Beyla - Loki

Five Years Gone

The sea air always smelled of brine and rot. No matter how many times Beyla walked the coast, that was what lingered - salt, decay, and the faint sting of smoke that clung to New Asgard's settlement. It was not Asgard. It was not even close. Wooden homes hunched against the shore, their roofs patched with human tar, their windows lit by dim bulbs instead of gold. And its people - what remained of them - no longer laughed as Asgardians once did. The great kingdom had been reduced to fishermen and widows, their muscles lean from hauling nets, their eyes hollow from watching entire families die in the void of space.

Beyla walked among them quietly, her hood drawn. The goddess of bees, queen of gardens and summer sweetness, had long since abandoned her crown. She hadn't tended her hives in years - her bees scattered when the ship burned, when Loki's body went cold in her arms. They had not returned. And neither had she.

Every day was the same: wake, stare into the gray sea, feel the weight of her lungs pull in air like she hadn't asked for it. Every night, dream of him - Loki's hands, Loki's laugh, Loki's sharp tongue whispering schemes against her ear. Sometimes she woke with his name clawed raw from her throat.

Thor had not fared better. The once-god-king drank himself stupid, stumbling through the village with a belly that sloshed like his keg. He tried to hide behind jokes, behind the rumbling laughter of Korg and Miek, but Beyla knew the truth. When he looked at her, when he was sober enough to remember, his eyes screamed I lost them too. Father, mother, brother.

They didn't speak of him. Not aloud. That name was ash in their mouths.

So when the ship landed one gray morning - a rocket-shaped metal beast spitting steam onto their little dock - Beyla didn't rise to meet it. She stayed by the shore, the waves cold at her boots. She only turned when Rocket stomped down the gangplank, ears twitching, his voice already too loud.

"Well, well, well. Look at you two! The royal wrecks of New Asgard." He squinted up at Thor's gut, then at Beyla's hollow eyes. "Jeez, I thought gods aged better. You look like somebody wrung you out and left you to dry."

Thor scowled, clutching a bottle to his chest. "Go away."

Behind the raccoon padded a giant - or at least, a man who seemed more gentle oak tree than flesh. Bruce Banner, only it wasn't Banner. It was Hulk's body wrapped around Bruce's face, like some impossible compromise of monster and man. He raised a giant green hand in awkward greeting.

"Uh. Hi. We... we need you." His eyes flickered to Beyla. "Both of you."

Rocket crossed his arms. "Half the universe is gone. Don't know if you noticed while you were wallowing in fish guts and self-pity. We've got a plan to fix it."

Beyla's lips twitched - the faintest ghost of a laugh. "Fix it? You can't fix death." Her voice cracked. "You can't... fix him."

Rocket's ears perked. He grinned, sharp and cruel. "Ohhh. You mean tall, dark, and stabbed-through-the-heart? Yeah, about that-"

"Enough." Bruce's voice cut sharp, protective. He looked at Beyla with something like pity. "There's a chance. That's all we're saying. A chance."

Her heart faltered. The earth tilted. A chance.

Thor barked out a bitter laugh, swigging from his bottle. "Leave us alone. Haven't you heard? The age of heroes is over."

Rocket rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Real inspiring speech, Big Lebowski. You coming or not? Because the clock's ticking and I'm running low on patience."

Beyla's fingers dug into her palms. She wanted to scream. She wanted to weep. Instead she whispered, "Take me with you."

Thor's head snapped toward her, betrayal in his bleary eyes. But Beyla did not look back. Her gaze locked on Bruce - because behind his words, behind Rocket's cruelty, there had been a spark of truth. A chance. And for Loki, she would burn her soul to seize it.

⸻

The ship smelled of old leather and gunpowder. Rocket muttered to himself while flying just above the sky scrapers, his little paws flicking switches. Thor slumped into a corner, already snoring, beer foaming at his beard. Beyla sat stiff-backed, staring out the viewport at the stars.

Bruce lowered his voice when he spoke. "I know this is... a lot. But what we're doing, it isn't impossible. We're going to use the Quantum Realm - time travel, basically. We're going to steal the Stones before Thanos ever had them. Bring them back. Undo everything."

Beyla's breath hitched. "Undo..." Her nails bit crescents into her skin. "That would mean-"

He nodded gently. "That would mean him too."

Her eyes filled before she could stop them. She turned her face toward the clouds, letting tears slip soundlessly down her cheeks.

⸻

The Avengers Compound brighter than she remembered - rebuilt, buzzing with a kind of brittle hope. Natasha moved like a blade through its halls, all sharp edges and exhaustion. Scott Lang rambled about "Back to the Future logic." Tony sparred with words more than fists.

Beyla kept to the shadows. She didn't belong here, not really. She wasn't an Avenger. She wasn't even Asgardian anymore. She was just a widow clinging to ghosts.

Until Steve Rogers laid out the map. Until the words "New York, 2012" flashed across the holo-screen.

Her heart stuttered. 2012. The Chitauri invasion. Loki at the center, smiling with his scepter, full of arrogance and fire. Her Loki - alive.

Thor shifted uncomfortably beside her. He couldn't look. But Beyla? Her eyes locked on the plan, unblinking.

She would go. She had to.

⸻

Time fractured like glass.

She landed in chaos - smoke and fire curling up skyscrapers, the thunder of the Hulk's roar rattling the ground. The Battle of New York, reborn. Her stomach lurched. She hadn't been here the first time, hadn't seen the world nearly fall - and yet it all felt carved into her bones.

Her bees swarmed without her command. After years of silence, they burst from her skin, thousands of wings buzzing like thunder. They knew. They felt him.

"Stay sharp," Natasha hissed, moving past her. Scott babbled something about the scepter. Beyla hardly heard. Her eyes had found him.

Her pulse thundered, drowning out the chaos around her. The scepter, the shouting, Hulk's bellow in the stairwell - none of it mattered. There was only him. Loki. Bound and muzzled, beaten but defiant, his green eyes alive and searching.

And then the Tesseract slid to his feet.

He bent, slender fingers curling around its glow. The air shimmered with power. He turned his head - and saw her.

Their eyes collided across the marble floor.

Beyla moved before her mind could catch up, before reason could scream. She bolted, skirts whipping, bees exploding from her skin in a furious cloud. "Loki!"

The muzzle muffled his laugh, but she saw it - that wicked, impossible smirk. He shifted the cube in his hand, fingers flexing like he already knew what she would do.

And then she was there, crashing into him, her hands clutching his wrists.

The Tesseract blazed. The floor split with light.

He didn't hesitate. He leaned into her touch, eyes wild, and let it take them.

The last thing Beyla heard before the world tore away was Thor's shout - ragged, broken - and then everything blinked into blue fire.

And they were gone.