He was alone in the silence, the emptiness of being, and as he stared at the first sun disappearing below the flat, oceanic horizon, he began to see the other stars in the sky with greater focus and realize just how pointless his existence had been. He was but a drop of water in Asgard's oceans, but a speck of dirt in the breeze, the dust in a sunbeam, only visible when the light was shining right.
He sat completely still on the rocky outcrop, looking out over the ocean. He used to come here as a child, to think, and to practice his charms. Once he would have been able to see the glorious rainbow Bifrost cut across his panoramic view of the ocean, but where it had ended, all he could see was steam from where the water fell into a bottomless abyss. Even as a youngster, this place surrounded him with the universe, and demonstrated its infinite majesty to him, making him realize how small and insignificant he really was. He was not real power, he was not even close. What he was observing now was real power.
He thought of the other nobles and warriors, feasting, celebrating his recovery, Thor making toasts to his absentee brother, making him appear ten foot tall, putting him on the footing of their gods, and comparing him to his own human friends, the Avengers. He could not listen to such things, nor did he feel like talking to anyone, playing that everything was alright while he was breaking. He was tired of playing pretend. He was not an Avenger; he was not a hero that fought for justice and truth. He was a murderer, he was weak, and he was nowhere near as smart as he thought he was. He knew well that even if he changed his ways, it would mean nothing. Ragnarok was still going to come, and nothing could be done about this vicious cycle. He was being hailed as a saviour, although he knew well that he was not. He was just a man that wanted to be alone, who had never stopped falling, into an abyss, through the cracks, into madness, in love, into despair. He had always been falling.
He watched the stars behind the sun, and he wondered how many of those stars he had been to, how many he had seen close up. He wondered where Earth was in that sea of blinking lights and he wondered about Bella and Sophia. He knew that they were strong, stronger than anyone else that he had ever known, in any realm, but he could not get the image out of his head of the pair of them crying, mother trying to comfort daughter whilst pretending not to hurt, lying.
"I know what you are going to say, so save your breath," he hissed.
"Do you?" Heimdall countered him, "your brother worries for you, and cares for you very much. That is what I wish to say most."
"I know, Heimdall."
"Why did you leave?"
Loki looked back down at his hands as he meshed them together uncomfortably, "I will not pretend to be something I know I am not. I am past that childish need."
"Is this the real Loki speaking to me?" Heimdall asked.
"Yes," Loki sighed, "I am sick of wearing a mask, pretending to be what I am not, to be free from my expectations."
"You went too far," Heimdall noted.
"Thanks a lot," Loki hissed, "I am sure you have duties to attend to Heimdall. Attend."
"A gatekeeper of little use if there is no gate to keep."
"And so without your usual duties, you instead chose to seek me out and make light of my failures as a son, nay, as a sentient creature. That makes me feel a lot better, thank you," Loki replied sarcastically, "have you ever considered a career as a motivational speaker?"
"I never said any of that," Heimdall said simply, "you did."
"Now twist the knife counter clockwise," Loki hissed.
"Obsessing over your past will do nothing for you, as your mortal said," Heimdall told him, "they fare well. They are stronger than you give them credit for."
"They are not my mortals," Loki's glare cut through him like a hot knife, "I do not claim ownership of them. They are individuals, treat them as such."
"I did not mean to cause offence."
Loki sighed, "I know," his shoulders drooped.
"Isabella is strong," Heimdall continued, "one of the strongest souls I have ever seen throughout the nine realms in my three thousand years service to the king. She will survive, for her daughter."
"How is Sophia?"
"Sophia is not as strong as her mother, but her soul is full of fire. She continues to fight by her mother's side, and she believes that you will return."
"I wish I didn't have to let her down," Loki sighed.
Heimdall looked up at him, "you will not, unless you stop trying to return to them," he sighed, "but first, you should return home. There you will find some of the answers to what has been troubling you most."
"And what is that?" Loki snapped back.
"If you are truly evil as he once claimed," Heimdall said simply, "you have much to live for, young prince."
That was when Loki turned to face him. Heimdall's golden armor caught the last dying rays of the sun and cast a golden glow around him, like an aura, and for a moment, he did truly look like a god.
"What is life? Life is nothing; it is merely a way of nature to keep her meat fresh. Life has no meaning or purpose."
"No," Heimdall said simply, "life has the meaning and the purpose you put to it."
Deep inside, Loki knew that Heimdall was right.