I discover that the beam coming down from the sky had created a huge crater where there once was a dune. As I slide down its side to investigate further, the light ceases almost a suddenly as it had started. In the centre of the newly made dish were what seem from afar to be several bundles of cloth, dyed a dark yellow. I decide to make nothing of it, and walk towards it some more. I stop however, when the bundles stand up, revealing long flowing robes, golden half helms and weapons. I know the attire. It is that of the guards of Asgard. Fear grips me hard, and I turn to flee from the crater. The guards unfortunately have already spotted me. They spread out behind me in a huge arc, and begin to run, closing in on me from all sides. But I am running too. Another advantage I have is that the guards have no power outside Asgard. I do.

I let loose a huge blast of purple energy from my fist into the guards behind me, knocking a few of them into the sand. But there are still others running. I spot a tower of red stone and leap behind it before putting my next tactic into action. Closing my eyes, I allow my soul to release itself from my body, and it flies up, into the first group of ravens it finds. The birds that bear my name have always been friends to me, and I can occupy their bodies almost as easily as I can my own. I can also reside in more than one of them, controlling whole flocks if I choose to. That is what I am doing now. I swoop down into the face of the closest guard, and scratch with sharp talons at his eyes. He beats me off, but cannot go further in the chase. My hundreds of eyes see the rest of the company advancing. I release the birds and sprint from my hiding place. I have but one trick left that may save me yet. I arrive back to the cave where I had been living in my years of imprisonment. The guards block off the entrance and my escape route.

"You have nowhere else to run, prisoner Raven," calls one of my pursuers. "Surrender now."

"Oh, you misunderstand," I reply, "for I am done running. But I will not yield to you, Asgardian!"

I retreat into the shadows, so the guards cannot see me. I stay there hidden, but the Asgardians think they see me try to run past them. They launch themselves at me, but as soon as their hands 'touch' my shoulders, I disappear. All they had focused on was a replication of me, not the real me. A common trick used by most demons of the Universe, it's surprising they did not anticipate it. I run for a gap in the line. I am so close to evading them, when a net of sorts is thrown over me, tangling in my limbs and pinning me to the ground. I try to throw it off by releasing a blast of energy, but nothing comes when I command it to.

"Your skills are of no use to you now, prisoner!" cries a voice, the speaker of which I cannot see. "This net is pure wound silver."

I should've been ready for this. Pure metals inhibit my power, meaning my tricks are useless if I am in contact with it. Of course they knew that, and I should've known they knew that. I let out a scream of frustration, and resort to struggling violently in an attempt to escape. All I succeed in doing is tying myself up further. I collapse to the ground, and allow the guards to drag me back to where they first arrived

"Wait!" I shout. I have no idea what I am trying to do by asking the guards anything, but I still proceed to do so. "Who is it you are taking me to? Odin?"

"Odin All-father has fallen into Odin sleep."

"So his son, Thor." Thor had been a young prince when I was first banished. Older than myself, but younger than my father or mother. He was heir, so if Odin could not rule, he would take his place.

"Thor was banished for disobeying the direct orders of Odin. Loki is on the throne."

"Loki…" I remembered him too. A thin, pale youth, with a piercing stare and high cheekbones, who stood behind his brother and father on the day of my exile.

"Yes," replies the guard. I note the distain in his voice. I could use this to my advantage. I had always been a talented talker, and I could lie more easily than I told the truth. At least, that is what my father had said to me. He had told me stories of those like me. From what he had said, I had gathered that Loki himself had the same skill in speech.

"You do not approve of Loki as a king?" I ask.

"No talking! Do not presume to twist my words, prisoner! Heimdall, open the gate!"

I start to answer, but the beam of light I saw before appears again in the sky, this time pulling us up with it. I am dragged up by the guards. I do not know where I am going, or what Loki plans to have done with me. But I am off the wretched planet that I was confined to. That was all that mattered to me.