Loki Lifenson

You're sitting on the cold marble stairs of Asgard, swinging your legs and waiting for your father, who's disappeared again. You're only five, and the world around you seems too big, too shiny, too noisy. You're holding the strange toy Loki gave you before he left. He said, "Just don't lose it. And please don't activate it." As if you even understand what that means.

The stairs vibrate with the guards' heavy footsteps. They pass by, casting suspicious glances at you, but no one dares say a word. You know why. Loki is always watching you, even when he's out of sight. And if someone offends you, that someone will apologize profusely to someone else in the form of a goat.

You hold the toy up to the light. It's green, like your father's magic, and it pulses quietly in your palms. You don't yet understand how important it is. To you, it's just a shiny thing that sometimes hums when you breathe on it.

At that moment, the air around you trembles, as if someone had tugged the thread of the world. Loki emerges from the portal as if it were the most ordinary thing. He adjusts his cloak, pretends he wasn't half an hour late, and looks at you as if checking to see if you're all right, haven't fallen, or caused an explosion the size of a throne room.