So many of his early memories were spent in the library. As Loki grew older, the awareness of his brother's superiority became only more visible, and books became his escape. Thor was always besting him, Father was never amiable, and he came to accept studying as the leader that would not criticize.

As Thor and the others hefted their weapons, he sharpened his mind like the tip of a dagger. The deep shadows of the library kept him safe. There, he was a spirit weaving in the shadows of the shelves, pale and vulnerable. He practiced his spells in a far corner of the chamber, casting illusions of tiny orikkin that gamboled in slants of light.

His father, of course, noted his devotion. "Loki," he intoned as they left the evening meal, "you forego your war training. Your duty to the protection of Asgard is neglected. The future regent of the realm should be concerned with matters of the the people, not matters of the self. See to it that you, too, complete your training."

There was no way Loki could contradict him. "Yes, Father," he whispered as Odin strode ahead.

After that, the safety of the library seemed to dissipate. He returned anyway, but found his mind wandering as he read- Could Heimdall be watching him, reporting on him at this moment? He stiffened in his chair when he thought of the possibility.

But his father's words could not blunt his enthusiasm now. Loki had already found his talent; knowledge was his guardian, not swordsmanship. He pulled down the oldest and dustiest volumes, their secrets twisting like snakes around his heart. Ancient scholars, unheeded since the fall of Svartalfheim, muttered secrets into his ear. Their knowledge coursed through him like blood.

He had always excelled in tutelage, over all the other noble children, but this was beyond that. This was power. The things he learned resonated in his bones. A secret longing awoke inside of him, fed by his newfound ability.

He kept it secret. Practiced in the corner. Waited.