The fall had been... cathartic. The discoveries he made as he fell through the Ginnungagap, the enlightenment that came to him in that primordial void, had almost left him reeling from the wonder. The secrets that had been whispered into his ear by Yggdrasil herself as he tumbled down, along, through, and between her branches had been sweeter than the apples of Idun. The jarring sensation of landing in a new realm had been... not quite as wholly unwelcome as he had expected it to be, after all that wonderful falling. Nor was his reception quite as violent as he'd thought he would get when he did eventually stop falling and land somewhere.

Now, yes, some of the realms were generally hospitable. He rather liked Alfenheim, and Vanaheim held one of his favourite libraries – and Vanaheim had produced Hogun, so there could really be very few complaints about the place. Muspelheim though, not so much. Too hot by far, for his tastes. It was like Jotunheim, only they were Fire Giants, instead of Frost Giants. Loki never had a problem with the cold (and damn but now he knew why!) and he'd always had a (rather surprising, all things considered) affinity with fire, but he got enough flack about his lack of height back on Asgard, and the Aesir weren't giants. He really didn't need to be surrounded by actual giants.

Svartalfheim was... well, one truly needed to be a warrior/diplomat to deal with the Dark Elves, and as much as Loki was both a warrior and a diplomat, he really didn't enjoy their realm enough to want to put in the effort needed. As for Niflheim and Helheim... well, no one ever wanted to visit such places if such could be absolutely avoided.

But it wasn't any of these places where Loki landed. No. Of course it wasn't. Cold, blue flames licked over his frame where he was knelt on a metal plinth of some sort – a good, braced position that prevented his person from going splat all over his sudden landing site. The flames didn't burn, and went out quickly. He was fairly sure that he continued smoking for a moment though.

"Sir!" a voice called out, an authoritative tone.

Loki stood slowly, to gain his bearings, get a look around wherever it was he had landed.

"Please, put down the spear!"

That was when he felt it. But he'd let go of Gungnir to fall from the Bifrost. Why, then, was there the cool feel of metal in his hand? Loki turned his head to examine the object. A sceptre, not a spear, though that was certainly a wicked edge it had on the end, and... was that one of the infinity gems mounted upon it? It was. How interesting.

Just as interesting was that there were a number of humans – yes, humans, he had apparently landed on Midgard – approaching him. All dressed the same, all with their fascinating fire-arms held at the ready and trained on his own person.

"I apologise," Loki said, and with a twist of his hand, he sent the strange sceptre (that he hadn't been holding a moment ago) into one of his personal little pocket dimensions. "Landing here was not my intention. I must have slipped through a portal I was previously unaware of."

Several sets of eyes flicked briefly and nervously towards a large mount that had a small, glowing cube in the centre. Ah, he remembered that. While he'd been slipping down the branches of Yggdrasil, he'd glimpsed in on that black-skinned man, and the pale elder, discussing the object that was both myth and history. The source of power that they – clearly – did not yet understand in the least.

Not if he'd been able to slip right through it without even meaning to, somehow collecting a weapon-mounted infinity gem along the way.