Loki lay on the ground of his holding cell. It was barren, cold and flat stone comparable to that of the surface of Jotunheim. The rays of sunlight were beginning to seep through the barred, narrow windows, as though Bifrost were opening to a realm as desolate and dark as Svartalfheim, illuminating the skies of the realm with a beacon of hope.
The cell door was made of metal which Loki could bear to respect, yet was ready to tear off of its hinges at a moment's notice. There was another, idle cell adjacent to his, completely identical in appearance.
Beyond that, the building held a desk with various items on it, a chair, and a filing cabinet. They were covered in dust from the idle loitering of their mere existence, as the town reveled in a paradise with little crime. Most of the citizens placed in these cells were placed while they were full. Very full.
He had conjured one of his many books from his personal library. His mother had given him many Asgardian interpretations of Midgardian books, such as the one he was currently reading; The Völsunga Saga.
The runes grew and flourished as the artistic interpretations of the war against Siggeir danced across the pages in graceful motion. The Midgardian interpretations of Odin were always crude, and they even thought that Loki had given birth to his horse, so it was hard to take some Midgardian works seriously since in reality Sleipnir was older than him. Afterall, that was all the result of some mischief Loki had in Denmark. It was a source of self confidence to know that he had influenced an entire culture with just a few jokes.
All of his Colombian works were back at his home, which he could easily go retrieve, but he didn't want to risk his captors entering the building and being met by his absence. He could wait for entertainment and not jeopardize his plan in the process. The Völsunga will do.
The seconds turned into minutes, the minutes into hours. The Völsunga saga made Loki pique with interest more than a few times, and he read the story as though it was written by Frigga herself, one of the greatest literary writers in all of Asgard.
It was a nice escape from the reality of his situation, even if the saga was dark and gruesome at times; most times actually, and hardly what any sane person would consider a source of emotional comfort.
His wounds and fractures had healed entirely by this point, his formerly open wounds now a plane of fresh skin underneath the fresh Asgardian tunic and pants. His limbs and appendages were completely aligned, and he could finally breathe without feeling as though his brother's hammer was pressed against his chest.
As he read the saga, he heard the main door creak open, the light shining through as an opening of a ravine at midday. Through the harsh and sudden light, he was able to see the silhouette of Mirabel walk through the door towards him. Shortly after, she closed the door behind her. Loki quickly concealed his book.
She was holding a piece of blank paper and a pencil. She lit a lantern on the desk, utilizing a box of old matches adjacent to it. It took her a few tries before a match actually lit, but the lantern was luckily still fueled. Not like anyone actually used it, though. The mild source of illumination was refreshing, considering his only prior sources were the two narrow, barred windows at the top of each of the two cells.
Mirabel walked over to his cell door as he stood up. He felt so much better, as just hours ago he felt as though he could collapse at any moment from the pain he endured during their walk.
Mirabel kneeled down to the ground, placing the paper on the floor and writing a sentence on the upper-right of the paper, then flipping it around to him.
"WE CAN'T TALK, BECAUSE OF DOLORES."
Loki understood as he kneeled to the ground as well; Dolores hearing that Mirabel was in the same room as him might not end well. He hadn't had a single visitor yet. He figured that Alma likely made it that way, and he was sure Dolores was told to listen in on him in case something happened.
Mirabel handed the pencil to him, gesturing to the left side of the paper. He wrote in the area accordingly.
"I CAN'T TELL YOU MUCH."
Mirabel shook her head as she turned the paper over to her again, writing a few sentences. She turned the paper around again.
"TELL ME WHAT YOU CAN. TELL ME YOUR REAL NAME, YOUR REAL BIRTHPLACE, MORE DETAILS ABOUT YOUR MAGICAL ABILITIES. TELL ME THE NAMES OF ANY OF YOUR REAL RELATIVES. TELL ME YOUR BIRTHDAY."
Loki had the feeling that she wasn't saying something. These were all questions which he could not answer without lying or exposing the truth, his former tactic. But Mirabel was a friend, so he figured he could trust her. With terms, of course. He looked down to the paper, and back at Mirabel as he contemplated. Mirabel simply gestured to the paper with her lips.
Loki wrote down a simple phrase stating the simple conditions of him telling the truth.
"YOU MUST PROMISE NOT TO SHARE THIS WITH ANYONE."
Mirabel quickly wrote her response, turning the paper back to Loki.
"TE LO JURO POR DIOS."
Loki let out a sigh. He knew that Mirabel was usually trustworthy, but at the same time, her mind was influenced by something Asgardian. Not necessarily the artifact itself anymore, but her judgment could be clouded by the memory of the dream itself.
"MY NAME IS LOKI ODINSON. I WAS BORN ON ASGARD ON JUNE 26, EXCEPT IN 965 AD. I AM CAPABLE OF ILLUSION PROJECTION, DUPLICATION CASTING, ENCHANTMENT, SHAPESHIFTING, ETC. MY BROTHER IS THOR, MY FATHER IS ODIN, AND MY MOTHER IS FRIGGA."
When the paper was turned to Mirabel, she studied it with the same demeanor and stare as the gatekeeper. She must have read it a few times before finally writing her response.
"IS EVERYTHING YOU SAID THIS MORNING TRUE?"
Loki tried to remember what he had said. The dream, his interference, and the cracks in the courtyard. Everything that had happened was a result of an Asgardian artifact he had yet to identify, and he needed to end it here and now.
In this train of thought, Loki remembered the figure he saw on his way to the cell. He remembered the opening of Bifrost at Sol's dawn over the towering mountain ranges.
Mirabel tapped on the steel cell door with the end of the pencil lightly, bringing Loki back into the present moment.
He took the pencil and re-read the question put before him. He responded with one of the simplest yet most influential responses known to any language; a tiny word with a massive meaning.
"YES."
Mirabel didn't seem surprised; she kept her face straight throughout the entire ordeal. Finally, she wrote another question.
"WHAT GAVE ME THE DREAMS?"
Dreams…? More than one…? He knew only of a single dream; the void of Ginnungagap and the door to Hel. He knew not of these so-called other ones. He wrote a simple quotation of her phrasing.
"DREAMS?"
Mirabel frowned when she read it. They were beginning to run out of space on the paper as well, so she wouldn't be able to ask much more.
"AFTER THE ONE THAT GOT YOU NEARLY KILLED, I HAD A SECOND DREAM."
Loki didn't know anything about a second illusion; could the artifact be desperate for her specifically? Most Asgardian artifacts rarely gave dreams, if they even did, to anyone in range at random; even presumably Mjolnir showed him the gifting ceremony of Thor before it actually happened.
But to specifically and exclusively target the girl who is the black sheep in her family, and give her multiple visions in the same night? That wasn't normal.
Asgardian artifacts were typically intelligent; Mjolnir being able to calculate the most efficient pathfinding known to the realms, or Destroyer being capable of fully autonomous combat with nothing but orders. But the vision-dreams were not necessarily made with the awareness and targeting of a certain individual, nor the exclusion of anybody else based on anything but distance.
The artifact giving the vision-dreams to Mirabel must have assistance from another consciousness, one capable of intense Asgardian sorcery. Loki had even used Mjolnir to give his brother a bad nightmare once, comparable to sleep paralysis, and it was likely the hardest spell he had ever cast. And it didn't even scare him that much, so it was a waste. Loki let out a slight smile thinking back to it, though.
Loki began to write after Mirabel had flipped the page over to the other, blank side.
"THERE WAS ONLY ONE I AM AWARE OF. THAT DREAM CAME FROM AN ARTIFACT OF MY PEOPLE THAT IS SEEMINGLY HIDDEN SOMEWHERE NEAR. WHATEVER YOU DO IN THAT DREAM, DON'T OPEN THAT DOOR."
Loki instinctually wrote in a smaller font this time, due to his sentence being remarkably long. He remembered more of that damning dream sent from Hel itself.
The vision of his family dead, and a deranged and blind Heimdall. The vision of himself as a Jotun, holding a long but blurry staff-looking metal object that could likely be key to uncovering the secrets locked behind the vision.
Mirabel wrote a simple question, yet one he was all too frequently asked on Asgard.
"WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?"
Loki knew she didn't understand the visions that come from artifacts. He knew that she would likely see a darker future if she entered that door, and he didn't even want to know why she was chosen by the artifact, and/or its consciousness. He wrote a matching, simple response.
"TRUST MY INSIGHT."
Mirabel abruptly got up, taking the pencil but leaving the paper on the floor with him. He concealed the paper using his magic, storing it in his casting pocket.
Mirabel saw it, but seemingly didn't care. He had already explained some of his magic powers, so it shouldn't be that odd.
She turned around and opened the door, her skirt being blown back by the breeze. As the light seeped through for a second, she walked out, closing the door behind her and cutting off the illumination, leaving only the lit lantern and the barred portals.
Loki sat up again as the limited sunlight seeping through the tiny barred windows began to fade. Standing up, he began to pace around the small, probably 3 or 4 meters wide cell, if he had to guess.
There was nothing in the cell when he got here. At all. Not even a ragged cot for him to rest on. He thought about trying to cast the illusion of a bed early on, but remembered quickly that his illusions were not solid.
Loki began digging through his 'little' conjuring pocket dimension with his mind, where he stumbled upon a spare poncho given to him by his mother. It wasn't much, but at least it was something.
He conjured the poncho onto himself as he would normally, taking it off and laying it completely unfolded in the barren corner of the cell.
At least it would work for him when night fell, but from what he could tell, it wasn't even close to twilight yet.
Loki lay on the makeshift bed after conjuring Völsunga. He continued to read the book of betrayal and false love as he was idly waiting for the time to pass. He wanted to get his circadian back on track, even though he was admittedly tired.
He realized that there were actually useful things that he could be doing though, such as plotting out his plan for strategic negotiations and selective withdrawal of information.
So, he summoned his notebook. It was given to him by his mother 500 years ago, when Loki decided to learn how to use sorcery to animate books.
The book had an enchantment, allowing it to produce new pages as they were needed. It came accompanied by all of the artistic tools required to illustrate the complex art.
But he didn't care for the artistic in this scenario; the animation was brought about by sorcery alone, meaning he could create an intricate, detailed and chronologically animated plan with just a simple plume, some runic gilding ink, and the book.
He began sketching out the runes of his goals in Asgardian, one goal at the top per page. These goals consisted of gaining trust, pacifying the attitude towards alien gods, carefully revealing the truth, and commencing diplomatic negotiations.
The end goal of negotiations was a defensive alliance between Encanto and Asgard, similar to the Æsir-Vanir treaty. It would be odd, but Loki felt attached to this quaint village, protective of it even, and he knew it couldn't defend against even other Midgardian powers.
As Loki sat on the wool poncho, which was actually Ecuadorian and not Colombian, the sound of rain hitting the clay roof tiles began, like pebbles against a concrete wall. The only remaining source of light began to fade, the lantern having gone out earlier due to the wick not being pushed up further.
Loki didn't mind until it got harder and harder; like he imagined the common hailstorms on Jotunheim. He figured Pepa must have been in a bad mood. He got up and looked out the window to see the water pouring down the clay roof tiles in solid columns. The storm could cause a flood if it went too far.
The crackling of thunder rang across the valley. It did not scare Loki because it was thundering when it shouldn't have been, he was used to that having lived in the same area as both Thor and Pepa. It was rather because it was nearby, that he was scared.
When he focused his senses with his ears, he could faintly hear a few people shouting over the sound of the pounding water droplets. "Fire! The Pérez barn was hit by lightning!" The door to the building flung open with a loud thud, bringing Loki to jerk around to face it, the sound of the rain flooding in at the same time as the water made itself at home.
In the door frame he saw the familiar muscular figure he had seen earlier that morning. Behind him was another, slightly less muscular but still quite strong figure. Both walked in promptly, wearing Ecuadorian ponchos. As lightning struck in the distance behind his cell, the light flooded through the narrow rectangular windows.
The light didn't last long, but he could recognize the familiar long blond hair and beard of the first figure, and the familiar darker skin and short hair of the second. While analyzing their faces, he came very close to missing the familiar sight of Mjolnir in his brother's hand.