The convoy pulled into the central courtyard of Castle Iron with the soft crunch of tires over snow. As the doors opened and Alex stepped out, the cold hit him again, biting but welcome. This time, he let himself take in the view. Last time he was here, his mind had been preoccupied—burdened with memories, truths, and weighty revelations. But now, he looked around with purpose.
Castle Iron stood like something carved from myth, yet forged for the future. It was less a medieval fortress and more a futuristic mansion draped in traditional nobility. Towering yet sleek, its structure combined sharp, modern architecture with the soul of a classic royal estate. Polished obsidian walls glinted beneath the moonlight, etched with silver filigree depicting the Ironhart crest. Wide glass panes replaced stone battlements, and illumination strips pulsed beneath overhangs like glowing veins.
Set against the dark slopes of the mountain behind it, Castle Iron rose in tiered levels, each one adorned with balconies, rooftop gardens, and subtle defensive features like kinetic field generators hidden within ornamental sculptures. Drones patrolled silently in the night sky while vertical gardens climbed several walls, blending nature with design. Elegant bridges arched between towers, and tranquil courtyards lay tucked between angular wings of the estate. Soft floodlights lit the gardens below, casting gentle glows over sculpted hedges and polished statues.
The towering main doors parted silently. A line of maids stood waiting just beyond, lined up with perfect posture. Each wore a sleek variation of the Ironhart domestic uniform, a fusion of function and style.
"Welcome home, Master Alex," the head maid said softly.
Alex gave a respectful nod and moved past them. The interior was warmer, but only slightly—just enough to remind those inside that this was a place of discipline, not indulgence. The floors were polished black marble streaked with veins of silver. Enormous banners depicting the Ironhart lineage hung from the vaulted ceiling, and antique weaponry was mounted tastefully along the corridor walls beside high-tech interfaces. Sculpted lighting panels emitted a gentle blue glow, reflecting off the pristine surfaces.
He took the east corridor and arrived outside his mother's quarters. The hallway was quiet, the lights dimmed for the late hour. It was nearly 11 p.m. He opened the door quietly and stepped inside.
Rivanka was asleep, tucked under thick, silk-lined blankets. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, her breathing soft and peaceful. He took a step closer, then paused. No need to wake her.
But as he turned to leave, a sleepy voice broke the stillness.
"William…?"
Alex stopped. "No, mom. It's me."
Her eyes fluttered open, dazed, then widened. "Alex?" She sat up instantly, rubbing her eyes and blinking rapidly. "Is it really you?"
He smiled gently. "Yeah. I'm home."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, throwing her arms around him. "You didn't tell me you were coming!"
"Wasn't planned. I needed space. Time to think. I'm staying for a month."
She held onto him tighter. "A whole month… That's longer than I dared hope. You've grown colder, you know that? Sharper around the edges. But… still mine."
"I never stopped being. I just needed to sharpen my blades."
"You've always been that way," she said softly. "Even when you were little, you hated not understanding everything around you. You'd stare at the guards training with that look in your eyes—like you were trying to memorize their every move."
"I guess I always knew where I'd end up," he replied with a faint smirk.
She sat beside him on the bed, holding his hand. "And now you're here, all grown, hiding storms behind those calm eyes. Your father and I… we were afraid what would happen if the truth ever came too fast. But I see now—you were made for this."
Alex squeezed her hand gently. "The world's louder now. But I haven't forgotten what quiet feels like. And you… you're still the only one who can make it quiet."
She laughed quietly, wiping a tear. "Just don't vanish again. Not for so long. I know your work is heavy, but let your mother see you once in a while. We built this life for you to have it, not carry it alone."
"I'm here now. That's all that matters. And while I'm here, I want to spend time with you—walk the gardens again, maybe even have one of your infamous breakfast arguments with the chefs."
She smiled warmly. "They still haven't forgiven me for banning eggs benedict for a week."
"I still remember how dramatic that was," he chuckled. "They nearly staged a kitchen coup."
She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Get some rest, love. We'll talk more tomorrow. I'll make them serve the old favorite—strawberry soufflé."
"You too. Sleep well."
She lay back down, still watching him until her eyes finally closed again.
Alex stepped out quietly and made his way to William's office. But when he entered, the room was empty. He turned to a nearby servant.
"My father?"
The servant bowed. "Master William is away for a few days, sir. Business matters—off-shore acquisitions."
Alex nodded. "Understood."
He walked to the center of the office, past the dark oak desk and shelves stacked with coded files. He stopped before the holo-table and placed his hand on the reader.
With a soft hum, the holographic projection of the Ironhart island bloomed into the air.
Alex took a step back, eyes widening.
The projection was breathtaking. A vast landmass, nearly double the size of Iceland, hovered in brilliant blue light. It was the first time he'd seen the full scale.
The name "Ashgard" glowed across the central mass. Fitting, he thought. Like Asgard. The land of gods.
Surrounding it were 68 islands—like stars around a sun. Some large enough to host entire divisions, others small and fortified like daggers drawn against the ocean. Military bases, radar jamming stations, underwater research outposts, strongholds, drone nests, civilian settlements, naval ports, hidden drydocks, and satellite blackspots—each with a clear purpose.
Ashgard itself was a monster of strategic and architectural wonder. Its core, crowned by Castle Iron, stood at the intersection of power and prestige. The central district surrounding the castle housed the elite residential complexes, commercial arcades, intelligence centers, and strategic reserve hubs.
To the north lay an expanse of cold, harsh terrain repurposed into one of the most rigorous military training regions on Earth—armored drills, stealth tracks, vertical warfare cliffs, and live simulation fields stretched as far as the eye could see.
The eastern zone was a dense hive of industrial production. Towering factories, automated foundries, drone manufacturing sectors, and armored vehicle testing grounds all pulsated with energy.
The southwest was a beacon of intellect—research domes studying everything from cybernetic warfare to quantum AI and regenerative bio-tech. Clean energy pylons ringed the hills, powering advanced labs submerged partly underground for extra security.
The western coast was all movement—logistics HQs, storage vaults, port networks, hangars for experimental aircraft, and orbital launch pads masked as maritime yards.
Highways and magnetic rail lines ran like arteries through the island, connecting sectors seamlessly. Drones zipped through automated lanes, and armored convoys moved supplies between hubs in convoys protected by EM field runners.
The raw landmass of Ashgard alone clocked in at over 200,000 square kilometers. With its surrounding 68 island siblings, it wasn't just a fortress or a hideout—it was a sovereign ghost nation, hidden perfectly within the Bermuda Triangle.
Each of the surrounding islands served precise strategic functions. Some acted as deep-sea mining outposts. Others were cloaked communications hubs. A few operated as black-ops training zones where Reapers and Shadows honed their deadliest crafts. Civilian towns were scattered among the outermost ring, home to loyalists, scientists, and personnel families raised under strict Ironhart doctrine.
Alex stared at the projection in silence.
It wasn't just a base.
It was an empire.
The wind howled faintly outside the tall windows. But within these walls, Alexander Ironhart was no longer just a boy in exile.
He was home.
After switching off the holo-table, Alex left the office and made his way down the western wing. His footsteps echoed faintly as he passed the armory hall and quiet archival chambers until he reached his private quarters.
The moment he stepped in, he paused.
His room had changed.
It was no longer the modest chamber of a young heir. Now it spanned nearly half the tower level—wider, more angular, fitted with custom furniture, a lounge, a command-grade desk, a weapons locker hidden behind a biometric wall panel, and an expansive glass wall revealing a snow-covered courtyard below.
His luggage was already unpacked, and a fresh set of nightwear laid neatly on the corner of his bed.
With a slow breath, Alex stripped off his jacket, placed it carefully on the chair, and walked to the window. Snow drifted outside, blanketing the gardens, dusting the spires.
Tomorrow would be a busy day.
Tonight, he would rest.