Mischievous: Loki's Lost Legacy

Loki II[3]

"This makes no sense," Loki muttered under his breath as he paced the quiet halls of his chambers. He had stormed out of the council room, the news reverberating in his mind like a curse. His son? How could this child, this stranger, claim to be his son? It was impossible.

Loki's chest tightened with frustration, a sensation he rarely allowed himself to feel so deeply. He moved across the room in sharp, frantic strides, his usually composed demeanour shattered. He was used to being in control, to knowing every detail, every scheme that could possibly unfold around him. But this? This was different.

"How can this be?" he hissed, running his hands through his dark hair, pulling at the strands as though that might give him clarity. "I don't have a child. I 'can't' have a child!"

The more he thought about it, the more absurd it became. His life had been one of careful manipulation, of precise control over who he allowed into his world. How could this unknown boy simply appear, with a note claiming lineage to him, a connection that didn't exist? Loki had made sure of it—he kept himself distant from such entanglements, never forming any bonds that could trap him. There would have been a zero chance of him messing it up.

His fingers twitched, and without meaning to, Loki felt the crackle of his magic spark at the tips of his fingers, wild and untamed. He clenched his fists to contain it, but the raw energy leaked out in erratic bursts. His frustration was too much, slipping beyond his tight grasp. One by one, objects in his room began to tremble, small bolts of green flickering around them.

His mother, Frigga, had looked at him with such certainty, such belief in what she had said. She had 'felt' it, hadn't she? Her love, always so blinding, clouded her judgment. She was convinced, but Loki knew better. He had done nothing carelessly to father a child. There were no loose ends, no unaccounted-for moments in his life that could have resulted in this. There had to be some trick, some deception at play.

"It's a lie," he told himself, his voice rising. "A cruel, pointless lie!"

But even as he said it, doubts crept in. What if...? Thoughts of countless partners started to flash through Lokis's brain, not having the possibility to bear a child; he had been careful.

"No!" he snarled. The power surged again, this time more violently. A vase shattered as green sparks of his magic leapt across the room. The air around him pulsed with his growing anger as if the walls themselves were reacting to his inner turmoil. He tried to rein it in, but the betrayal he felt—betrayal by reality itself—was too great.

How could he not know his own life? How could there be a son he did not know of? His thoughts raced, circling the same impossible truth over and over again.

And yet, when he had looked at the boy... That moment, that fleeting second when their eyes had met. There had been something unsettlingly familiar in the child's face, an undeniable flicker of recognition that had made Loki's stomach twist.

But that couldn't mean anything. It 'didn't' mean anything.

"I am 'Loki'," he growled, pacing faster, his cape whipping behind him as the magic flared, making the lights in the room flicker ominously. "I do not lose control. I do not fail to see the bigger picture. I do not have... children." His voice cracked on the last word, though he immediately masked it with a louder spark of power that shot across the room, causing a chair to topple over.

The idea of having a child felt like some cosmic joke. Asgard didn't need 'more' reasons to doubt him, to view him as an outsider, an anomaly in their perfect kingdom. A child would mean responsibility, vulnerability, a weakness others could exploit, not to mention it would be claimed as illegitimate. It would shatter the independence and control he had built around himself like armour.

But the boy had been there, sitting on the bench, staring at the floor, alone and vulnerable. Loki had seen it, and despite his denial, the memory of that helpless figure gnawed at him.

His mind raced, going over every possibility. Was this some elaborate illusion, a trick played by his enemies? A ploy to make him question himself, his identity? Could it be one of his father's tests? Or perhaps something darker, something more sinister, designed to dismantle the fragile order he had built for himself.

"I refuse to believe it," he whispered, quieter now, trying to calm the storm within. But even as he said it, there was a nagging voice deep inside him that refused to be silenced. What if it 'was' true? What if the boy really 'was' his son?

His magic lashed out again, this time without warning. A mirror on the wall exploded into shards, the glass scattering across the floor. Loki stopped, breathing heavily, staring at the broken pieces. He was unravelling. The god of mischief, the one who always had an answer, a plan, was standing on the edge of chaos without a way forward.

Loki closed his eyes, trying to calm the rage and confusion swirling within him, but the image of the boy wouldn't leave him. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, the idea burrowed deeper into his mind, gnawing at him.

If the boy 'was' his son... what then?

He opened his eyes, the green flicker of his magic dimming slightly. The pieces of broken glass shimmered on the floor like fragments of his splintered thoughts.

"I will find out the truth," Loki finally whispered, his voice cold and determined. "And if this is some kind of trick, those responsible will pay dearly."

But if it wasn't... If this boy really was his son...

Loki didn't allow himself to finish that thought, instead letting the silence of the room wash over him as the last of his magic fizzled out.

13th september 2024
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