Prologue 1-Sten
“Good evening, Menon Blau.”
Her voice followed me before I saw her.
Measured. Controlled. Impossible to ignore.
I stopped.
Slowly.
The corridor of the Asgarheim Runevald Institute stretched long and dim behind me, rune-light pulsing faintly along the stone walls.
Power lived in this place—coiled beneath every step, woven into every breath—and even that ancient magic seemed to pause as I turned to face her.
“It’s Sten, professor,” I corrected.
Professor Kenna did not miss much.
Names least of all.
She stilled, then turned fully toward me, the hem of her dark robes whispering across the floor like something alive.
“Yes,” she said, studying me with that sharp, knowing gaze. “Sten. You prefer that to your given name.”
A pause.
“May I ask why?”
I clenched my jaw.
She knew.
Of course, she knew.
There was very little that escaped the professor of Runevald—especially not something as inconvenient as a celestial bloodline walking her halls.
“You know as well as I do,” I said, voice low, edged with something I didn’t bother to hide, “it’s safer.”
Her brow lifted slightly.
Not surprised.
Never surprised.
“Safer,” she repeated, as if weighing the word. “For whom?”
“For everyone,” I growled.
The name Menon Blau was not simply a name.
It was a declaration.
A lineage.
A target.
As a direct descendant of Máni, the Norse God of the Moon, I carried more than power in my blood. I carried inheritance.
