A dual pov narrative from both main characters-Loki and Annalise. If you enjoy slow burn, immersive stories, with a good plot and the long awaited spice, then stop your search. Here is the story for you!
As the newly crowned king of Jotunheim, Loki...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Having finally reached the wall my father built, a swell of nostalgia washes over me. How many times have I run my hands along its stony edges, tracing its contours like a secret map; longing for adventure beyond its confines?
Countless.
But now, as my fingers glide over the rough stone, I search for a way in, desperate to go home.
It isn't long before I find what I'm looking for—the secret door I once escaped from. To my surprise, it's partially open. Did Thor and Leon beat me to it? Maybe Loki...
Eager to widen the gap just enough for my horse to squeeze through, I tug at the door with all my might. Yet no matter how hard I pull, it refuses to budge beyond a narrow opening.
"Sorry, girl, you'll have to stay here," I murmur, patting the old mare gently. "Wait for me near this tree. If I don't return after a day, go back to your master."
I don't know if she understands, but something in her eyes tells me she does.
With one last glance over my shoulder, I slip through the small gap, finally stepping into the land of my people.
Vannaheim.
Home.
The scent of smoke lingers in the air, and my mind immediately leaps to the worst possible conclusion. With a nervous breath, I peer ahead, my heart plummeting when I catch the faint orange glow of dying embers flickering in the distance.
Something has been burned.
"Please, gods, don't let it be the palace..." I lift the hem of my dress, racing against the wind, faster now, dread tightening in my chest.
As I draw closer, my relief is a burden lifted when I see my grand palace, fully intact and untouched by fire. But a massive crowd gathers—roamers and elves, swarming around the remains of the burnt brewery. They roll barrels upon barrels into the partially scorched stable, the horses now evacuated and tethered to makeshift posts in the open garden.
How in the name of the Norns am I supposed to get inside the palace with so many roamers milling about?
I think about it for a brief moment, pondering my little to no options. But then a sudden thought strikes me.
The old well.
Long abandoned after a collapse many years ago, this well leads to the dungeons. It's risky, given the unknown condition of the passage, but it would allow me unseen entry.
Wasting no time, I slip into the trees, skirting around the back of the palace that often goes overlooked. Having no entry or exit points offers safety from prying eyes.
Sinking to my knees, I hastily search the ground, brushing away soil until I feel the rusty iron bars against my palm. My fingers curl around the cold metal, about to lift, when a sudden ominous vision grips me like sharp talons, holding my psyche hostage.
