does not always lie in dominance or power. Sometimes, it lies in knowing oneself fully, in all facets, light and shadow.”

Hela scoffed, yet something in her softened, almost imperceptibly. She looked at him, truly looked, and for the first time, saw more than a curious onlooker. She saw a kindred soul — one who wielded life as she wielded death, each a force unto themselves, yet somehow inexplicably drawn to one another.

“Then tell me, healer,” she said, her voice quieter, more contemplative, “why are you here, truly?”

He met her gaze, unflinching, and in his eyes was a warmth that defied the cold she cloaked herself in. “Because, Hela, life is more than what we take from it. And perhaps, in some way, I came here because I see in you the possibility of something greater than all this.” He gestured to the battlefield, a landscape of ash and ruin.

For a long, suspended moment, Hela said nothing. She merely stared at him, as though seeing something beyond him, beyond herself, something she could neither name nor control. It was a feeling she despised — and yet, could not bring herself to fully reject. As the light faded, she turned away from him, unwilling to acknowledge the pull he ignited within her. “You presume much, Patecatl,” she said, her voice low, yet without the harshness it once held.

“And yet, you do not deny me,” he replied softly, a knowing smile curving his lips.

Hela said nothing, but something about his words stayed with her, a whisper that would follow her long after he was gone. They walked together, Hela’s stride purposeful, her gaze still fixed on the desolation she’d wrought. Patecatl followed with calm, his pace unhurried, as though he moved to the rhythm of a different world. Silence lay between them, thick and heavy, a gulf neither dared to cross. Yet, despite herself, Hela felt drawn to his presence, to the quiet certainty in his every movement.

As they reached the edge of the battlefield, she paused, her gaze lingering on the distant horizon. Shadows stretched long and dark across the land, but the sky was tinged with the faintest blush of twilight. In that moment, a strange thought slipped into her mind, unbidden: even gods could be weary. “Tell me, Patecatl,” she said, her tone softened by a rare introspection, “what compels a healer to wander onto a battlefield? Is it pity? Curiosity?” Her words held a faint bite, a reminder of the distance she sought to keep.

But Patecatl merely regarded her with that same calm, his gaze thoughtful. “I am drawn to where life hangs in the balance,” he replied. “Not out of pity, but because it is there I see the true nature of things. Even in war, there is creation; in destruction, there is rebirth.” Hela scoffed, yet his words intrigued her despite herself. “Rebirth?” she echoed, her voice laced with disdain. “Do you think these soldiers will find peace in death? That their spirits will rise anew in some idyllic afterlife?”

“No,” he replied, his tone unyielding yet gentle. “But their stories live on in the realms. Their lives, though brief, leave ripples. And for those of us who remain… we must choose what we take from their sacrifice.”

For the first time, Hela’s expression softened, though only slightly. She glanced at him, a hint of challenge in her gaze. “Do not pretend, Patecatl, that you are untouched by the desire for power. All gods are bound by it. Even those who heal must crave control over life.”

He met her gaze, his expression thoughtful, almost amused. “Perhaps. But power need not be conquest. Sometimes, it is the strength to preserve, to guard that which is fragile and fleeting.” His voice softened, an unspoken invitation in his tone. “Tell me, Hela, have you ever desired to preserve anything? Or anyone?”

For a moment, her breath caught in her throat, and an image flashed in her mind — fleeting yet vivid. She remembered her younger self, once fierce and boundless, filled with dreams of glory. She had wanted something beyond power once, though she could no longer recall what it was. Those were dreams, she reminded herself, remnants of a time before she had tasted true dominion.

“I preserve my purpose,” she replied, her voice hardened with resolve. “That is all I need.”

A faint shadow passed over Patecatl’s face, but he nodded, his gaze holding hers with quiet understanding. “Then you are alone,” he murmured, more a statement than a question. “In the end, purpose without kinship is a lonely road.”

The words struck something deep within her, a place long buried beneath ambition and fury. She bristled, her tone laced with defiance. “Loneliness is the price of greatness. Those who seek companionship are weak. They burden themselves with mortal desires.”

“And yet…” he ventured softly, a gentle persistence in his tone, “mortals find strength in such burdens. They find purpose beyond themselves. Perhaps that is their gift.”

Hela laughed, a harsh sound that cut through the silence. “You speak of mortals as though they are wise. But they are fleeting, insignificant, like embers in a storm. What worth is their existence when it fades so easily?”

Patecatl’s expression softened, a sadness lurking in his gaze. “Perhaps that is why they are precious,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because they shine brightly, knowing their light is brief. They live without eternity, and in that, they find meaning. Something even gods struggle to grasp.”

The truth in his words unsettled her, stirring a feeling she could neither name nor dismiss. She turned away from him, unwilling to confront the emotions his presence awakened within her. But his words lingered, echoing in the corners of her mind like whispers of a forgotten dream. They continued in silence, each step weighted by unspoken questions, unacknowledged desires. Patecatl’s presence was a quiet, steady warmth at her side, a reminder of a world beyond conquest, a world she had abandoned long ago. He did not challenge her further, yet his gaze held a gentle persistence, as though he could see past the armor she wore, past the darkness she cloaked herself in.

At last, they reached the edge of the battlefield, where the remnants of a village lay in ruins. Hela paused, her gaze sweeping over the desolation she had wrought. There was no remorse in her eyes, only a cold, relentless determination. Yet as she looked upon the fallen structures, the shattered remnants of mortal lives, a strange feeling tugged at her heart — faint, but undeniable. Patecatl stepped forward, his hand brushing lightly against a broken piece of pottery half-buried in the dirt. His touch was gentle, reverent, as though he sought to honor the lives lost here. Hela watched him, her gaze narrowing as she struggled to understand the quiet power he held, a power that seemed both foreign and familiar.

“You waste your time with trinkets,” she muttered, her voice edged with irritation. “These mortals have no claim to eternity. Their lives end here, forgotten in the dust.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, his tone unshaken. “But in honoring them, we honor ourselves. We acknowledge the gift of life, however brief, and in doing so, we find purpose beyond conquest.”

For a long moment, she said nothing, her gaze locked on his, her expression unreadable. Then, almost reluctantly, she spoke, her voice a whisper. “Purpose beyond conquest…” She tasted the words, as though they were foreign to her, a language she had long forgotten.

Patecatl smiled, a gentle, knowing smile that seemed to pierce through the darkness within her. “Yes, Hela. Even for those who wield death, there is more to existence than power alone.”

She looked away, her jaw clenched tightly, as though fighting a battle within herself. But his words had planted a seed, a faint glimmer of something she had once yearned for, a feeling she had buried beneath the weight of ambition and fury. As the twilight deepened, she felt a strange pull, a desire she could not name, a yearning she had long denied. And in that moment, she knew that Patecatl was unlike anyone she had ever known. He was not her equal in power, nor her rival in conquest, but something else — something deeper, something she could neither understand nor control. Without another word, she turned away from him, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the first stars were beginning to appear. But as she walked away, she felt his presence linger, a quiet warmth that followed her like a shadow, a reminder of a world beyond the darkness she had claimed as her own. And for the first time in centuries, Hela felt a stirring of something she had long forsaken: hope. A fragile, fleeting hope, as fragile as the mortal lives she scorned, yet somehow, infinitely precious.

Chapter Text

In the days following that battlefield encounter, Patecatl and Hela found themselves drawn together as if by a thread neither could see nor break. They often walked in silence, though now the quiet between them was rich with unspoken words, an understanding both powerful and fragile. Hela was reluctant to admit it, even to herself, but Patecatl’s presence had begun to soften the sharp edges of her world, nudging open doors she had once slammed shut. Yet even as they grew closer, their differences became more pronounced. Where Patecatl valued balance and healing, Hela saw power and conquest as the only true paths to immortality. And so, their relationship was marked by a curious tension, an endless dance between darkness and light.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the lush valley where Patecatl had led her, Hela felt a prick of irritation. The land was peaceful here, untouched by the chaos she usually thrived in, and for reasons she couldn’t name, it unsettled her.

“Tell me, Patecatl,” she began, her voice laced with mockery, “what do you find so fascinating about these… lesser lives?” She gestured to the horizon, where a distant village’s evening fires flickered. “Why waste your time protecting what is destined to end?”

Patecatl turned to her, his gaze steady. “Because in their briefness, they find meaning,” he replied. “Their lives may be fleeting, but they fill those moments with a depth we, as gods, seldom understand.”

A scornful laugh escaped her lips. “Depth?” she scoffed. “They live in ignorance, clinging to illusions of love and purpose. They are weak.”

“Are they?” Patecatl countered, a challenge glinting in his eyes. “Mortals possess a courage we often lack. They face death every day without the safety of eternity. And yet, they live on, determined, resilient. Even their suffering holds meaning.”

Hela’s gaze darkened, her lips curling into a smirk. “You speak of courage, but what is bravery without strength? They do not have the power to shape the realms, to conquer, to rule.”

“Power is not always the capacity to destroy,” he replied softly. “Sometimes, it is the strength to endure, to protect, to create.”

For a moment, a flicker of doubt touched her. She remembered the way mortals clung to each other even in the face of despair, the way they fought to protect what little they had. There was a rawness to their existence, a desperation that she had never felt. And yet, despite herself, a faint, unacknowledged part of her yearned for that simplicity — that feeling of belonging, of purpose beyond herself. But the feeling was fleeting, and soon she crushed it beneath her ambition, her relentless desire for dominion.

“Then let them endure,” she said coldly, her voice like iron. “I do not care for their suffering, nor for their resilience. My purpose is clear, and it does not bend for sentiment.”

Patecatl sighed, yet he didn’t look away. “And what is your purpose, Hela? To conquer? To rule? And then what?”

A faint tremor rippled through her at his words, a question that struck deeper than she would ever admit. “I was born to claim power,” she replied, her tone unyielding. “To bring order to the chaos of the realms. It is my birthright.”

“Birthright,” he echoed thoughtfully. “But birthright is not purpose. It is a duty given, not a path chosen.”

Her gaze hardened, but Patecatl met her defiance with calm, his voice gentle yet unwavering. “Do you not wonder if there is more to existence than power, than conquest?”

“There is nothing beyond it,” she insisted, her voice fierce. “Everything else is weakness.”

Yet even as she spoke, his question lingered, unsettling her with its simplicity. She had spent centuries carving her path through blood and fire, claiming lands and souls without hesitation. She had never doubted herself, had never paused to wonder if her path was truly her own. They walked in silence for a while, the night deepening around them, stars beginning to pierce the dark sky. At last, Hela broke the quiet, her voice softer, more contemplative.

“Perhaps… perhaps you are right,” she admitted, her words slow and hesitant, as though each syllable cost her something. “Perhaps I was given this path, rather than choosing it.”

Patecatl glanced at her, surprise flickering in his gaze. “Then why not choose now?” he asked, his tone gentle. “Why not seek a purpose beyond the one forced upon you?”

A bitter smile curved her lips. “Because it is all I have ever known.”

For a moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them, a recognition of shared loneliness, of paths taken not out of choice but necessity. Hela felt a strange kinship with him then, a connection that went beyond words or power. They reached a small grove, where wildflowers bloomed in the pale light of the stars. The air was filled with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, a fragrance both sweet and haunting. Patecatl knelt by a patch of flowers, his fingers brushing their delicate petals with reverence.

“These flowers,” he murmured, almost to himself, “they bloom only in the darkness. Their beauty is born from shadow.”

Hela watched him, her gaze wary yet captivated. “And what of it?” she asked, her tone dismissive.

He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming in the starlight. “Perhaps, Hela, there is beauty even in the shadows. Perhaps even in darkness, life can find a way to flourish.”

She felt a pang at his words, a strange ache she couldn’t name. His words resonated within her, stirring feelings she had buried long ago. She had always thought of herself as darkness, as a force of destruction, yet here he was, speaking of shadows as a place of life, of beauty. “I am not a flower,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “I am not fragile or delicate.”

“No,” he agreed, his gaze unwavering. “But even you, Hela, were born of light and darkness both. Even you are capable of more than you know.”

The softness in his voice, the quiet conviction in his words, unsettled her. She turned away, unwilling to let him see the vulnerability flickering in her eyes. Yet his words lingered, echoing in the corners of her mind like whispers of a forgotten truth. They spent the night in the grove, each lost in their own thoughts, the silence between them rich with unspoken emotions. For the first time in her life, Hela felt something beyond ambition, beyond power. She felt the stirrings of a different kind of longing, a yearning for something she could not name.

As dawn broke, she rose, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the first light of day painted the sky in hues of pink and gold. She felt Patecatl’s presence beside her, steady and unwavering, a quiet strength that both comforted and unnerved her.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in her tone a stark contrast to her usual strength.

Patecatl looked at her, his gaze filled with a tenderness she had never known. “As long as you wish, Hela,” he replied, his voice soft yet resolute.

In that moment, she knew that she had found something rare, something precious — a connection beyond power, beyond conquest. And though she could not name it, could not fully understand it, she knew that it would change her, that it would leave a mark upon her soul that no amount of darkness could erase. For the first time, Hela felt the stirrings of something she had long denied: the possibility of love, of connection, of a life beyond the shadows. And though she did not yet realize it, this bond with Patecatl would set into motion a chain of events that would shape her destiny, and the destiny of the child they would one day bring into the world. As dawn settled over the valley, the quiet between Hela and Patecatl was more profound than before. Though they stood side by side, each felt the pull of something far greater than themselves, an inexplicable bond that defied their beliefs and threatened to alter their fates.

Hela’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the sky, a sharp awareness prickling at the edge of her mind. She felt as though she were standing at a precipice, one foot over the edge. Her heart had never wavered, never deviated from her unrelenting quest for power—until now. Her voice was a low murmur, almost lost to the breeze. “Patecatl…” she began, hesitating. She had never been unsure of her words before. “You speak of purpose, of a path chosen freely. Do you really believe a god can choose?”

He turned to her, his eyes softened by an unspoken understanding. “I do,” he replied. “Our origins do not define our destinies, Hela. We may carry the weight of our ancestors, the expectations of our realms, but within us lies the power to break free from those chains.”

She laughed, but there was bitterness in it. “Easy words for a god of healing and life. But I am no bringer of peace, Patecatl. I am death, the shadow that swallows the light.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded, reaching out to brush a finger along the edge of a black petal. “But shadows, too, serve a purpose. They remind us of what light truly is. Just as every winter knows spring, so does death give meaning to life.”

For the first time, she let his words sink in without immediate resistance. His belief in her, in her capacity to be more than a weapon of destruction, unsettled her yet filled her with a strange hope. “I have never thought of it that way,” she admitted softly. “I have always felt as though I had no choice—that my very existence demanded obedience to conquest and death.”

“Then perhaps it is time to see the world beyond those limits,” he replied, his gaze never leaving hers. “What if your strength could serve a different purpose?”

Her voice was a whisper, touched with a vulnerability she had long buried. “And if it cannot?”

He placed his hand over hers, a gentle warmth that spread through her. “Then I will be here to help you find it.”

They lingered there, lost in a quiet moment that transcended words. For the first time, Hela felt the possibility of a life beyond ambition, beyond battle. She knew she was standing on dangerous ground, that this path with Patecatl would test her every belief, her every instinct. Yet she felt an undeniable pull to walk it, to uncover parts of herself she had kept locked away for centuries.

Over the next weeks, their bond deepened in ways neither had expected. Patecatl guided her through the mysteries of his land, showing her the hidden sanctuaries he had created to preserve life’s fragile beauty. They traveled through sacred groves filled with fragrant flowers that bloomed under the moon, ancient springs where the waters held visions, and towering temples that rose like oaths to the heavens. Hela watched as he blessed fields, healed wounded animals, and whispered ancient prayers that bound his realm to him with a love she had never known. Yet even as her admiration grew, so did her frustration. The gentleness of his world, its insistence on harmony and balance, grated against her instincts. She could not understand his devotion to beings so beneath him, nor could she accept the patience with which he approached every task.

“Why do you waste your time on such fragile things?” she demanded one night as they stood atop a cliff, looking over a valley glowing in the silver light of the moon.

Patecatl regarded her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Because even fragility holds power. There is strength in things that endure despite their vulnerability, in lives that face death yet choose to live.”

She scowled, yet she could not fully dismiss his words. She had watched him work miracles among his people, had seen the reverence in their eyes, the gratitude with which they met his kindness. They loved him not out of fear, but out of devotion—a feeling foreign to her experience. She wanted to scoff at their weakness, to dismiss it as foolishness. Yet in her heart, a different truth stirred, a yearning for the bond he shared with them, a bond built on something other than fear or control. One evening, as they walked under the stars, she voiced the question that had plagued her for weeks. “Do they not fear you? These mortals you protect?”

Patecatl shook his head, his gaze fixed on the stars. “They do not. For I do not ask for fear. Fear is a powerful weapon, but it binds as much as it wounds. I would rather earn their trust, their love.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Love is weakness. It binds, yes, but not in ways that serve a god.”

“Or perhaps it is a strength we do not yet understand,” he replied, his voice gentle. “To be loved, not out of obligation or fear, but freely, is a gift even the gods may envy.”

She fell silent, his words settling in her like seeds in fertile ground. She had always believed power to be the only path, the only truth worth pursuing. Yet here, beside him, she glimpsed a different truth, one that filled her with both wonder and dread. As the moon rose higher, they sat by the edge of a sacred pool, the water gleaming with a mysterious light. Patecatl gestured to it, his expression reverent.

“This pool,” he said, “shows visions to those who seek them. It is said that only the truest desire of one’s heart will be revealed here.”

Hela looked at him, her skepticism evident. “You believe in such legends?”

He nodded. “I believe in what the heart holds. Truth lies not always in the world we see, but in the world within us.”

She scoffed but found herself drawn to the water’s edge, a strange anticipation stirring within her. She knelt beside him, staring into the pool’s depths, feeling its pull. After a moment, the water began to swirl, its glow intensifying. Images emerged, faint at first but growing clearer: a child with eyes as fierce as Hela’s, wielding powers that seemed drawn from both light and shadow. She was a vision of both herself and Patecatl, a child born of their union, of their darkness and light.

Hela’s breath caught, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and awe. She had never considered motherhood, never even imagined it. Yet here, in this vision, she saw a future she had not dared to dream—a future where she was more than a weapon, where she was not alone.

Patecatl’s hand found hers, grounding her as the vision faded. She looked at him, the vulnerability in her gaze raw and unguarded.

“Is this… possible?” she whispered.

“It is,” he replied, his voice soft yet certain. “If you allow yourself to believe in it.”

She looked away, her mind reeling. A child. A future she could not control, a path that would take her away from everything she had ever known. Yet as the vision lingered in her mind, she felt an ache she could not ignore, a longing that went beyond power or conquest. Patecatl’s hand tightened on hers, his gaze filled with a quiet determination. “Hela, you have the strength to shape your destiny, to forge a path that is truly your own.” In that moment, she realized that he was not only offering her a choice, but a chance to reclaim something she had lost long ago—a sense of purpose, a place in a world beyond shadows.

For the first time, she felt the stirrings of a new resolve, a quiet yet fierce determination to embrace the future she had glimpsed. And though she knew the path would be fraught with challenges, with doubts and sacrifices, she felt a strength rising within her, a fire that burned with both light and shadow. In that moment, Hela understood that she was no longer bound by her past, by the darkness that had once defined her. She was free to choose, to create, to build a life not of fear or ambition, but of hope and love. And as they rose together, their hands entwined, she knew that this choice would change her forever, setting her on a path that would alter the fate of both realms.

Chapter Text

The sky was a dusky violet as Hela stood on the sacred cliffs overlooking the valley. She watched the evening mists settle over the temples below, lending a serene glow to the verdant landscape. By her side, Patecatl was silent, his gaze steady on the horizon, his presence grounding her in a way that felt both comforting and disquieting.

“Do you regret it?” Hela’s voice was a whisper, nearly lost in the rustle of leaves around them. She was speaking not only of the time they had spent together but of the choices they would soon have to make.

Patecatl shook his head slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I have never felt more certain, Hela. We may come from different realms, but the heart does not recognize such boundaries.”

His words hung in the air, echoing through her mind. She had never been one to dwell on matters of the heart; hers was a world of blades and battles, of strategies and conquest. Yet here, in his presence, she felt a different kind of strength emerging within her—a strength that unsettled her as much as it empowered her. But despite her resolve, there was a flicker of doubt, a shadow of the past that refused to let go. She turned away, her gaze hardening. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me, Patecatl. Love may have freed you, but it binds me, ties me down. I am the Goddess of Death; I am not meant for gentleness.”

Patecatl stepped forward, his hand reaching out to clasp hers. “Perhaps that is precisely why we were brought together—to show each other the strength we both possess, in all its forms. To help each other find peace in what we are, not just what we are expected to be.”

She met his gaze, his earnest eyes reflecting a determination that mirrored her own. And in that moment, something shifted within her—a choice that would alter the course of both their lives. She allowed herself a deep breath, feeling the weight of her armor slipping away, if only for a moment. “Then show me,” she murmured, her voice softened but edged with challenge. “Show me how to live without the darkness.”Over the next days, Patecatl guided Hela through his world with renewed purpose, introducing her to the traditions, rituals, and people who made up his life. He showed her how he healed the wounds of his realm, both physical and spiritual, how he tended to those in need, seeking not power but harmony.

One afternoon, he took her to a hidden sanctuary within a dense forest. The air was thick with the scent of flowering plants, the ground carpeted in moss and dappled sunlight. In the center of the grove stood an ancient tree, its bark knotted and gnarled with age. Patecatl gestured toward it, his voice reverent.

“This tree is a symbol of resilience,” he explained. “It has weathered countless storms, yet it stands, its roots deep and strong. Like you, Hela, it knows both shadow and light.”

She approached the tree, placing a hand on its rough bark. As she did, a strange warmth filled her, a sensation foreign yet familiar. It was as if the tree were alive with an energy she had long forgotten—a sense of endurance, of survival against all odds. “What do you want me to learn from this, Patecatl?” she asked, though her voice was softer than she intended.

“That strength lies not only in power,” he replied, his tone gentle but unyielding. “True strength comes from resilience, from the will to endure, even in the face of despair.”

For the first time, Hela felt a stir of doubt within herself—not in her power, but in the direction it had led her. She had always believed that strength lay in domination, in bending the world to her will. Yet here, with Patecatl, she saw a different kind of power—one that did not conquer but healed, that did not take but gave. Their relationship deepened, but with it grew the tension between their differing natures. Hela’s ambitions clashed with Patecatl’s peaceful existence. She found herself torn between the life she had always known and the life he offered her—a life that, despite her resistance, was beginning to appeal to her.

One night, as they lay together under a starlit sky, she voiced the question that had been gnawing at her heart. “If I were to stay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “what would that mean for you? For your people?”

Patecatl’s gaze was steady as he turned to her. “It would mean that we choose a path together, Hela. That we both find a way to balance who we are with who we wish to become.” 

She closed her eyes, the weight of his words settling on her. She had never imagined that love could ask so much, that it could demand not just her heart but her very soul. For the first time, she found herself confronting the cost of her choices, the sacrifices she would have to make. And though it terrified her, she knew that she could no longer ignore the truth—she was no longer the goddess she had once been.

Chapter Text

The night was alive with an electric energy, one that neither Hela nor Patecatl could explain. The stars shone brighter than ever, their light spilling across the earth in silvery cascades, illuminating the valley below. As they stood at the edge of the ancient cliff, a silence fell between them, filled with a thousand unspoken words. Hela looked at Patecatl, her eyes reflecting the same fire that burned within her heart. She felt both exhilarated and unnerved, a surge of emotions she had kept buried deep. She took a step toward him, her gaze unwavering. “Are you certain about this, Patecatl?” Her voice held a strange blend of vulnerability and defiance. For the first time, she was not speaking as the Goddess of Death, nor as a conqueror; she was speaking as herself, as the woman he had drawn out from beneath the shadows.

Patecatl reached out, his fingers brushing a loose strand of her dark hair from her face, his touch warm and grounding. “I am certain, Hela,” he replied, his voice as steady as the earth beneath their feet. “This is not just about us. It is about creating something... someone who embodies the best of both our worlds.” She took a shuddering breath, her mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. This child would bear her strength, her fire—but it would also carry his compassion, his grace. A legacy of both realms, forged in the fires of their love and bound by the energies of the cosmos.

Slowly, he took her hand and led her away from the cliff’s edge, through a winding path that descended into a hidden glade, where the foliage grew thick and verdant. They walked in silence, their hearts beating in harmony, their steps purposeful and measured. When they reached the center of the glade, Patecatl stopped, turning to face her fully. “This is a place of creation,” he said, gesturing to the clearing around them. “It is where life is born, where the seeds of existence take root.”

Hela felt the air shift, the ground hum with an energy unlike anything she had ever felt. She had always been a force of destruction, yet here, in this sacred place, she felt an urge to create, to give rather than to take. With a shared understanding, they knelt together on the soft earth. She felt the cool soil beneath her palms, grounding her as Patecatl’s hand found hers once again. They were both silent, words feeling inadequate for what they were about to do. Instead, they let their actions speak, their bodies becoming conduits for the forces that bound them together.

As they moved together, time seemed to slow, the world around them fading into a haze of warmth and light. It was as though the earth itself bore witness to their union, the air thick with an almost tangible magic. The very stars seemed to pulse in time with their hearts, a rhythm that was ancient and unbreakable. For Hela, this moment was a revelation. She had never felt so vulnerable, yet so powerful, as though she were both creator and creation, both warrior and nurturer. She surrendered to the sensations that flooded her, allowing herself to feel wholly and completely, without restraint.

Patecatl held her close, his breath mingling with hers, his touch a balm to her soul. In that moment, she understood the strength that lay in gentleness, the power that came not from taking life but from giving it. She had spent so long surrounded by shadows that she had forgotten the warmth of light, the beauty of growth. As their energies merged, they became one with the earth, with the stars, with the universe itself. Their spirits intertwined, creating a bond that went beyond the physical, a connection that transcended life and death. It was as though they were shaping not just a child, but a legacy, a new possibility—a being that would embody the balance they both sought.

And then, in the stillness that followed, she felt it—a spark, a faint but undeniable pulse of life. It was fragile, delicate, yet it held within it the strength of both realms. She placed a hand on her abdomen, a mixture of awe and wonder flickering across her face. “This... this is ours,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “A piece of you, a piece of me.”

Patecatl smiled, his eyes shining with an emotion she could not name. “Yes, Hela. And they will be strong, for they carry both your fire and my spirit.”

The realization settled over her, heavy yet beautiful. She was the Goddess of Death, yet here she was, giving life, creating something that would outlast even the endless shadows she once embraced. In that moment, she felt a new purpose awaken within her—a purpose that transcended her ambitions, her desires. This child would carry forth a legacy unlike any other, a being forged in both light and darkness, life and death.

As the night deepened, Hela and Patecatl lay beneath the stars, their hands intertwined, a comfortable silence enveloping them. They both knew that this was only the beginning—that their child, born of two worlds, would face challenges neither of them could fully predict. But for now, they allowed themselves this moment, a fragile peace suspended in time. For Hela, it was enough.

Chapter Text

Five months had passed since Hela’s arrival in the Aztec empire, and her bond with Patecatl had only deepened. The life they had created together grew within her, and for the first time, Hela felt anchored, her ambitions softened by the promise of a family. Her power remained formidable, but with Patecatl, she found herself willing to step back from conquest, finding solace in their shared dreams.

But Tezcatlipoca, the god of discord and deceit, had been watching them from the shadows, his heart dark with envy and malice. The love that bound Hela and Patecatl was pure, and in its purity, Tezcatlipoca saw an opportunity. He would twist it, transform it, turn their bond into something destructive. One night, Tezcatlipoca cloaked himself in darkness, reshaping his form until he was indistinguishable from Patecatl. His appearance was flawless, his voice a perfect echo. In this disguise, he found Hela alone at the edge of the temple gardens, gazing up at the stars. She turned, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him, unaware that it was not her beloved but a cruel, cunning illusion.

The disguised Tezcatlipoca approached her, his smile tinged with an intensity that Patecatl’s warmth never held. He took her hand and drew her close, whispering words of devotion that seemed to darken as he continued. His gentle gestures became almost possessive, his voice weaving poisonous threads of doubt into Hela’s mind. “My love,” he murmured, brushing a hand over her shoulder. “What if I told you that, in time, even a god’s love can fade?”

She frowned, her face tightening. “Patecatl, what are you saying?”

“Imagine,” he continued, “a day when you might need more than this... tranquility. Would you be content, or would your spirit crave conquest again? You’re a goddess of war and death, Hela. You belong in the nine realms, not bound to this land.”

For the first time, Hela’s resolve wavered. There was something strange in his voice, a venomous edge that felt wrong, yet she couldn't deny that the words echoed her own hidden fears. “I... I thought you understood me,” she replied, her voice heavy with doubt. “You knew that this life was enough for me. We could forge something different here.”

Tezcatlipoca, seeing her uncertainty, pressed closer. “And what if you find yourself betrayed in the end, your heart broken? Powerless and abandoned?” She tried to step back, but his grip tightened, and she found herself trapped in his gaze, her doubts growing stronger, his words sinking deep into her soul.

The next morning, Hela awoke feeling restless, haunted by the conversation. But she pushed the doubts aside, certain that Patecatl had just spoken out of his own fears. She went to find him, determined to confront him and clear the air, only to be met with a sight that twisted her heart in anguish. There he stood, dressed in his traditional robes, a loving smile on his face. But to her eyes, he was not Patecatl—he was Tezcatlipoca, the god of discord, cloaked in deceit. Her vision was clouded, her mind spinning with the venomous words he had whispered. Her trust had been poisoned, and Tezcatlipoca’s illusion was perfect; she couldn’t see beyond it. She narrowed her eyes, her heart hardening, her face growing colder. Drawing her weapon, she moved forward, her expression fierce with betrayal. “Tezcatlipoca,” she hissed, her voice like iron, “you thought you could play me for a fool? You defiled the bond I had with Patecatl, tried to turn me against him!”

The real Patecatl looked stunned, confusion and heartbreak flashing in his eyes as he raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Hela, what are you saying? I am Patecatl, your beloved.” But her rage blinded her, fueled by Tezcatlipoca’s manipulations. Every gesture of Patecatl’s looked to her like mockery, his voice a cruel imitation. She could no longer recognize him as the man she loved. She raised her weapon, her fury unstoppable.

“No! You will pay for what you’ve done,” she spat, her voice echoing with pain.

Before Patecatl could speak again, she struck, her power pouring into each blow as she unleashed her wrath upon him. Her strikes were relentless, fierce, her strength unmatched by any mortal or god. Patecatl fell, his cries fading into silence as his body crumpled beneath the weight of her attack. His last look was one of shock and sorrow, his hand reaching out to her even in his final moments, his love enduring until his dying breath.

As the realization of what she’d done sank in, Hela’s anger dissipated, leaving only cold, empty silence. She fell to her knees beside him, her heart shattering as she saw the truth, unclouded by Tezcatlipoca’s deceit. The body before her was Patecatl’s, the warmth of his spirit gone forever. A raw scream tore from her throat, echoing across the valley as the weight of her actions settled over her. She had killed the only being who had loved her wholly, unconditionally. Her rage, her mistrust—all manipulated by Tezcatlipoca’s cunning.

She cradled Patecatl’s lifeless form, her mind consumed with remorse, fury, and despair. In that moment, she vowed vengeance, a promise as unbreakable as the heart she had just destroyed. Hela’s steps were heavy as she returned to Asgard, her spirit fractured, her heart a void. She left the Aztec empire behind, leaving behind the life she had dreamed of, her ambitions twisted back into a dark and solitary path. But within her, the child she carried continued to grow, a final gift from Patecatl, a reminder of the love they had shared and the tragedy that had torn them apart.

Days passed after Hela’s violent return to Asgard, yet the Aztec lands lingered in her thoughts like ghosts she couldn’t banish. Her rage at Tezcatlipoca’s treachery simmered, poisoning her memories, hardening her heart. The halls of Asgard felt colder, emptier, without the warm glow that Patecatl had sparked within her. His loss haunted her in every silent corner, every flicker of light, until she could scarcely stand it. But Hela was not one to linger in sorrow. Grief turned to fury, and fury turned to purpose. She vowed that Tezcatlipoca would suffer. No god would deceive her and walk unpunished. Alone in the dim light of her chambers, she whispered a dark oath to herself, gripping her weapon with fingers that trembled with rage. This war would be personal.

Yet amid this wrath, a new sensation arose. A faint, pulsing life grew within her, a piece of Patecatl left to her care. The knowledge that she carried their child, the symbol of their shared destiny, tore at her like nothing else. A glimmer of warmth cut through the iron walls she'd rebuilt around her heart, reminding her of the gentler future she had glimpsed—a future she could no longer bear to think about. Still, Hela could not dwell on this softness. The kingdom awaited her, her father would soon demand her presence, and Asgard had its own whispers of war. She forced herself to focus, burying her grief beneath the armor of her ambition.

Days before her return to full command, a messenger summoned her to the throne room. Odin awaited her, his eyes cold and piercing as ever. "You have spent much time away, Hela," he began, his tone a warning. "Asgard has enemies gathering, and yet you disappear to foreign lands." Hela’s jaw clenched. She knew he would never understand what she had lost, what she had sacrificed. But Odin’s gaze softened, only for a moment, as he looked her over, sensing perhaps a change in her. "There is a war to be fought here, and we need you in Asgard," he continued, not unkindly. "I know there is a fire within you, Hela. Let it burn for your birthright."

For a heartbeat, Hela almost confessed the depths of her pain, the betrayal she had suffered, and the grief of losing Patecatl. But pride held her back. She nodded and left without another word, her gaze hard as iron. In the quiet of her chambers, as the anger subsided, her hand moved unconsciously to her abdomen, a faint spark of comfort within the storm of her heart. She would raise their child alone if she must, giving them the strength of both worlds. And if Tezcatlipoca dared set foot in the Nine Realms, he would face the fury of a mother as well as a goddess.

Chapter Text

Four months had passed since Hela had returned to Asgard, bearing the weight of Patecatl’s memory and the child growing within her. She felt the life inside her as a reminder of her love for him, yet it also stirred a bitterness that gnawed at her each day. Her plans for power remained, yet now they were tainted by a vulnerability she despised. She would bring this child into the world, yes, but she had already decided that it would serve her purposes—or be discarded.

As the time approached, Hela isolated herself in the depths of the palace, where no prying eyes would witness the birth. She had summoned no midwives, no attendants, for she could trust no one with the knowledge of what she carried. Alone in the darkened room, under the cold light of flickering torches, she finally brought her child into the world. But as Hela gazed down, her heart sank, and a surge of frustration welled up within her. Her child was not the son she had envisioned. The girl’s features were fierce, dark-haired and brown-blue eyed, a glimpse of Hela’s own power visible even in her first breaths. Yet, for all her strength, this was not the heir she had anticipated.

Hela’s jaw tightened, the disappointment cutting deep. Her father had cast her aside, deemed her unworthy of the throne. She would not repeat history with a daughter. A son could be forged into a weapon of power, molded to serve her ambition. But a daughter… she feared a girl would only become a weakness, a reminder of the softness that had lured her from her path. Hela stood, cradling the girl against her for a brief, conflicted moment. Then, in silence, she made her way to the heart of the palace, where the Eternal Flame crackled and danced within its ancient pit. She looked down at the flames, feeling their heat, their primal pull. They were endless, eternal—a symbol of Asgardian power, just as she desired her child to be. Without a word, Hela held the child over the flames, her gaze hard, unwavering. The fire reached up, lapping at the girl’s form, and she released her. She watched as her daughter fell, certain that the pit would consume her, end this unwanted lineage.

But the flames did not devour her. Instead, they surged around the infant, illuminating her with a blinding brilliance. Hela took a step back, astonished, her breath catching as the flames began to swirl into the girl, sinking into her skin as if absorbed by her very being. The fires dimmed, slowly fading from the pit as they were drawn into the tiny figure, until there was nothing left but the child, untouched, her eyes now shining with the embers of the Eternal Flame itself.

The girl’s cry broke the silence, her small voice echoing in the vast, empty chamber. Hela felt a strange mixture of awe and fury. She had intended to end her daughter’s life, to rid herself of this unwanted burden. But this child had defied death itself, claiming a power that even Hela had not dared to control. In her defiance, the girl had become something more—an eternal being, bound to the very heart of Asgard. A surge of fear struck Hela, a rare and foreign feeling. This child held a power that could rival her own. Odin must not know of this, she thought, her mind racing. She could not risk her father learning of her failed attempt or of the power her daughter had claimed. She would hide her, bury the secret of her birth in shadow. Her gaze softened for just a moment as she looked at the girl. In the child’s fierce eyes, she saw a trace of Patecatl’s warmth, of the life she had once hoped for before her betrayal. But Hela hardened herself against it, steeling her heart. This child was a threat to her own ambitions, and she could not allow it to grow under her influence.

That evening, under the cover of darkness, Hela left the palace, carrying her daughter wrapped in shadows. She made her way to the edge of Asgard, to a remote dwelling where the witches lived in seclusion. Among them, there was one in particular—a woman as powerful as she was cunning, a witch who had spoken to Hela of life beyond power, of paths taken in shadow. Agatha Harkness. When Hela reached the witch’s dwelling, Agatha emerged, her face a mixture of curiosity and amusement as she took in the sight of the goddess of death standing at her door, holding a child.

“Hela,” Agatha murmured, her dark eyes glinting. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I have a gift for you,” Hela replied, her tone cold, measured. She held out the infant, her gaze unreadable. “Take her. Raise her. Shape her as you will, but keep her hidden. She must never know where she came from, and Odin must never know of her existence.”

Agatha’s brow arched as she looked from the child to Hela. “And why would the goddess of death part with a child of her own flesh?”

“This child is a burden I do not wish to carry,” Hela replied sharply. “She is yours now. But remember, Agatha… you will owe me for this.”

A slow smile spread across the witch’s face as she took the child into her arms, cradling her gently. “I understand. I will keep her nature hidden and raise her as my own. She will know nothing of you, or of Asgard. She will be bound to my will alone.”

“Good,” Hela said, her voice clipped. She turned, not daring to look back. Yet as she walked away, a faint pang pierced her heart—a fleeting, nameless sorrow she quickly silenced. And so, she left her daughter behind, casting her into a life unknown, never knowing that the girl would one day return to challenge her, wielding the fire of the Eternal Flame and the fierce spirit of the father Hela had loved and lost.