### **1. The Awakening After the Flame**
Jon stood at the edge of the sanctum balcony, shirtless again, golden runes slowly pulsing along his spine and forearms — not in pain, but in rhythm.
Behind him slept Wanda and Daenerys, curled together in crimson sheets. Sif had taken the corner post, armor hanging from a rack, her hair still braided from battle drills. Mystique reclined in lacquered black silk, eyes half-lidded, watching him sleep — and now awake.
Arya hadn't slept.
She stood opposite him at the glass window, sword across her back, silhouette flickering slightly in candlelight. She hadn't joined the Flamebond. But its threads had begun entwining her still.
And now… something deeper was happening.
Jon felt it in his bones. The First Flame within him pulling toward something. Not louder but sharper. Focused. A need forming in the fire — as if even divine legacy needed an *anchor*.
**A chosen one.**
Not for power.
But for balance.
Wanda stirred and sat up in silken sheets.
"It's time… isn't it?" she asked softly, voice thick with sleep and something ancient.
Jon nodded.
"Yes."
"The Flame wants to bind itself to one of us."
### **2. The Flame's New Law**
The queens gathered at dusk under phoenix-spun torches lit in the temple sanctum inside the Helicarrier's Forge Dome — carved by alien tech, Valyrian rune-masonry, and Wanda's wordless spells.
Jon knelt within a tri-circle of old dragonblood. His heartbeat rang like a thunder-harp.
Wanda, Daenerys, Sif, Mystique, and Arya stood in their appointed directions — East to West of his soul.
Wanda stepped forward first.
"This will elevate one of us above the others — temporarily or perhaps permanently," she said calmly. "It may bind her deeper. Or it may consume her completely."
"It's not about dominance," whispered Mystique. "It's about **temperament**. Who burns evenly."
Sif crossed her arms. "Or who survives whoever he becomes when this power completes itself."
Daenerys looked at him, and no one else. "He won't burn any of us if our hearts burn brighter than the gods."
Jon looked at Arya — the only one not signaling readiness.
She stayed near the shadows, arms folded.
"I won't fight them for the right," she said bluntly. "I'll fight for your soul. But not your power."
Jon trembled.
The Flame inside him whispered louder now.
> "Choose."
But he dropped his head.
"No."
All the queens looked up.
Jon stood, eyes now glowing phoenix-gold.
"You choose," he said aloud—to the Flame. "You see them. You **feel** them. Burn toward the one who'll hold me when I lose myself."
The dome trembled.
### **3. The Anchor is Named**
Wind began to swirl madly.
Shimmers of gold light licked across each woman — pausing, tasting-threading the soul inside each one.
Over:
- **Wanda**: Chaos and grief and unmatched passion. Flame slowed.
- **Sif**: Honor and storm. Fire respected but moved on.
- **Mystique**: Adaptability, desire, duplicity, wisdom. Flame hesitated, then passed.
- **Arya**: Sharpness. Strength. Detached anger. The Flame flickered uncertainly…
And then—
**It stopped at Daenerys.**
The fire gathered to her like a home it remembered.
Golden, radiant, pulsing around her skin — matching her Phoenix energy in a perfect spiral.
Her lips parted. Her knees trembled. Magic flamed along her spine without a single spell.
Jon watched as the air itself bent toward her.
> "She carries your flame in her truth and her downfall," the Flame whispered inside Jon.
> "She will not control you. She will revive you."
And then the power poured from Jon into her — not leaving him, but coalescing in **balance.**
A divine circuit. Input and output. Life looped not through sovereignty — but **trust.**
Arya looked down, unblinking.
Wanda turned away — her jaw clenching.
Sif stiffened, but bowed.
Mystique half-grinned. "As expected."
Daenerys barely whispered before collapsing into Jon's arms—
> "I forgive you forever."
### **4. Bound in Flame and Flesh**
They didn't return to their chambers.
The Flame wouldn't allow it.
In the Sanctum itself, the Flame consumed them both in light — coiling gold and red heat wrapping around their naked forms like memory.
Jon kissed her slowly—as if rediscovering her lips in this lifetime for real.
Dany wept into his neck as she touched his scars, the ones she'd caused and worn herself in another timeline. "You never stopped forgiving," she murmured. "So I must never stop choosing you."
Jon laid her down in the heart of the golden runes.
They intertwined not with desperation — but purpose.
Soft moans echoed as heat pooled.
Bodies joined, divinity hissed around flesh, power swelled.
And when they both cried out — her head arched back in flame, his grasp firm around her hip, bodies slick from passion and flame — they sealed the **Anchor** bond.
His heartbeat calmed only when hers did.
Only then did the Flame fall quiet.
Fully united.
### **5. The Fracture Beneath the Flesh**
But power has its price.
Elsewhere aboard the carrier, Wanda trembled.
Not with jealousy.
But with **panic**.
She sat before a mirror conjured in runes.
Even her reflection trembled.
"Chaos is too quiet," she whispered to herself. "The Flame decoupled my tether—and it's… giving me visions."
The mirror began to melt.
And in its place…
**A corrupted Thor appeared.**
Hammer pulsing red with Dormammu's sickness.
Eyes white and blind.
Cape smoldering like ash across Yggdrasil.
"Come find me, Jon Snow," the corrupted god said in a warped echo. "She chose you as anchor. But I am the storm that never sleeps."
Then the mirror shattered.
And Wanda screamed.