He knew it was foolish. A fool's mission for sure. Did he care? Not particularly. He was far too consumed by his own anger. His anger, betrayal, and hurt. Was there a hint of happiness for his brother? Yes, there was. There was heaps of it inside of his chest. But he also felt hurt, hurt that he hadn't even been considered! Not even a glance casted his way apparently. It was always going to be his blond oaf of a brother. It was never going to be him, no matter his ability to probably rule far better than his brother. His brother would drive the realm into the dust with his uncontrollable urge to fight anything and everything. But apparently, he was to be the leader of the Council. He would train (as if he needed any training), and he would learn the ways of being his brother's conscience. Did he want that? Well, he certainly didn't mind it. He was simply annoyed by the fact that he hadn't even been considered. He was at equal chance to be king. He was smarter than his brother, much better at dealing with diplomatic relations as well. He was younger yes, but only by a century or so. But his superiority in wit and diplomacy should be cause for him to be king!

He sighed and continued walking in the damp and dark chambers underneath his home for over a millennia. In his hand, a torch burned quietly. He did not dare use his exceptional abilities in this place. It was cursed and he knew that, yet he still walked deeper and deeper into the ominous cavern. His rooms were hundreds upon hundreds of horse lengths above him. It made him slightly shiver. He was so far below civilization as he knew it that it made his usually cool and calm façade start to crack.

His eyes darted around the cavern surrounding him. The sound of dripping water floated into his ears and caused him to study the walls. They were jagged and would be unkind to any mortal that dared try touch them. Runes were etched into the walls…or burned into them. He looked closer and could determine that they were placed there through the art of seiðr. He dared to step closer to a wall and reach his slightly shaking hand closer to the runes. They were of ancient origin, possibly dating back to the time when his grandfather was still ruling over Asgard. And if the rumors were true, then the age and complexity of the runes were of an ancient practice. He sucked in a breath and placed a hand upon the rock surface. For a moment, nothing happened and he thought it fine to let his hands slightly continue running over the surface. But then he watched as the runes of a scorched black coloring started to burn a golden color.

He stared in amazement and curiosity as the runes changed color if they were touched by his hand. He continued walking forward and allowing his hand to lightly trail across the jagged edges of the wall. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips as he walked, a childish excitement rushing through him. He still felt the anger and hurt inside of him, but he felt those emotions slowly dial down in intensity. They were being pushed down by excitement (much like the first time he made his mother smile due to her teaching him the art of seiðr) and an almost artificial emotion that seemed to seep from the runes and into his pale skin. He then noticed that the line of glowing runes were spelling something out as he walked. He stopped for a moment, stepping back from the wall to try and understand what the runes spelled out.

"The daughter," he whispered, his head having turned to the left to read the beginning of the glowing words, "shall…lie…in…rest…" He furrowed his dark eyebrows, his emerald green eyes studying the runes. The runes were ancient and he had to mentally translate them into their modern relatives. He then faced forward to read the few words in front of him, "until…that…ready…for…"

He used his free hand to continue trailing across the wall, walking and reading aloud as he did so. "the…throne…shall…call…for…her…awakening…" his emerald eyes widened slightly at the words. He had known the stories surrounding this place, but he had not heard any stories concerning the runic seals placed on the walls to ensure the creature inside did not escape. Or wake up, he thought amusedly. And then he realized something else. The creature inside was not a 'he' nor an 'it', as he had been told. It was a female if the runic script was in fact true. And he wasn't exactly doubting the runes at the moment.

He turned then, his eyes trailing towards the other runes in the cavern. They had all started to glow in the darkness after he finished speaking the runic script out loud. His emerald eyes widened as all of the runes began to glow a bright gold. His wide orbs drank in the light that was overtaking the heavy, inky blackness. He continuously turned in wonderment as each rune seemed to bring a whisper along with it. He could hear as each one spoke a small word, as if someone held their mouth to his ear and spoke in such a small and enticing way. He could feel a shiver crawl up his spine and he heard a slight thud, as if something from his target location had just fallen behind him. He looked at the place from where he had come and slowly turned around, his head turned down lightly. He did not know what he would see when he fully turned and laid his vision upon the sight.

But he certainly was not expecting what he saw.

A few lengths in front of him was a structure. It hung down from the cavern's ceiling like a hook. And attached to that hook was a contraption that seemed to hide one's face. Tubes and cords hung lifeless from their origin, the hook. The structure was grey, ash grey precisely. Red lights emitted from it at specific spots and he felt his breath leave him. His eyes trailed from the hanging structure to the ground beneath it. Kneeling on one leg was a creature of unknown descent. Its right arm was rested against its raised knee. Its left arm hung by its side, its hand balled into a fist as it put weight onto the ground through the arm. Its head dangled over its body, it's back hunched over, allowing weight to fall upon its left arm and right leg.

He was slightly frightened and pulled his torch towards his face, showing his features. His emerald eyes showed a morbid curiosity as he heard the sound of popping and cracking. A sound that reminded him of bones going back into place. His raven hair was lightly tousled and out of place due to his earlier show of running his fingers through them in anxiety. And at the moment, he wished to anxiously run his fingers through his raven black locks again and again. His pale skin had a red tint to it, due to the flames near his face. His face held a somewhat feminine shape to it, what with his high cheekbones that seemed to cut like sword edges and with his strikingly sharp jawline. He was a man who looked nothing like the rest of his family.

He stared as the creature lifted its head slowly, causing him to suck a deep breath in. But it was neither the pure white hair that sat, braided, upon the creature's scalp that made him freeze. Nor was it the ash grey skin that covered the muscle and bone that made up the creature's anatomy. And nor was it the piercing, murderous, ice-blue irises that were surrounded by black for the pupils and scleras. No, none of those made him freeze in anxiety and slight fear (though he would never willingly admit that). The thing that nearly terrified him was the distinctly female voice that held a raspy tone of insanity and a tortured mind.

"And who are you?"

Loki. His name was Loki Odinson.

A/N: Finally have published this. This has been in my head for a few years. The first few chapters will be short-ish. Not my usual 6K. I hope you all enjoy. I will keep updates quicker. I'll usually update so long as I have the next 2-3 chapters finished. This will span over the Thor movies and Avengers movies and beyond. Thank you all.

Love,

P