Immediately I stepped closer, brushing my knuckles gently against her cheek.
“No, Luna,” I murmured softly. “Please, you must never fear me.”
And gods help me—I meant that more deeply than she realized.
Because terrifying her would destroy me.
The possibility alone made something monstrous recoil violently inside my chest.
“In my realm,” I continued more quietly, “mated pairs are significantly stronger together than apart.”
“In Asgard?”
“Yes.”
The wind shifted around us, carrying sea salt and moonlight and magic through the cliffs of Runevald.
“My bloodline,” I continued carefully, “is particularly powerful. Each generation produces only one designated Menon Blau.”
“Menon Blau,” she repeated softly.
Gods.
The sound of my true name on her lips nearly dropped me to my knees.
No one at Runevald used it.
No one.
Because names carried power.
Identity.
Burden.
The second I reclaimed mine publicly, there would be no returning to anonymity afterward.
No more hiding as merely Sten.
I was Menon Blau.
Future Premier Celestial Guardian of Asgard.
The responsibility settled heavily across my shoulders.
But then Amrin looked at me again.
And somehow the burden became lighter.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “My true name is Menon Blau.”
The wind died completely around us.
Even the sea below seemed to still.
“My family descends directly from Máni,” I continued, voice lowering instinctively. “The Norse Moon God. Keeper of tides. Guardian of celestial magic. Steward of time itself.”
Her lips parted softly.
