The rain didn't let up.
If anything, it only seemed to increase in volume and fury, battering against the gothic window panes of the sanctum like thousands of shards of ice. From the sound of it alone, it was a miracle they didn't shatter, though the reinforcement spells Strange had cast on the structure, compounded by those cast by sorcerers before him, may have also had something to do with their enduring integrity.
Wanda, having little else to do in the down time due to her relative inexperience, closed her eyes, squeezing her arms tightly as a jagged streak of white-hot lightning split the sky, and counted slowly, deliberately, until the earth and walls trembled, and Loki listened to the half-whispered numbers, his eyes having ceased their scanning of the book propped open on his knee as his lips surreptitiously shaped the sounds along with her, and tensed at the inevitable conclusion.
"It's coming closer." Standing in front of the scene, the untamed power within her swelling in response to the call of nature's wrath, Wanda couldn't help but feel that the crackling energy in the clouds was a part of her, that the wildness and chaos existed just as much within her as it did without. "The storm will be on top of us soon."
What if she lifted her arms, tilted her head to the sky? Would it come down and swallow her up? Would she return to the earth in a burst, a strike, a streak that burned and melted and seared, clearing the fields and forests of old life to begin anew?
And then a question appeared within her mind - Why should she choose to remain in a frail, human body, lost and alone on a used-up, dying planet... when she could fly? When she could burn?
"When the winter winds blow," the melodic cadence of a poem startled her out of her thoughts, and she spun, turning her back on the wail of the wind, the lingering rumble of thunder that now bore a startling resemblance to hooves pounding in the soil, to find Loki staring steadily at her, the book he'd been reading prior set aside on the table beside him, "and the Yule fires are lit, it is best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and the wild heaths." Rising cooly to his feet, he added with a note of warning, "Odin may lead the hunt no longer, witchling, but the hunt needs no master. It needs only to ride." He stepped beside her, brushing her arm. She suppressed a shiver. "I wouldn't listen too closely if I were you."
"Do you not hear it?"
Though quiet desperation robbed her of volume, he replied readily, nigh incredulously, "Hear it?" Wistfulness overtook his visage as he laid a hand on the glass, his gaze becoming distant with memory. "I could name the hounds you hear. I have stroked the manes of the horses trampling the clouds. How could I not hear the siren call of the hunt when that same chaos that so ardently guides its riders sings without end in me?" Slowly, he allowed his arm to fall, fingertips lingering on the pane. "However…" A frown, equally melancholy and bitter, curved his lips. "...I fear my place amongst their ranks may be lost."
Wanda glanced up at him, asking after a moment, "Do you regret it?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," Loki retorted dryly.
Undeterred, she elaborated, "Do you regret leaving your home?"
Taken aback by her boldness, Loki looked to Strange, not for assistance but for distraction, only to find him muttering rapidly under his breath, his eyes half-rolled back into his head as though locked in a trance. There would be no aid to be found there until the sorcerer either found what he was looking for amongst the maze of possibilities he'd so recklessly cast himself into, or returned of his own accord. Alternatively, Loki supposed he could reach into the endlessly mutable future to search for him, but rather hoped it wouldn't come to that. Instead, he refocused his attentions on the young witch, "Are you aware of the circumstances of my departure?" She continued to wait, her expression expectant and open. Running his fingers through his wavy raven locks - who'd have ever thought there would come a day where his hair would be longer than Thor's? -Loki sighed, "I'd like you to imagine something for me." Brief hesitation. A nod. "Imagine if you will that you shut your eyes when the sun is high, and you do so for hours. You go the rest of your day with your eyes closed, and when at last you open them, the sun is gone. Now, intellectually, you know that the disappearance of the sun is not of your doing, but the natural order of things. And yet, in your heart, do you not wonder if the sun vanished the moment you shut your eyes?"
Lightning cut its sharp lines through the sky, glowing so brightly it seemed almost blinding, then vanished. Silently, they counted the seconds, and when at last the thunder reached them, the sanctum quivered, as though the ancient structure, filled to the brim with tomes and spells and history, were frightened of what was to come.
"I regret it sometimes, too." Ripping his gaze from the storm, Loki cast a look of irritation in her direction. He did not recall ever saying that. Naturally, she ignored him, "But if I hadn't… I would have never become an Avenger," and outstretched her palm, gathering within her palm a crimson orb of infinite potential. "While I could not save my home, there are others I may yet save, and it is all thanks to this power." And there was unmistakable steel in her. In her gaze, in her spine, in her words, "I have to make it my own."
To find such resolve in one so young was rare, indeed. It seemed he had his answer.
Smiling softly, Loki told her, "It is already yours."
She waved a hand, "You know what I mean."
But he shook his head. "Acknowledging that your magic is a part of you is the first step to mastery. Think of it as your essence." Yes, these were the words his mother had told him when he'd doubted his own power, when achieving the strength and confidence of the other children seemed an impossible task. "It is not simply a tool to be used, nor a limb to be manipulated and maneuvered. It is not a piece of you. It is all of you." Even now, he could smell a hint of her perfume through the electricity thrumming through the air, pulling it taught. As though if he only turned around, "It is everything you are and everything you choose to be," he would see her standing there, arms outstretched and waiting. Who will you choose to be, Prince Loki Odinson? "Who will you choose to be, Lady Wanda Maximoff?"
She wiped away a layer of condensation to scowl at her pale reflection. "Everyone is so interested in what I can become. What about who I am now?"
"What is the difference? Who we are, who we become. What does it matter what others think so long as we are always ourselves?" Briefly, though it may have been a trick of the light, the hair in his own reflection seemed to lengthen, curling down and framing a slender torso, and when he spoke, his tone carried with it a musical tone, higher in register and flowing, "In every shape, in every form, I am undeniably still myself." When Wanda looked sharply beside her, however, Loki looked the same as always, though there was a sadness cut into his features that lent credence to the claim that he truly had lived hundreds of lifetimes, and carried them all with him in a body not yet past its prime.
A sharp, shuddering gasp from behind them interrupted the conversation, as they each spun to find Strange panting, shaking, his skin shining with cold sweat.
He had overtaxed himself. Wanda rushed to his side, catching him before he could sink to the floor. "If this is going to work," he dragged in a ragged breath, "then we have to go now. Every second we lose is a point in his favor."
Standing over the pair, Loki observed, "You're of no use to us like this."
Strange shot him an irritated glare, "I'll recover in a minute, you sententious-"
Before he could finish, he was stunned to silence by the quickness with which Loki gripped his wrist, and the liquid sensation of his own magic being returned to him through the contact.
His strength returned to him, Strange regarded the knowing smirk Loki wore with shock.
"Feeling better?"
"That was my magic. I shared it with you to help you-"
"I heal fast," replied Loki curtly, already rising to his feet. "Now, shall we go?"
He didn't ask what Strange saw on his vision quest. In all honesty, if their admittedly foolhardy endeavor were doomed to fail from the start, he'd rather prefer it to be a delightful surprise.
Once they'd stepped out into the squall, still standing under the overhang of the sanctum's roof, Strange slipped several bands onto his fingers, then knocked them together to create a portal with jagged, spinning edges that burned amber-gold, and cast it over his head, allowing the majority of the pelting rain to fall through the tear in space to do its damage elsewhere.
While creative, the magic it would take to cart around a portal when a simple umbrella would suffice was astronomical in its wastefulness. Aware of the sorcerer's watchful gaze, Loki allowed a modicum of his seidr to emanate from himself, then spread it out thinly around his person, forming a shield that would do little against a bullet, but more than enough against a storm.
When he was done, he grinned impishly at Strange, taking satisfaction from the exasperated sigh it earned him. Wanda, on the other hand, remained uncovered. Loki waited for her to perform some casting, or else pull an umbrella out from her bodice, but she simply continued to stare owlishly at the pair of them.
Right, then. Loki wordlessly dispelled his shield, projected a concentrated ball of his own verdant seidr into his palm, then carefully it spread out, allowing her to observe the steps. The most difficult part for a beginning practitioner was distributing the seidr evenly around the body, as a plate or a disk took far less effort to visual. Still, he threw the disk of focused seidr over his head, allowing the edges to fall until they enveloped him, more of a curtain this time than a dome. Not long after he'd finished, she made an attempt of her own.
The shield was too thick in places, too thin in others, but for a first try, showed remarkable aptitude and intuition. He doubted even he had done so well on his first try.
Loki felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. "Well done, witchling."
With the three of them now ready, they strode into the heart of the storm, buffeted by the howling winds, to the center of Central Park, where Heimdall had once aimed the Bifrost to transport himself and his brother to Asgard. It was a powerful place of concentrated energies, a haven for nature in the midst of steel structures and concrete. Drawing on its power, Loki snapped his fingers, and the ground opened like a gray maw beneath them, swallowing them whole before even a startled scream could be made.
A/N: The poem about Odin's Wild Hunt that Loki recites a portion of is from Mountain Thunder by Kveldulf Gundarsson. It was said that the Hunt often preceded misfortune, such as illness, death, or war.