Distortions In Time

by kakashidiot

Thanks to a horrible twist of Fate, Loki was not discovered by Odin after the Battle of Utgard. Growing up on Jotunheim, he lived as an outcast due to his small stature - until unfortunate events led him to other Realms. Familiar lands and people play their parts in this distorted tale. BAMF! Jotun!Loki AU. Set pre/during/after Thor/Avengers Assemble. MCU-verse.

75. The Dark Road: On The Edge III

Summary: The war between Jotunheim and Asgard draws to a close, but thanks to a horrible twist of Fate (or perhaps not), the nameless runt of Laufey-King is not discovered by Odin and so begins a remarkable journey of life that should not have been. Jotun!Loki AU. Set pre-/during-/after Thor/Avengers Assemble. MCU-verse only.

Warnings: ANGST! Loki-whump! Language, adult situations, violence, child abuse, dub-con, sexual assault (also of a minor), substance abuse, one abortion scene (sort of), slavery, sex trade (maybe), some mild original character/Loki M/M pairings. Also F/M pairings.

Comments: This is not a slash fic. Sorry. It's Loki-centric, although I definitely show the rest of the Avengers and etc. Please review! Constructive criticism welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers. Marvel owns it. I do not get paid for this piece of work. Sadly, but understandably. LOL.

SORRY FOR THE WAIT GUYS! T_T I hope this is worth the wait! [14,000 words for the chapter alone, not including my chatter and answers to questions etc!] Replies to reviewers (this time a continuing discussion about Loki's sexuality & gender) after the chapter glossary...

Guardians of the Galaxy was so awesome to watch. You know, all my life, I have loved raccoons and I never could understand why people didn't like them. I collected stuffed raccoon toys and I am a proud owner of a cute hat that looks like a racoon's head (not made from real raccoon). So to see my favourite animal in the world shooting people with a gun... I just had paroxysms of delight. Of course I loved Ronan (and his sexy ship) and Nebula. And Groot. So, of course, there's some GOG in this chapter.

Thanks to: InsolentKatt, Chiharu-angel, vincent1875, wbss21, Liz, Guest. You guys rock my world!

I hope everyone enjoys where I went with this chapter!

OSTS for this chapter: Ergo Proxy, Assassin's Creed, Imagine Dragons, Allegri's Misrere Mei, Enigma

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Lesson 75
The Dark Road: On The Edge III

[…the dance of the worlds…]

[…the song of the stars…]

[…can you hear it…]

[…the Realm of What Is in all its diversity…]

[…as thin as onion skin upon the vast Realm of What Is Not…]

Echoes reverberate, ripple across the Void, carried upon the thin streams of starlight. Aged lights and newborn glimmers, they span distance and time, carrying with their rays songs filled with memory. Across the Realms – cold Jotunheim, golden Asgard and empty Midgard – the starlight streams along their destined paths, weaving their own tapestry as all beings do.

Though teeming masses buried within rock and under clouds of smoke may never look up, may never hear, through armies mass and generals strategize and dark lords and wizened mages scheme, though great peoples build and sages postulate, though planets grow, develop and die, the star songs continue on until there is no one to hear.

Conquerors, militants, pirates, treasure seekers, bounty hunters, merchants and cargo carriers traverse these great spaces. Some remain on the edges and look up, others stand above and look down at the swirls of life and death and activities. Some gifted with Sight see, while others study with care the patterns – and within the recent movements of the Chitauri, within the supposed chaos, one can see it.

A Void. In the center, in the eye of the storm, a darkness overshadowing all, impenetrable, unreachable, menacing.

[…lines connect us…]

[…unseen…]

[…bring us, hold us together…]

[…perhaps, in the end…]

[…we are more connected than we thought…]

All her life, Mal had felt the tug of the stars, had known she had been born for a purpose. Now, on yet another mission for the High Council, alongside five other cargo ships, Mal was, as usually, looking at yet another life threatening mission. A mission which promised great reward if completed but also carried the risk of never seeing her loved ones again.

Faced with such a task, Mal once again found herself searching for the answer to the unasked question which she had pondered all her life. Truly, what draws me to this life – to this risk – when I have so much to lose? Seated in her command chair, fingers flying automatically over her datapad screen, mind far away as she yet again reviewed the codes assigned to the mission. It was all familiar: the same mission, the same parameters, the same tension and unease which accompanied each trip into the heart of the steadily amassing Chitauri army.

As her crew bustled about, double and triple checking their passes, their identification permits, the digital safeguards, the computers Interface and mainframe security, the efficiency of the Oxorbal Crystal Core and the engines.

For getting away quickly, Mal thought grimly. Code Red, being followed. Or Code Yellow, if we need to play decoy. Hopefully nothing like that will be needed. But… just thinking about it…

"Hey, Cap."

It was Hanni, her ever ready First Mate. Like the rest of the crew, Hanni had already shape-shifted and had emerged from her cabin, wearing tattered pants, a metal-ringed jacket and several piercings.

"Hanni – did you ask something?" Mal stuffed her datapad back into its seat pocket and turned to look her good friend and trusty shipmate over. She raised an amused eyebrow at her friend's new look. "You look appropriately fierce." A pause then: "I thought you wanted to try blue this time."
"Well, you know how it is – I get these ideas and Klick shoots them down."
"For a hacker, he does tend to play it safe," Mal smiled ruefully. "What did he think you would do – go all Nebula on us?"
"See – that's what I told him – I'm not interested in having to worry about prosthetics… just have the blue skin with a shocking head of white hair – but no." Hanni rolled her eyes. "Nothing like Nebula is allowed… 'Too strange', he said. 'It'll make us stick out like a sore thumb,' he said. Although in a swarm of stinking Chitauri, who wouldn't stick out. Worm-hearted dou'ma."
"I heard that!" Klick protested from behind his station. The usually pale-skinned, black-haired shape-shifter clad in muted browns now looked his part with a ragged, many pocketed black spacer's suit complete with headset.
"I feel ready, at any rate," Hanni flapped a hand back at Klick insouciantly. "I don't know about you but I feel like this might be the moment."
"You said that the last fourteen times," grunted Sharx, the Tro'watal's latest pilot and co-engineer. "Every time we've gotten in, nothing's happened. Nothing's turned up."
"It's the worst invasion I've seen," Hanni had to agree. "No clear date. No clear destination. It's definitely new for the Chitauri to be so indecisive."
"Or perhaps everything is being kept incredibly secretive for some reason. Perhaps…" Mal paused to stare out her ship's viewports down at the ringed planet looming over them. "Perhaps they are waiting."
"You've got a feeling, cap?" Comm Officer and Tro'watal's physician, Tando, asked.
"A feeling…" Mal shrugged then, pushing her unease further down.

There is something…
There is something…

She could not help but remember her parents admonitions to listen. Listen, they had urged her after yet another scrape she had gotten herself into. Listen – the silences will speak to you, will warn you. Unspoken words may yet lead you to where you ought to be.

There is something…

Mal never could understand what her parents had meant. Mystical mumbo-jumbo had never been the pragmatic girl's strong suit. There was only what she knew: another mission, another reconnaissance mission, another attempt to find the time and destination of the Chitauri's attack. The shape-shifter crew was to, yet again, infiltrate the fleet, bearing much needed energy and food supplies. Deployed from a small, as yet entirely formed star system, Mal and the other captains, under the command of the High Council, risked life and freedom to ascertain the motivations and movements of the Chitauri.

Not that they are moving all that much, Mal sighed, glancing over at a secondary screen at her elbow which displayed the main positions of the Chitauri forces in the Fen'chi Galaxy three days prior. Information was crucial but difficult to ascertain as true or false, which resulted in covert missions to scope out the fleet's positioning. Hardly making any headway…Perhaps this time it would be different.

There is something… No. There is only what I know, Mal told herself. The mission, the parameters, the rational possibilities, the Codes.

"Cap – Mal?"

Hanni again, this time joined by a concerned looking CO Tando. A short, round-faced sensitive individual, Tando had been Mal's source of mainstay, particularly when crises arose.

"It's alright, Hanni, Tando," Mal sighed. "I'm just thinking…"
"Thinking is good…" Tando agreed tentatively.
"I just feel like there is something…"

There is something…
…wrong…

"Wrong," Mal murmured and then sat up, shaking her head. "Never mind me, I'm just being… Ugh, I don't know."
"What is it that pops into your mind?" Tando asked. "Breathe deeply and speak what comes to your first."
"You know I can't just do that-"
"Try," Tando placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Give it a try."
"It's just," Mal glared at her hands. "We must go… And yet… something bad… has happened? Will happen?"
"We know the codes, we know the drills. There's nothing for it," Tando said, with an encouraging smile. "If you feel something, it's for a reason and all we can do is be more wary than usual. Otherwise, no cause for concern, correct?"
"Yeah," Hanni agreed. "Unless we run into the Dark One ourselves, or unless the High Command of the Chitauri comes round for an inspection, or the Other has another fit of impatience or Nebula or Gamorrah show up and we get press-ganged into-"
"You aren't helping," Klick said.
"Don't do anything stupid and we'll be fine," Sharx nodded. "No blabbing, no getting lost on off-limit decks, no hacking-"
"Hacking will happen-" Klick muttered.
"No overt messy hacking will happen-"
"We hope," Klick muttered again gloomily. "The organic bionic systems would drive anyone mad-"
"No one unexpected will show up," went on Sharx. "We'll just offload. Walk about. Negotiate a return. And our pay. Listen a lot. Leave."
"The usual Code Blue," Tando nodded.
"I'm hoping for results," Hanni smiled. "We'll get good news-"
"Good news?" Klick asked, eyebrows rising.
"Bad news?" Hanni corrected herself.
"Well… not so much bad news for us. We can return home," Sharx pointed out.
"News," Hanni rolled her eyes at her nit-picky crewmates. "We'll have news and we'll get out and we'll be the team to achieve Code White."
"Speculation," Mal absently reminded them, then forced herself to focus on the group before her. "Well, Tando is right. There is no way but forward. Let's do it then – what will be, will be."

[…we are more connected than we thought…]

[…more supported than we hoped…]

[…less alone than we dreamed…]

[…bound together…]

We were all born for a reason, that was what her mother had told her time and time again. We were all given our parts to play, our threads to weave in the tapestry that is Life. So you must be still, Mal, be still and listen when you lose your way, so that the silence, the starlight may lead you to where you ought to be.

[…less alone than we dreamed…]

[…bound together…]

"All hands on deck," Mal pulled the comm link down in front of her mouth, headset now firmly in place. Adjusting her battered jacket lapels, double-checking her look in the telecomm screen, Mal's red eyes wandered over her outfit. Her long hair was now pulled back, severely braided and her face, stark and strong and accented harshly by neat facial tattoo she had applied carefully the day before, looked cool and confident, speaking of long experience in the Captain's chair.

"All hands on deck," she repeated. "Tando on Radar, Sharx at the Wheel, Vyrn'or in Engineering. Smyu and Lonil will stand by with Vyrn'or. Klick on the Interface. Klick, keep a signal ready for the Sarcofagi just in case. Have your insertion programs running the moment we arrive. Keep me updated. Hanni, on Tactical Offense-Defense. Tora, stand by in the cargo bay – by the Shields Console to back up Hanni if need be."

A pause. The rest were taking their seats, faces solemn – a shared familiar light of determination in unfamiliar features.

"We all know the drill. Let's run to success, let's follow the path, let's play our part, let's return home."

With a grave nod, Mal sat back.

"Full speed ahead, Sharx."

-0-0-0-

Sanctuary. That was the official name for the dying planet upon which the Mad Titan, Thanos, had seemingly first appeared. From whence he came, none knew for certain, yet tales spawned, as they must in the wake of a great coming. The Titan had reformed himself with the power of a dying star, some had said, and in doing so had destroyed an entire star system. Others surmised Thanos had ripped his way through the barriers of time and space and reality itself with his power and had forced his way out of the prison in which he had been incarcerated (intended to last until the end of time), the black hole itself. Or perhaps it was nothing so spectacular and, after having hid for time immemorial, Thanos had been licking his wounds until such an opportunity as the Chitauri's madness arrived. Whatever the case, the dark Lord who courted death now took up a position of power on the dying planet, surrounded by broken asteroids and drifting pieces of planets and the battered metal remnants of any Skrull, Xandarian or Noradian resistance, testaments to his adoration of the end of all things, of his Lady Death.

And over all, spread the gaping maw of the black hole. The same black hole, perhaps, as the one in which he had been imprisoned for so long. Or perhaps not, Mal mused. Or perhaps so. One never knows – and you don't ask either.

Mal had never landed on the dark surface of the planet upon which Thanos now resided – nor did the young Captain ever wish to. Even this close, this far away, she could feel his presence soak the air with the lust for blood, for vengeance – the deep desire to suck life from the very air itself. She shuddered.

Thankfully, we are nowhere near close to the planet today, Mal comforted herself bleakly. Tando was speaking rapidly in Chitauri with someone over the comm channel as Sharx brought the Tro'watal in a slow drifting arc down, under and around three more of the larger ships in the fleet. Ships is... one word to use for them, Mal mused as she leaned forward to look closer at the underbelly of the large biomechanical creatures which the Chitauri used for war. Other standard ships also hovered in between, large ungainly shepherds in the midst of equally large sheep. Two space stations also turned slowly in their places, no doubt housing even more of the army. Mal shivered as they passed by. So many. So, so many. And yet…

Mal frowned.

There is… something…

There is something wrong. No, not wrong, off – strange – unusual.

"Captain," Tando's voice broke into her musings. "The Kirrik is not here – we are to rendezvous at the coordinates up on the screen."
"Ku'sha!" Sharx glared up at the new headings. "That's a good jump from here!"
"Not that far," Hanni shook her head. "Only the Quor quadrant. Look, it's by the Sabraz system. Poor bastards."
"Sabraz System. Not where we expected, for certain," Mal frowned. "Any reason given, Tando?"
"Apparently a half of the fleet is going ahead to their destination," Tando shrugged. "That was all they said."
"No word on the destination, hm."
"No, but… we were right – the main portion of the fleet is waiting for something. Wherever they are going, I think they mean to hop it all in one."
"There's no way you gonna hop across the galaxy just like that," Klick snorted. "No amount of power can carry that. Not with a fleet their size."
"Especially not if they are aiming for another galaxy," Hanna added thoughtfully. "Unless…"
"Unless they have something with infinite power," Mal said grimly. "Unless they intend to use an artifact of infinite power."
"An infinity stone?" Klick scoffed. "Please, there's no way they found one – else we'd all be dead now."
"Not if it's the space stone. Not if they don't exactly have it…" Mal paused and shook her head. "It sounds crazy – but there's no hope for it. We have to get to the Kirrik and see what we can find there. Maybe answers can be had on the Kirrik."
"They haven't gotten too far," Hanni said.
"Of course, it'll all be a waste if they hop it when we're gone, chasing the Kirrik," Klick pointed out. "We have no idea what their timeline or schedule is and all they need-"
"Shut up, Klick!"

-0-0-0-

The Kirrik and the rest of the fleet was indeed hovering in wait by the Sabraz system. Distress calls echoed through the comm and Tando quickly tuned his equipment to the Chitauri's signals, face shadowed with sadness as local news updates scrolled past his monitor. The primera planet was in the midst of fending off a Chitauri foraging attack and large parts of the capital city was now in flames. Every hostelry and scientific stations orbiting the planet now blazed their way through the atmosphere, some of them hitting the oceans, others decimating the landscapes they had the misfortune to crash onto.

Mal, glancing at her crew's solemn faces, sighed.

"Are there any of our people in the Sabrax system?" she asked softly.
"Well, if there were – they are probably dead now," Sharx grunted. "The oma'auzha's destroy everything."
"Or they would escape. No one is idiotic enough to set down somewhere they aren't able to get off easily," Vyrn'or's voice sounded tinny over the ship's comm, no doubt listening in at his engineering station.
"Well, I'd like to believe that – but I heard there's a whole group stuck on Midgard-" Sharx pointed out.
"Terra," corrected Hanni. "That's how they say it these days."
"Same difference," Sharx shrugged. "My point still stands."
"Only idiots mess around on Midgard," Mal shrugged. "I've heard that some folk, pirates and other desperate folk, land there – but the Skrull stay away and anyone with a healthy fear of Asgard stay away. Away and off."
"Well, the High Council won't be pleased about Sabrax, at all," Hanni pointed at another reading. "Even if none of our people are on the planet, the Sabrax System is a non-hostile environment for potential settling-"
"Not anymore."
"Shut up, Klick."

Carefully, the Tro'watal approached the fleet, offering the usual greeting and pass codes along with their identifications and ship manifests. Singling out the Kirrik, a sturdy, unprepossessing war cruiser, Sharx drew closer, following the familiar instructions of the flight dispatcher. Finding the appropriate docking stations, the Tro'watal latched on and, a few minutes later, Tora'a verified the seal lock and by the time both ships' hatch doors rose, Mal had made her way back to the cargo bay as well to oversee the transaction.

What followed was the usual chatter, the usual bargaining, the usual demand to triple-check the cargo, the usual attempt at renegotiations – all of which Hanni and Tora'a took in stride, thanks to their experience. Mal, watching the others bustle about, felt relieved that her almost new crew had already formed a great working relationship and seamless teamwork. Following the Chitauri Commander onto the Kirrik, Mal completed her official duties – compliments, careful questions, the usual bribery and discussion about the possibility of further deliveries.

As she sat down to review the ship's manifest with the Commander and then sign it, Mal paused, her stylus hovering over the glowing white screen of the wide datapad offered her.

There is…
…something…
…something…

A whisper. A distant call. As a child, she had sometimes heard her name called, but when she rose and sought out her mother blending fruit or writing up lists or her father reading through his usual scientific publications, Mal found that neither had yelled for her. A phantom call, she had named them.

Whispers of the silence, her mother had told her. You should listen. Many things call out – many things speak. Listen.

Now, she could hear it – faint and pale and weak.

-Mal-

Her name.

Mal.

Glancing through the list and double-checking the price and the payment, Mal quickly signed her name. Rising from her seat, Mal nodded with the slightest of bows and exited quickly.

For the next hour, she knew that she could roam, mostly unhindered down the halls. The Chitauri were used to the odd pirate or mercenary striding down their passages. Many traders, cargo haulers and mercenaries met in the canteens for quick exchange of news and gossip as well as taking advantage of the chance to broker a trade or exchange of goods or information. Wandering up and down, ascending and descending various grilled stairways and metal ladders, Mal watched as masses of Chitauri soldiers passed by chattering in their native tongue. There were others besides the guards and the soldiers and the mercenaries and the traders. There were the ship's High Command, stalking about looking officious, various staff, running about looking harried and busy, and officials and Inquisitors mumbling and muttering over information (which they ceased speaking of at the sight of the female Skrullian pirate captain).

Aside from the fleet's movement toward the edge of the Fen'chi Galaxy, it seemed as yet another uneventful day upon the warship and nothing appeared suspicious or odd to Mal's experienced eyes. None of the traders or mercs she stopped to speak with knew anything other than the fact that they were heading to an unknown destination where, they were promised, an abundance of wealth and rare loot. Nothing pointed toward Mal's suspicions about Midgard and no one spoke of Infinity Stones.

And yet…
And yet…
There is something…

The whispers grew louder, grew faint. A distant clear call as faint as a far flung star. Or a dying one, Mal thought. She frowned at the thought. There was something unusually dramatic about it. This is not like me, the young woman scowled at her faint reflection in smudgy glass as she passed yet another monitor screen. Reaching up to her ear, Mal tapped her comm.

"Klick."
"Yeah."
"How's it going?"
"As normal. Everything going smoothly."

Smoothly. The code word for 'nothing out of the ordinary'.

"I'm thinking things need to be double-checked," Mal replied carefully.
"Making avalanches out of snow slides?" asked Klick with mock cheer. "Well, everything seems set. There're just a few items left and then we're done."
"No hitches?"
"Well, your usual… arguments."

Arguments. Probably a brawl in the canteen between mercs.

"And there're are some new visitors who apparently are causing trouble… could head your way, so keep an eye out for that."
"I'm just feeling… something isn't right." Mal finally admitted, hoping that the Chitauri wouldn't find anything suspicious about what she had just said.

If they are listening. With the fleet underway, there's a chance that in the shuffle, comm lines won't be as frequently 'supervised'.

"It's… there's a whisper… What does the Eno-graph say?"
"Let me see…" She could hear Klick tap a few keys. "We don't use these old mechs as much as we used to, but you never know, I guess. Got them all up and running. Let's see what's up..." Some shuffling. "Well-" Klick paused suddenly, his voice cutting off.
"Well what?" Mal asked, coming to a halt in a handy nook by another metal stairwell. "Klick?"
"Something's… sparking below."

Below… below… Mal nodded as she caught Klick's reference. 'Below' – the detention quarters.

"Sparking?"
"It's… I can't…" Klick sounded stunned, surprised, perplexed, frustrated. "It is the whitest-blue I have ever seen–"
"Whitest-blue?"
"A glow."
"A glow," Mal repeated, wracking her memory as she tried to read Klick's subtext
"Yes, it's flares and then fades… flares and then fades…"
"On the cams?" she asked. "Where is it? Can you pinpoint it?"

There was a short pause and then Klick's voice returned, sounding a little more confident.

"Encrypted line now set up. It's on the Eno-spectrograph," Klick's voice lowered to an awed whisper. "And it's… seismic."

Mal froze as what Klick was saying suddenly became clear. The Eno-spectrograph measured the presence of magick and projected it onto a moving graph defined by colours. Utilized by many species (particularly slavers) for data gathering, the Eno-spectograph displayed a variety of colours and intensity of colours to define a being's magickal signature. Seismic meant there was a steady, high range of magickal interference.

"That explains everything," Mal breathed. "I thought I was going crazy."
"So was I…"
"White-blue? You are certain?"
"Yes… on the flare, it's standing at Ko, on the fade, Lei. Mal…" Klick stopped. "I just turned on the Stjarn's'gram. The sensors are going… I've never seen anything like it before."

The Stjarnrodagram, a small, unassuming, grey-black machine, was another sensor which measured a very particular set of energies. Certain crystals, of course, which emitted the rare radiation, could set it off – as well as living stars, gifted with Voice. The stories called such phenomena many names, Star's Light, the Unseen Voices, the Shin'Yin, Lor'ateel… the Heimsrsal. Those stories had long been forgotten, only remembered by the wise and those who carried the memory of their ancients close to heart – and there were other stories. Bed-time stories of Ancients, of specially gifted ones who could create the kind of magickal output that could be sensed by the Stjarn's'gram: Half-Souls and powerful peoples of Phylloxia.

"It's a Voice," Mal said, finding it difficult to keep her voice steady.
"Ye-yes… but… but-but how – how could they have captured a… The Kirrik runs on the usual Binary Nucleic-Energy Field. You don't think they are trying to meld a Oxorbal Generator Crystal with their engines? Would that create the kind of readings we're getting?"
"An energy factory in a detention center?" Mal hissed back, descending the stairs to the detention block below, trying to keep her shoulders, neck and facial muscles relaxed as the ramification of their finding began to flood in. "That's ridic, Klick. Look - Can you pinpoint it?"
"You want to-"
"If it is one of ours, we are duty bound… Goodness knows what they would do if they got their hands on a powerful enough mage." Mal trailed off meaningfully.
"They don't have a Sarcofagi."
"That we know of," Mal said quietly. "If it's a lifljos, we have no choice, Klick. I'll go in quiet. Code Orange."

Distraction. I'll need one if I'm to casually break into the detention block, Mal sighed as she quickly wedged herself into a dark corner of the ship and watched a squadron of guards and two Inquisitors pass by. Klick will have the security aspect dealt with… but I can't find a billion and one Chitauri all by myself. I'm good… She straightened carefully, sitting back on her heels as she waited for Klick's response. I'm good – but not that good.

"I sent the mark to your 'pad. You'll also find a quick passage to a service hatch. Eject – and Tro'watal will be there to pick you up."
"Everyone is ready?"
"Yes," Klick's short grim reply said it all. "Tando's here. Said they just finished. Hatch will close. We can get to your side of the ship… and pick you up there. For better or worse, if it's a Voice, we can't leave without double-checking."
"That sounds like Tando."
"He has a ton of things to say about it… but we have no time for words now."
"Agreed," Mal nodded, quickly glancing down at her micro-datapad strapped to her wrist. The small holo enlarged, showing a detailed section of the detention block. "We might need to prepare for a Code Red as well."
"All ready. We are ejecting in five."
"May the stars guide you," Klick double-tapped the comm, signing off.
"And you," Mal whispered. Quickly reviewing the information Klick sent her, noting the cell and the short distance away to the service hatch. Good man, she nodded. Now I have to do my part…

[…such is Fate…]

[…such is the ever shifting tapestry…]

[…the dance…]

[…of Life and Death…]

Detention Block Tahl was far from what Mal had expected. She had seen vids of Xandarian prisons – floating jails, basically metal boxes with recycled air and water. She had seen firsthand the underground crypts of the Skrull and the Kree – high-security facilities from which none could escape – and once or twice, Mal had left supplies at the prison planets run by the Judges. Each one held its particular stink of blood and guts and despair, oppressive air filled with fear and hate.

Depressing, she thought, as she quickly made her way down one passage and then right down another. Her boots, despite her quiet tread, seemed loud in her ears as she passed one cell after another, following the signal Klick had sent her. Yet, here… Mal frowned, once again looking about before continuing onward. The guards seem to be absent. Odd. She flicked on her holoscreen and quickly perused the sector's name. Long-term Facility. Ah. These were the ones left to rot, I suppose. Minimal attention needed… lower security, yes, but no security?

Klick's distraction must have been good, the green-skinned woman thought as she turned another corner, oriented herself and nodded as she realized that she was nearer to her goal than she had feared. I wonder what he cooked up…

When she arrived at the dull, green and black specked door of the cell, there was no name anywhere, nor any sign of cords or power cables which would signify a power generator of some kind. It was as she had guessed – a prisoner. Her hand rose involuntarily to the door, resting on the cool metal for a few seconds. A being, she thought, with a Voice.

She could hear her mother's voice once again, soft and low. We were all born for a reason. We all have our part, our thread to weave in the tapestry that is Life… Thinking back to those days when she had squirmed in her seat in their village's school, as she stared out of her classroom's windows, bored, Mal would never have guessed that her life would culminate in this moment.

All of my life, I had heard such stories of greatness – of ancients raising cities in stones, of warrior-mages doing battle wreathed in magick, of the Voices of the Stars… of Half-Souls… And here I am, on the cusp…

"This better be open, Klick," Mal murmured to herself, hand lowering to steel bar on the left side of the door. Cranking it upward, the door's hatch opened smoothly with the gentlest of hisses. No alarm sounded. Far away, she could hear the pounding of boots rushing off in another direction, closer, she could hear the clanging and hisses of steam and other machinery. One of the prisoners' faint yelling could be heard further down the hall, but around her, there was nothing but quiet.

Stepping in, Mal peered into the gloomy, dimly lit cell, glimpsed the pale-blue skin of the unresponsive captive who sagged on his knees, hands abound above his head in blinking shackles. Swiftly making her way over to the captive's side, Mal leaned forward, hand immediately running along the thin, corded neck of the emaciated prisoner, pushing back his – her? – long stringy black hair, revealing a grimy, yet strong-looking jaw. His skin, an unhealthy pale blue, was smooth, but the lines, circling and running in intricate patterns along his cheekbones and chin, were not. It was as she had hoped and feared – and they were something more. Mal paused, frowning and then leaned forward, trying to peer closer in the dim light.

They look… Mal paused and horror rose within her, coiling up and around as though a giant serpent within her stirred.

There is…
There is something… wrong…
…familiar…

No. No.

Memories flooded in. Memories of a light husky voice, gentle, long sensitive fingers and bright, ruby-red eyes.

-you cannot turn your back, you must not turn your back on it. It is there, always has been, perhaps, waiting to swallow us whole-
-some, some may stand on the edge, and facing forward, warn those who do not heed the call of the Fates-
-a strong name, Mal'myrn, yet beautiful… like its owner-

No. No. No. Frantically, feverishly, Mal fell to her knees, fingers fumbling as she swept back the unruly curling to reveal the face of one she least expected to see.

-you have no idea what you did to my heart-
-can only hope to satisfy-

And yet…
And yet… She thought. It makes so much sense. It feels so right…

-I must go-

She found her voice.

"Kol'la, love."

-0-0-0-

Klick, typing furiously on his monitor, looked up and across toward Hanni, now seated in the Captain's seat and Tando standing at his station to her left.

"What's taking her so long?"
"Is the brawl dissipating?" Tando asked, a frown marring his usually serene face.
"The bounty hunters are on the run," Klick sighed, double-checking his loop of the security cameras. A short, legged alien creature and a giant tree.

Really, the hacker shook his head, watching as the shorter creature proceeded to very ably hack yet another door with a small console. Just when you think you saw everything in the galaxy…

"They'll probably escape – and with their booty. Maybe."
"Maybe," Hanni bit her thumb, glancing over her datapad. "She's in the cell… Have you hacked the restraints, Klick?"
"Ages ago," grumped the hacker, glaring at the back of the green-skinned alien. "Seriously… what's she doing in there – holding a ceremony?"
"If it's a mage, the captive could be stark raving mad… folk go mad listening the stars, my mam told me," Sharx spoke up from his seat behind the wheel, carefully bringing the Tro'watal up alongside the larger warship, positioning it at cruising speed by the hatchway.
"Folk tales," snorted Klick, but he added nothing further and returned to watching the rapidly blinking Eno-graph and the now muted Stjarn's'gram with mounting unease. "Mal," he muttered to himself. "Get the Hel out of there…"

-0-0-0-

It was Kol'la, but it was hardly the same Kol'la she had left on V'loszh'noi. This Kol'la barely responded to her touch – a slight fluttering of his eyelids gave a clue to some sort of rising consciousness and a small flinch as her fingers ran across his bruised, cut cheekbones to tuck a long lock of his black mane back behind his ears.

Kol'la had always been fastidious. This Kol'la, skin dark and grimy, stained with sweat and blood and dirt and refuse, was a dejected picture of neglect. Like the cell around him, he looked battered and misused and aged.

Kol'la had been strong. Although the aloof alien had been more apt to use his cutting voice and skilled words than his fists, Kol'la had taken care to demonstrate that he was more than able to stand his ground in a fight. The skeletal frame of skin and bones before her barely resembled the strong, lithe warrior she had picked up in the asteroid belt. As she pried open his restraints, Kol'la barely responded, collapsing in a heap on the floor, his long limbs curling in a little. His bared feet, arms and face were scattered with bruises and cuts – some older, some newer. A testimony to a long history of abuse.

Kol'la had been independent. As she leaned forward, hauling him up a little with her arms wrapping around his thin chest, he turned to her instinctively. Long, bony fingers dug into the back of her suit as she slowly pulled him to his feet, only to discover that once they were both standing, Kol'la seemed more than happy to cling to her.

Turning her head slightly, she caught a flash of red as his lids opened a crack. Kol'la grimaced and for a moment, his lips moved but no words emerged. Then, voice grating and rough, he managed a short disbelieving question.

"Ma-al?"
"Hush, love, it's me. Don't worry," she found herself suddenly babbling in a whisper. "We'll be out of here in a minute or two. We just need to – we just need to – Kol'la-"

Kol'la blinked confused and his fingers dug sharply into her shoulder as he swayed in her tight grip.

"You-" He stopped and then managed to add in a visibly painful whisper: "It – it's not your turn to visit. "
"I'm not visiting," Mal said softly, biting her lip and trying another step toward the door. "I am here, love. Here to rescue you."

Kol'la seemed unable to move and Mal cursed softly under her breath as she considered her options.

"Re-rescue…" Kol'la trailed off and lifting his head off her shoulder for a few seconds before slumping back, exhausted. "You – you don't – you leave…"
"Not this time, I'm not," Mal said grimly, forcing down a rising wave of rage and hatred and a great desire to find whoever was responsible for this and make them pay.

Pay, the wilderness within her howled. Make them pay for eternity.

"This time, I'm leaving with you," Mal awkwardly turned the pair of them toward the door. "We're leaving together."

Kol'la did not respond, seemingly content to let her do as she pleased.

This was not the Kol'la she knew. Mal felt sick.

Focus, she berated herself, focus, idiot woman. You need to get to the hatch. Eject. The Tro'watal is waiting. We'll be out in a few minutes. You need to get going.

Remembering Klick's diagram, Mal sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Fates for the short walk she needed to achieve. It was clear that Kol'la was in no state to walk, much less run to the hatchway. For a moment, she considered dragging him down the passageway, but then, with a sigh, the green Skrull allowed herself to shift a little, increasing her height. Now closer to her natural body shape, Mal felt more able to (more or less) carry the weakened prisoner down the hall to the hatch.

Carefully steering Kol'la along, Mal pulled him out of the cell, shut the door behind her soundlessly and then continued the short journey to the service hatch at the end of the hall to her right. Only four cells away, Mal, she told herself. You can do this.

It felt like forever, but eventually the young Skrull Captain reached the hatch, found that, no doubt thanks to Klick, it opened with minimal resistance. Propping Kol'la up between herself and the wall, she rotated the short wheel, opened the service door and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar dark hull of the Tro'watal. Instantly, a red-blue beam shot out and, pulling Kol'la out with her, Mal jumped forward, allowing herself and her prize to fly forward in the grav beam toward the side cargo bay of the Tro'watal. Behind her, the hatch closed automatically with a short hiss. In front of her, the Tro'watal's hatch rolled open, allowing for her and Kol'la to fall together in a heap on the floor of cargo bay.

For a moment, Mal found herself unable to do anything but allow her heart to pound and her tension to ease out of her limbs. Light and sound and warmth and oxygen returned in an overwhelming rush as she lay gasping on the floor. Rolling to her side, Mal looked down at the man she had rescued.

It is so hard to accept… This is Kol'la. The one who stole my heart. The one who has sealed my Fate… She remembered Klick's words. The one who spoke with the Voice of a star.

Overhead, alarms rang out and somewhere a light whirled red and orange but Mal could only see the unresponsive face of her lover, the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest.

He is safe. He is alive. He is safe.

Closing her eyes, breathing in deeply and forcing her breath to steady, counting to five and slowly regulating her rapidly beating heart, Mal focused on the moment.

Kol'la's hand in hers.

He is safe. He is alive. He is safe.

The jerk of the Tro'watal brought her to the present sharply. Tando was at her side, asking questions as was Tora and Hanni. Words spilled out of her then – words she hoped answered the queries she could barely register.

"He's – he's alive – just – it was taxing for him… I – I think he'll be alright. Tando. He'll be alright, right?"
"Yes, yes," Tando was already administering oxygen through a small mask now strapped to Kol'la's face. "I'll need to get some sustenance immediately-"
"He's gonna need rest, lots of rest," Hanni said. "Here, let's shift him to the stretcher and get him to the infirmary."

Mal looked down at Kol'la's hand and nodded. Then, suddenly, the slender blue hand in her green one, clenched tightly. Looking up, Mal met red eyes. Half-lidded red eyes, rimmed with black and blue – bruises and fatigue – but somewhere deep, a fire flickered. Beneath the plastic oxy-mask, his dark lips moved.

"He's trying to say something!" Tando was leaning forward now. "Can you – can you-"
"He needs water," Hanni said.
"He won't be able to take it," Tando shook his head in sharp disagreement. "Trust me, he'd spew it up and black out – he's practically concave-"
"His name is Kol'la," Mal said, "and let him talk – Kol'la! It's Mal. You remember, Mal-"
"You met him-"
"Mal – you knew him?"
"Where did you-"
"Kol'la," Mal shut out her crewmates' questions as she gently pushed Tora aside to lift him up gently into her arms. "Kol'la. It'll be alright. Things will get better."

He closed his eyes then and jerked his head in disagreement.

"M-"
"He's trying to say something-"
"Shut up, Hanni-" Tando hissed at the First Mate.
"You shut it!"
"Shhhhhhhh!" Mal glared everyone into silence.
"Ma-Mal."

Kol'la eyes flickered open again and for a moment his shoulder twitched and then with a grunt, Kol'la's hand rose, shaking, to Mal's cheek. His gritty palm caressed her cheek, thumb brushing against her ear. A slight tug – and Mal allowed herself to lean down until her forehead touched his, their lips nearly meeting.

"Ru-run…" He managed to scrape out another word. "Sss-ssooo-soon."
"Soon." Mal repeated softly. "Soon what?"
"The w-"

His fingers dug into her skin and she could feel it in the coiled tension running through his body. Even now, damaged as he was, Kol'la's will ran strong and deep. His will – and his emotions. Tension. Urgency. Despair. Frustration.

"So-sorry," Kol'la croaked.

Dry cracked lips pressed against hers and suddenly, she was there with him, entwined together with him in a new way altogether. He was there in her mind's eyes standing as he had always been – but he was her and she was him and she was soaring high above the universe, watching as a great shadow spread through the Fen-chi Galaxy, spread through the various quadrants as a giant wave would spread through the ocean. Eating up the stars as though a hungry black hole, the shadow reached the edges of the galaxy and then with barely a pause, flew through the Void to other worlds nearby.

The worlds will end. They will be as though they had never been. With the power of the Tesseract, Thanos will bend space to his will and sacrifice all living things upon the altar of Death.
When? She asked.

Soon, Kol'la's voice reverberated around her head, echoing, rising and falling, faint and overlapping. A muddle of thoughts. She was connected with the fevered mind of one who had fallen into the world of the Void and the stars and now, lost, wandered the Spaces of That Which Is Unseen, That Which Is Not. Mal, remembering the patter of the l'gon, shuddered, feeling sick. Kol'la had had great abilities, but those with abilities were most susceptible, were more easily lost. Without a guide, Mal fought to keep her nausea down. What has he seen – where has he gone – what took him to such a place?

Soon, Kol'la continued. Soon they will attack.
Where?
Midgard, first. Then – Asgard and all other Realms who would protect the weak. He must be stopped. They must be stopped.
Midgard must be warned, she turned to him. We can send one there with a message.
Midgard is in no position to protect itself. The humans are weak, their technology are limited.
The humans, yes, Mal nodded. Yet, humans do not occupy that planet only. She hesitated before adding, there are others.

Kol'la said nothing for a moment and then he said:

Thor.
Thor? She asked. The Warrior of Lightning from Asgard?
Thor, Crown Prince of Asgard, Kol'la corrected her softly and then added ruefully, and yes, he does get called the God of Lightning every now and then.
He is on Midgard? Then Asgard will come to Midgard's aid. Mal sighed with relief. That would be well for Midgard.
The bridge is broken.
How-

Before Mal could ask Kol'la how he could possibly know such things – had he seen it in a vision? – Kol'la continued onward.

There is a traitor in Asgard. A traitor who will awaken the Tesseract on Midgard and bring the Chitauri to the protected planet.
I thought you said the bridge is broken.
There are… Kol'la paused and then said in a darker tone. There are other ways.
Then we must warn them. We have a way to send one to Midgard.
It will have to be done quickly, Kol'la's voice seemed to be fading fast now. A pause. They are coming.

For a moment everything went dark and then, faraway, Mal could hear her name called and there was a red-orange light flaring and fading in the distance. Clawing her way to it, she jerked upright – finding herself face to face with a worried-looking Tando, who was apparently shaking her.

"Mal – you – what happened?"
"We talked."
"Talked?" Tando's voice rose several tones. "Talked?"
"I – he – he said… they are coming. They are headed for Midgard and plan to use the Tesseract to open a portal for the rest of the army. There is a traitor in Asgard and Midgard must be warned," Mal's words couldn't seem to stop. "There is no time – they are coming – I think he can feel them – he's been, I don't know-"
"Signs of heavy infusions of various serums," Tando said grimly.

Hanni nodded, holding up the scanner Tando must have given her, looking more than little worried.

"He's going through various stages of withdrawal," she whispered, red-eyes wide, her green skin looking a little paler than usual. "Drugs for interrogation."
"The usual thing, I'm afraid – but if he's…" Tando trailed off. "Well, the Chitauri are fond of using T'chata'ko and Fier-Korm, among other things, for their interrogations – neither of them good for…" Another meaningful pause.

Mal understood Tando's unease. None of us talk about the Truth, she mused. None of us can be who we were truly meant to be. All of our lives, we have lived in the shadows. All of our lives, we have lived in fear of the Shadow. All of our lives, we have feared our Fates, and here we are – faced with the reality of it all. A Voice, a true mage, a being of great power…

"Code Red now in effect, I repeat, Code Red."

Klick's voice.

"We're being followed," Mal looked down at the now seemingly unconscious man lying between them. "Just as he said. Light speed will only protect us for so long. We need to get back to Base – and the Sarcofagi. We're going to do it."
"And we have just the person to achieve it," whispered Tando, eyes wide. "He could max out the engines and arrive there within seconds!"
"If it doesn't blow up first," Tora interjected, clearly uncertain about the success rate of the mission. "No one has successfully manned a Sarcofagi whatever the High Council says."
"We have no choice," Mal said.
"Just because you were ready to use a Sarcofagi doesn't mean that he can," Tora bit out. "Look at him – he's a wreck!"
"The Sarcofagi could channel his energies – it would, to some extent, heal him," Hanni shook her head. "Trust me, Tora. Mal is right. This could work. Unbelievable. If it had been the original plan, one of us would be manning the ship and we wouldn't be a hundred percent sure of our accuracy or abilities – but he…"
"Code Red, folks," Klick's voice echoed over the comm. "Can anyone let us know what's going on down there?"

Mal rose to her feet, took a deep breath, ordered her thoughts, ran through the codes one more time and then spoke.

"Ship's Interface, open the ship's intercom." A pause. "This is a message from Captain Mal'myrn to the crew. I am proud to say that on this day, we have finally achieved successful completion of the mission given to the entire taskforce of Quadrant 76-Chi. With the information I have been told, I can safely say that never before has it been so urgent that we warn the innocents who are the target of the one we call Thanos. The man we rescued today – the one I know as Kol'la – he is one who has touched the stars and it is our duty to ensure that he arrives safely to warn Terra – to warn Midgard of their impending doom. With this in mind, we will now terminate Code Orange. We are currently in Code Red. Klick, who is following?"
"Ah, well, that would be the Kirrik, Captain."
"Ku'sha," Mal swore briefly. "They probably have no idea as to the true significance of the captive they have just lost, but it is important that not only we warn Midgard but that we save Kol'la as well." She paused. "We will commence Code White and hopefully we can shake the Kirrik off our tail and return home in safety. If not…" Mal said nothing for a moment but then, finding her voice again, she ended, "if not, then we will at least know that we achieved greatness and our stories will be carried forward in the songs of our people and in the memories of those to come. With our ancestors, with the stars, we will rest."

Mal looked down at the still face of the one she called Kol'la, the one she barely knew and yet, somehow, loved with all her being even until death.

"Let's go, folks. Tando, you'll stay with Kol'la and stabilize him as much as you can by this hatch. Klick, commence Code White. Start up the Sarcofagi, so that it will be ready to latch on right upon our arrival. Vyrn'or, you and Lonill will continue to look to the engines. We need all of our power reserves at the ready for when we provide bait. Code Yellow, that is. Smyu, continue on comm station. Sharx will be at the wheel. Hanni will take the chair when the Sarcofagi docks. Tora will be at the Tactical Offense-Defense station. I'll install Kol'la personally with Tendo's help, we'll set the autopilot, just in case, and then we'll jump the Tro'watal onward and hopefully the Kirrik won't stay around long enough to find the Sarcofagi."
"We could hide it back in the rings," Klick added. "It's small enough to pass notice."
"Right. Any questions? None?" Mal nodded. "Let's do it."

-0-0-0-

Far across the Voids, beyond the gaps between Reality and within the fair Realm of Asgard, the construction on the Bridge had ended for the night, allowing Heimdall to have a few hours of peace. Sword at the ready, the dark-skinned Gatekeeper's golden eyes searched the galaxy, watching the various activities of those Odin had charged him upon which to keep an eye.

Svartalfheim lay in dim quiet. It's ancient battlefields empty and solemn – gloomy graveyards devoid of life. Muspelheim as well seemed to be at peace with only the occasional fire duel between the fierce giants who made their home in the inhospitable Realm. Thor, on Midgard, was returning from a long day's work alongside the Midgardians known as SHIELD. He looked, Heimdall thought, rather content and happy for a princeling stripped of his powers.

Shifting his gaze past Midgard, Heimdall sought out the ever tempestuous galaxy beyond. A dark shadow, as always, hung over the galaxy which some called Fen'chi. The Midgardians, he knew, named it after Andromeda. What Andromeda referred to, Heimdall was not certain of, but he wondered if the innocent humans ever guessed what a chaotic, terrible world lay beyond the borders of their protected quadrant. Probably not, he grimaced, the vision of the world seems rather small and limited, as usual.

On the other hand, the Fen'chi Galaxy, as ever, seemed to churn with turmoil. It stunk of strife and contention – and wherever his eyes roved, there was nothing but an unceasing fight for survival. Reavers and Marauders and smaller bands of pirates roamed, seeking out for weak colonies and easy cities to ravage and plunder. Smaller mercenary armies shuttled between employers, hawking the wares of war. Various empires jostled for space – the Xandarians, the Noradians, the Kree and the Chitauri alongside the multi-dimension empires of the Skrull and the Yoran.

Odin, his Privy Council, the High Council of Midgard and the Courts as well as the Mages had long watched the movements of the Skrull, the Kree, the Chitauri, the Marauders and other pirate groups. However, not until now, when Asgard was most unable to make any move against its enemies, had Odin been overly concerned.

Let them extinguish each other, he had said on many an occasion before. Let them wipe each other out – they will fight our battles for us and we can find peace.

The war, Heimdall thought, took a toll on our King and I know how the Crown Prince chafed under such a rule. All-Father wishes for peace of some sort. Truly, if Asgard is able to maintain its position through the threat of war, it would be enough for him. A clever scheme… and one that the young Prince Loki would approve of, certainly. Yet, Thor is gone and Loki as well.

Loki. Ever since the young, pale-skinned, dark-haired Prince had been cast off the edge of Jotunheim, Heimdall had kept a firm eye on him, watching with rising concern as the Prince moved further and further into the shadowed lands of the Fen'chi Galaxy. Eventually, his gaze had been blocked by the heaviest of magick and only a few times had Frigga's sight managed to rend a small path to Loki's heart and soul.

There had only been anguish and pain and, for days on end, Frigga had wept bitterly, arguing with Odin, pressing upon him the urgency of reaching out for her lost second son. Heimdall, although a pragmatic soldier, could remember his own mother's heart and understood that the tender-hearted Queen blamed herself heavily for what had transpired with Loki.

Now, as he stood on the bridge, Heimdall's gaze drifted over the galaxy in hopes of a glimpse of the Prince. Anything at this point, he thought, would ease the Queen's mind – and the King's.

Despite holding outward calm about the missing Prince, the All-Father had been concerned. Whenever he met the Gatekeeper, Odin asked after Loki in a short gruff manner and, when Heimdall had assured the King that he would never give up his search for the lost prince, Odin seemed rather relieved. Heimdall knew that Odin and the Mages had begun to shore up Dark Energy within the Enclave in hopes of sending someone to rescue Loki should the chance arrive. Extreme some might think, all things considered, yet Heimdall's long experience with the royalty of Asgard understood. It was, after all, a matter of state security and pride to retrieve royalty lost through misadventure, even if the royalty in question deserved (or didn't deserve) to be rescued. What opinions Heimdall may have had concerning Loki's true heritage (now a heavily guarded secret between Odin, Frigga and himself) was unsought for and Heimdall, knowing his place, held his tongue and did what he could only do – watch and wait.

Today seemed like any other day – but then, he saw it. A familiar spark which he traced back – back and down and in, until he was looking down upon a streamlined cargo ship speeding along at the speed of light, then dropping down into a young star system to apparently connect to a smaller ship. Approaching the cargo ship, his Sight bent and skewed and suddenly, Heimdall was inside and looking down at the motionless prone figure of his Prince lying upon the metal flooring, being assiduously attended to by a green-skinned physician and another green-skinned Skrullian woman dressed like a pirate.

Loki. Prince Loki alive and safe. Not easily retrievable certainly, but this was better news than most. Perhaps Odin's secondary plan – to return Loki's magick to him – would alleviate the Prince's problematic situation.

Sheathing his sword, Heimdall ran back to his horse, mounted and galloped down the newer sections of the glistening Bifrost.

Loki was alive.

[…lines connect us…]

[…unseen…]

[…bring us, hold us together…]

The Tro'watal, dropping out of space, had some time to spare judging by Klick's chrono, but there was precious little time in reality. To Mal, the seconds seemed to speed by as though warped through time and then drag into painful milliseconds which seemed to last forever. No sooner had the Tro'watal popped out above the gas giant which they had made their base, the Sarcofagi shot out of its hiding place, camouflaged as it had been by planet's thick rings, and connected with the left-hatch.

The bullet-shaped, one-man spaceship, the Sarcofagi, was the best of old Noradian tech. Salvaged from an ancient Noradian starship, the Sarcofagi's spare lines and streamlined edges promised speed and efficiency. With only room enough for one, the High Council had given each quadrant a Sarcofagi to be used in order to send warning to the chosen target of the Chitauri should the target hold a significant population of their people. Only those with a certain level of native abilities could be expected to link with and guide the navigational systems. Even with autopilot installed, the entire technology relied on a deep neural interface between the subject and the ships computers.

Long ago, stories told of how the Noradians had enslaved the Phylloxians, placed them within the coffins stored in the centers of their ships and, feeding off the magick emitted from the ancient, blue-skinned beings, used the Phylloxian's gifts to power their engines through space and time, achieving not only inter-galactic but also trans-dimensional travel. In more recent times, some mages with certain levels of power could turn on the coffins and use them – but at great risk to sanity and to health, for after some time, the immense demand taxed the psyche and powers of the mage piloting the machinery.

Sarcofagi. That was what the coffins were now called. Boxes in which the enslaved Phylloxian lay down and, connecting through electrodes and various linked bonds, they melded with the ship and drove it through the galaxies, flying upon the pathways of the stars. Just touching it, soaking in the aura of despair and madness, Mal felt sick. She had always avoided such things – jails and old bedtime stories and Sarcofagi – if she could.

But here I am, Mal sighed, helping Tando lift Kol'la up and into the pale white and grey metal and stone box set in the center of the Sarcofagi. Inside, conductive stone and granite aided the entire process, while surrounding it, cables and sensors and various magick conductors streamed outwards to disappear into the innards of the tiny ship. A ship without an engine. With an engine, she corrected herself as she lay Kol'la's head back on the soft pillow provided kindly by Tando. An engine made of flesh and blood and a heart and a soul. A beautiful soul.

"You worried this won't work?" Tando asked.
"It should work. They said it would work."
"The High Council says a lot of things."
"It should work. If it would work for anyone it would work for Kol'la."
"Hm." Tando didn't look entirely convinced.
"The Eno-graph doesn't lie," Mal pointed out mildly.
"There is that."

Tendo began to fiddle with a variety of knobs as well as screwing in a clamp to which he affixed a stand from which he hung a couple nutrient bags strung together.

"For his health," Tendo muttered. "He's going to need all the help he can get. The magick will burn him – as it is removed from him… it will heal him and burn him. He may not survive… You'd best say farewell and quickly, Mal."
"He'll get there," Mal shook her head stubbornly, forcing herself to sound calm and collected, ignoring the roiling tension within her belly. "Kol'la is a survivor."
"You really seem to know him."
"I found him on an asteroid belt. He had fallen through time and space – through a rift… he had fallen…" Mal said softly. "Fallen from Jotunheim."
"So those marks on his face…"
"Those are his own," Mal's fingers traced the edges of the lines on Kol'la's brow.
"The marks of a King," Tendo said with a tinge of awe. "I would never have guessed that I would see something like this."
"Neither did I," admitted Mal. "We take what we can get."
"Always the pragmatist," Tendo rose to his feet. "You have five. I'll be outside."

With a short nod, the physician disappeared, leaving Mal alone with Kol'la. As she drew his hair back, double-checked the bands on his wrists and ankles and readjusted the electrodes which she had placed across his brow carefully. Her fingers paused as Kol'la's lids fluttered again and the young man seemed to slowly come to consciousness.

"M-mal," he coughed and then, grimaced. "You – you aren't a dream?"
"Sad to say, no," Mal replied lightly, twining her fingers with his. "But I can only be here for a short time. You have other places to be."
"Wha – No. Mal…"
"There is not enough time," Mal fought hard to keep her voice steady and calm. Kol'la could not see her tears. Not now. There was no time for tears. "I know… we didn't have enough time. We never did."

With a reassuring look, she squeezed his hand and with her other hand, she slipped a small, thin, thumb-sized box inside his suit, tucking it carefully in one of the raggedy-edged inner pockets.

"This ship… it is a Sarcofagi. It was made, I think, for the mages of the Phylloxians-"
"Like me," Kol'la coughed and his tongue licked the edges of his still dry lips. He frowned and turned a little, trying to hold up his wrists. "They bound them."
"They were slaves to the Noradians. That is the regret of Nesta…" Mal sighed, "but from such travesty, there is salvation. There is hope."
"Hope," echoed Kol'la.
"This is a Sarcofagi, stripped down to the basic coffin, carrying only one passenger, it will take you to whatever place you wish, breaking the barriers of time and space. These are not bonds but interface cords, aiding you as you connect with the ship. With it, you, Kol'la, can return to your home. Think of your family and it will take you there."
"I can't… I can't go back…"
"Then, perhaps you may wish to go to another place. To Midgard which needs to be warned," Mal suggested. "To Thor."
"My brother, Thor…" Kol'la seemed to fade away for a moment and then his red eyes focused on Mal's face intently. "He is on Midgard."
"You said that before… maybe you don't remember… but you didn't say he was your brother… that can't be. The infamous Crown Prince Thor has a brother?"

Kol'la raised a shaky hand and contemplated it.

"I de-" A pause. "Denied my – my race. Hid behind… green eyes and pale skin and dark hair." His hand dropped back and Kol'la peered back up at Mal. "I never did… I never…" He stopped, took a deep breath and found the strength to finish his sentence. "I never told you my name."
"Kol'la is enough for me."
"No. Kol'la was my slave my. My real name… it's… Loki."
"Loki," Mal smiled softly, her face lighting up, accepting his gift of honesty for what it was. "That," she said, "is a beautiful name, a promise of greatness, I think. A mighty worker of Fate."
"Where – did you –" But before Kol'la – no, Loki – could continue, Mal shook her head.
"Shhh… There is no time. I must go."
"I do not wish you to go-" Kol'la - Loki protested weakly.
"I have other things I must do," Mal said firmly, a sad smile spreading across his face. "As do you."
"You always say that," he grumbled roughly.
"I always do," Mal replied simply.

With that, she leaned forward and pressed upon his brow and then upon his lips two quick kisses. The last one lingered a little and his fingers dug into her jacket, unwilling to let her go. Gently drawing back, Mal gave her lover, her friend, her miracle, another small smile.

"I love you," she said simply. "It sounds trite to say, but when I first saw you, something… something special lay between us and it seemed so right that the lines of our lives should cross."
"The feeling was mutual," Loki rasped, his fingers still twined with hers. His ruby red eyes begged her to stay, but Mal was already drawing back, drawing away. "I have never… I have never loved another as I loved you."
"I know," Mal nodded and before he could see her rising tears, she pressed the coffin's button and watched the cover slide slowly over.

For a few seconds, she knelt there. Then, without further word, she input the final trajectories, linked in Klick's and Sharx's navigational feeds and set the autopilot. With that, Mal left the Sarcofagi, closed the hatch, avoided Tando's sympathetic gaze and continued onward and upward to her usual station.

Her captain's chair. Now, more than ever, it seemed so lonely and as she sat back in her chair, taking the place of Hanni, as she watched the Sarcofagi drift back into the protection of the rings, Mal knew that her life would always seem a little empty without Kol'la – without Loki there.

"You said goodbye," Hanni said, her red eyes sympathetic.
"I did." Mal nodded stiffly, refusing to admit to the tears which stained her cheeks. "It was a good farewell."
"We touched history today, Mal," Tando added in vain encouragement. "We did what was right."
"Of course we did," Mal nodded stiffly. "Sharx. Do you have our next path set?"
"Yes, plotted, laid and set in," Sharx replied in muted tones.
"Let's get going, then, shall we? We have a merry chase to lead. Did Smyu send out any comm?"
"Yes, Ma'am," the older Skrullian nodded. "I sent off word with a quick report of our actions as well as the path we intend to take. Perhaps we will receive back up before the Kirrik catches up with us."
"ETA of the Kirrik is in five, by the way," Klick's voice was raised a notch with tension. "Just in case someone is interested and or worried about our steadily decreasing chances for survival."
"Sharx, hit it," Mal nodded. "Let's do this."

The Tro'watal's engines, previously idling, flared to life and after hanging in space for a few seconds, there was a crack, a burst of light and the Tro'watal was gone.

-0-0-0-

The Sarcofagi, diminutive as it was, buffeted about with the rest of the frozen rocks and ice which sped about the blue-green gas giant below. Its shields held firm, but Loki, remembering Mal's words, began to focus his energies as best as he could. It was difficult – nausea, weakness, fever, shaking and dizziness constantly threatened to break his concentration, while new memories of pain, while uncertainty and fear and renewed feelings of inadequacy rose to the fore of his mind. Trapped in a box, Loki could not help but remember a far off time he had hoped to bury forever.

The Mah'ko'nai and their honeycomb ships. Strapped down and bound and alone and trapped in silence, a wild thing broken through neglect and isolation.

Here he was again, in another cage, with only the promise of freedom.

This could all be in your head, Loki, he told himself. You've been here before.

-trust us, dear heart-

The whispers reverberated back, comfortingly familiar. All of his life, he had heard the voices in the silences – the dark shadows and the thin light of the stars. Heimsrsal and the sentience of those who had passed on before him.

It's been so long. Even now, it has not abandoned me…

-our other heart-
-the one we held to our bosom-
-we will never let go-
-we will never lose hope-

Hope. Mal had spoke of it as well. She had spoke of hope and greatness and Fate. She was depending on him. Mal and her crew and Asgard and Jotunheim and Thor.

Thor.

Just thinking of his brother, Loki could feel his worries rising even more. What if Thor sees me like this… what would happen then?

That is hardly the least of our concerns. Your magick is barely able to heal you, much less shift a pea, much less a ship, across a galaxy and then some.

Focus.

Focus.

Loki inhaled and exhaled, pulling carefully on the frayed strands of his magick. He would salvage what power he could. He had no choice. There was only one way. There was only forward.

Focus.

-0-0-0-

The Kirrik, dropping out of space, scanned the area. Bits of metal, bits of ice and rock and various trash spread in orbit of three planets spoke of an base, recently abandoned. Sensors detected anomalies along the outer rings of the blue-green gas giant – traces of the fleeing ship's exhaust. Computers reeled out data and the Hive collating the data, speedily recreated the ship's new trajectory.

Without further inspection, the Kirrik jumped back onto the trail of the Tro'watal. Behind it, the young star system continued on as it had before, empty and silent.

-0-0-0-

The Enclave, one of the most secure halls of the Mage's Court, was a dimly lit, bronze and iron decorated room with vaulted ceilings and a spectacular domed ceiling which slid open to reveal the star-studded night sky. It was opened now, revealing the usual vista of the seasonal stars, the looping constellations, the drifting clouds of purple, blue-green and orange nebulae and the occasional streaking comet and meteorites. A rectangular room, at one end, the Enclave not only housed the StarScope, but also the arcane artifact, known as the Farn'a'Dath, which stood enshrouded in the shadowy gloom of the far end of the room, attended by five mage technicians who, with careful gestures and precise measurements, manipulated the strings of energy leading into and out of the machine. From the east, west and south sides of the Enclave, passages extended into the rest of the Mage's Court. Rarely frequented as it was, the entire annex seemed archaic and displaced with its ancient carvings, weathered stonework, muted, outmoded wall hangings and archaic lighting.

Odin and Frigga made their way down the small side hall which led into the Enclave, barely glancing at the rows of the cloaked initiates lined against the walls in neat, orderly rows. The ceremony of the Farn'a'Dath, if deemed necessary, would entail the cooperation of the entire upper classmen of the Mage's Academy and any mages within Asgard's capital.

Within the Enclave, Odin found Heimdall easily among the crowd. Among the blacks, browns, blues and whites of the Mages, the Gatekeeper's golden horned helmet bobbed conspicuously. Agaeti, Hrotha and five other High Mages had gathered in a circle with the Gatekeeper, speaking rapidly and gesticulating vehemently.

"Have you seen anything new of Loki?" asked Frigga, rushing forward, her blue eyes and usually gentle, calm expression filled with worry. "Is he safe?"
"Safe as anyone may be in this troubled time, Your Majesty," Agaeti drew the Queen closer into the circle, his watery blue eyes calm beneath his craggy eyebrows. "He is hidden – within the environs of a ringed planet."
"So he is well." Frigga nodded, sagged with relief.
"For now," Heimdall nodded. "Danger has been averted and the pursuer has taken the bait, as it were. Yet, I fear that our prince may not be able to power the vehicle he was stowed in adequately. If he is to return home or…" Heimdall paused remembering Odin's mandate. "Or elsewhere. Prince Loki will need his abilities returned to their full state."
"You cannot draw him back?" Frigga asked, glancing over at her husband who was looking through several pages of scrip which Mage Hrotha had given him.

Odin, looking up from the notations, shook his head.

"Judging by the data and Heimdall's accounts, by the size of the ship and its distance from Asgard… pulling Loki toward us is well nigh impossible. Even with the use of the Farn'a'Dath, we would not be able to send anyone to his aid."
"The ship is unable to carry another," Heimdall quickly added, his golden eyes looked even more solemn than usual. "If we were to return his magick…"
"He would be able to power the ship?" Odin frowned. "How?"
"The vehicle appears attuned to… Loki's particular nature," Heimdall said carefully, giving the King and Queen a sharp look. "However, I fear that it will tax him physically. It could fail. It could destroy him."
"The data does suggest immense strain upon him," Mage Hrotha frowned, receiving back his notes from Odin. "It is hard to say exactly. Flarathir has more knowledge on space-time travel, but he is not within the capital at this time. What I can say for certain is that the return of the Prince's magick does not guarantee stability. After periods of restraint or vigorous use, it is common to experience power fluctuations as well as dizziness, nausea, headaches and extreme muscular as well as magickal fatigue. Burning sensations-"
"Well, Loki has always been a magickal being of great power," Mage Agaeti, waved a hand dismissively, before turning to Frigga to pat her on the hand comfortingly. "While he may undergo some symptoms, and indeed he has experienced many of them in years past, I feel that Loki is more than capable of handling the side-effects."
"Yes, well," Odin sighed, turning back to look at the StarScope and then back at the machine. We have no choice. Loki has no choice. We shall use the Farn'a'Dath to open a path of magick. With the aid of the acolytes, we will use a portion of power to channel our spell and break the binding on Loki."
"Then he will return to Asgard," Frigga suggested, "Or will he travel elsewhere? Has he given any indication of his plans?"
"I cannot know his heart, Your Majesty," Heimdall replied, "yet he has emerged from the Shadow and perhaps he will bear us news of what transpires in that galaxy – or return to…" The Gatekeeper meaningfully glanced at Odin again. "Jotunheim or Midgard or some other friendly Realm. What I can say is that his compatriots, his rescuers, are no friends of the Chitauri and may have passed on information."
"Well, if he has heard news," Odin nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "It would be best to return to Asgard… unless there is a Realm under imminent attack… in which case, going directly to warn them would be the smarter choice."
"I am certain Loki will choose the wisest course of action," Frigga smiled then. "Loki usually thinks through all options set before him."
"Hm, we shall see if his sojourn have taught him anything," Odin frowned. "He is young and has much to learn… yet, he was always a quick study."
"Perhaps he will join Thor."
"I should hope not," Odin grimaced. "I hardly think that Midgard can stand the foolishness those two boys. Between Thor's cockiness and Loki's schemes, the Norns can only know what harebrained plan they would concoct on the poor unsuspecting planet."

A pause, then Odin turned to the technicians who had now ceased their activity and stood at the ready behind their monitors.

"They are ready?" he nodded at Mage Hrotha.
"They are ready," the silvery-headed Mage nodded, drawing the King to his position behind another monitor. "It is time."

-0-0-0-

It was only a matter of time. Smaller, slighter and with less energy and engine power, the Tro'watal was easily overtaken by the larger sized Kirrik. Forced down out of light speed, violently shaken from side to side, the cargo ship battered its way through a scattered asteroid field, spiraling down and around until Sharx managed to get the steering back into control.

Bruised, silent and determined, the crew stared out the viewport and up at the looming warship as it hovered at the edges of the asteroid field. Sharx swore as he skillfully piloted the Tro'watal to the far edge of the asteroid field in hopes of at least gaining some kind of a lead before the Kirrik entered the field.

A yellow light began to flash at the comm station and Tondo's hand hovered over the comm button uncertainly.

"They are hailing, Captain," he asked. "Should we stall for time, perhaps Vyrn'or can get the Oxorbal Crystal online again-"

Mal, pinching her bottom lip, slowly nodded.

"We need time."
"There is no way the engines will be up quick enough-"

Hanni stopped as Mal raised a hand.

"We need time… for Loki."

-0-0-0-

Wheels turned; the Farn'a'Dath whirred to life and light crackled through the shadowed spaces as energy coalesced, drawn from the endless pool of energy consumed by the Mithra'a'Ginnung. The Void was a place of power, everyone knew that – yet few understood the ways in which one could draw from the forces of nature hidden in the dark. Leashing it and unleashing it was a gargantuan task, best handled by many coming together, providing a seamless conduit, turning What Is Unseen into What Is.

Such is the power of the spheres. Such is the will of Asgard.

[…the dance of the worlds…]

[…the song of the stars…]

[…can you hear it…]

[…the Realm of What Is in all its diversity…]

[…as thin as onion skin upon the vast Realm of What Is Not…]

He lay there. There was only the dark. There was the creak of ice. There was the rumble of stone and the thunderous crash of rock impacting rock.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, as lost and aimless as the ship in which he now lay bound, Loki weakly called upon his magick, upon the force of life which surrounded him. He could hear it so close and yet so far: the thin, high, pale voices of the distant older stars chiming with the boisterous refrain of the youthful sun surrounding him. They were waiting for him, calling his name, urging him on.

Breathing in and out, Loki gathered his magick, little by little. The bonds of Odin, he could feel them, reining in what power he had called his own. Closing his eyes, Loki allowed himself to fall back into the world he had been inhabiting for the past few months – the world of the Unseen, filled with wonder and colour and shifting spaces. Within his ship, Loki glowed a faint white-blue and, wrapping around his chest and arms and legs like fantastical ceremonial ornamentation, the bands of gold magick hovered just above his skin. He had been watching them slowly drift away from his skin, no longer strangulating his magic. Now, constricting his movement of magick and the limiting the amount allowed to wield or expend, the restrictions of Odin's spell became clear.

Inhale. Exhale.

I could attempt to break them.

Inhale. Exhale.

Yet, in the breaking of the spell… There could be backlash on the local environs, the entire space-time could explode and collapse, the explosion could collapse into a black hole, the ship could disintegrate…

Inhale. Exhale.

Father wished me to learn a lesson – to remind me that the means do not justify the end, that my pursuit for acceptance and love and security had driven me to acts of madness.

-an icy wasteland, a world of grey and blue and white and little other colour-
-a gold-white beam of light ripping through the dark soil-
-the sibilant call of the dark-
-a Muthr'a'Ginnung-

Even someone as clever as I could, like Thor, not calculate the actual ramifications of the plans which I had wrought, which I brought to fruition.

-DEATH IS MINE-

-YOU ARE MINE-

Madness to which I was blind, so desperate was my need to please. Now, in an hour of need, I cannot save the ones I love. I am – I am – weak and useless and – and – drifting – alone and lost and stranded…

Loki woke, panting and sweating. His breath sounded rough and foreign to him as he lay there. Darkness spotted on the corners of his vision. Loki could taste bile at the back of his mouth as another wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him.

The drugs, he thought hazily. This is… this is…

Panic clawed at him.

How long have I been here? How long will I be here? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? Have I even left the cell?

For a moment, he lay there, panting heavily, his hands twisting in the circular restraints, sharp pricking pain as the electrodes tugged at the skin on the back of his hands, his forehead and his feet. Attempting to get his breathing under control, Loki turned his head and glanced through grille on his left. The slowly blinking lights of green and orange and the flaring and fading bars of the computers blurred as exhaustion and despair weighed down upon him.

That was when he first felt it. Lying there in the relative quiet, watching the hypnotic lights blinking, Loki floated in the soft light of the stars when he felt the warm arms – such warm arms – fold around him as tenderly as a mother.

-courage, dear heart-

-we are here-

-your calls-

-carried upon the rays of the stars-

-have been heard-

-by those who love you dearly-

It was Frigga. So long, he thought disjointedly, I have not heard her voice for such a long time, it seems… seems impossible, seems foreign…

He tried to turn, but she only clung to him tighter, her fragrant breath brushing against his cheek as drew him into her warm embrace.

-brace yourself-

-it is coming-

Then, he felt it: time and space shifting, magick streaming forward, swirling around him and a far off chant echoing through the rift. A clang. A familiar clang – and an equally familiar voice calling his name.

-Loki-

It was over so quickly – suddenly, the golden bands around him began to crackle, began to break into a fine gold dust. Drifting back through the rift, the spell slipped away and Loki's lungs filled with air as a waterfall of colour, the world of magick overwhelmed him –

[…lines connect us…]

[…unseen…]

[…bring us, hold us together…]

[…perhaps, in the end…]

[…we are more connected than we thought…]

They had run out of time. Without a single word, Hanni shifted the entire power to forward shields as the Tro'watal came about. Sharx, pushing the accelator flat to the dash, looked grim as the cargo ship sped toward the Kirrik. Below, the comm knew that Vyrn'or had set self-destruct.

Perhaps the fleet will reach Midgard, Mal thought, glancing over at Tando, then Hanni and Sharx. Perhaps the Chitauri will get there, but they will get there with one less ship. If we have no choice but to die, then at least we will take our foe down with us.

She thought of the report she had sent to the High Council. Now they know. They know of Loki. They know of his heritage. They know of his abilities. They know where he is headed. They know of the success of their mission.

I have done my duty, I have played my role… Now, Loki, it is your time. Your time to shine… I only wish… Mal set her jaw as the Kirrik began to open fire. I only wish I had been there to see you fulfill your destiny. There never was enough time for us.

They were so close – they could see the shields of the Kirrik falling as Klick's final program – Code Black – kicked into high gear.

There was never enough time for me… for us… but in that short time, we blazed like the most glorious suns.

Mal closed her eyes, allowing the green skin she had worn all of her life to melt away. She could see Loki's half-smile, white sheets and bars of light on glorious blue skin. She could see the gifts he had given her – such beautiful gifts.

Even if it was a short time, she thought, there was reward… and I shall see them again… one day…

Loki… Mal opened her eyes as the world blazed red about her. Narfi... Nari…

-0-0-0-

Colours filled him. Blue and green, incandescent and iridescent, until there was no sight or sound or sense. There was nothing but him riding upon the barely controllable flood of magick. It swirled around him, through him and distantly, Loki could hear something reverberating, a cracking sound, a crashing sound and then growing more deafening by the minute, a sonic boom as the ship shot forward like an arrow, ripping through, no doubt, the planet below.

Coursing through this veins like a burning fire, the magick wreathed him in blue and green and white flames. Healing and destroying in one single motion, the energy ripped through him. He was everything and nothing. He was fire and ice. He was light and dark.

Who was he…

Loki began to scream.

---

OK. There you guys are. The last chapter's questions are all answered, I hope. I also hope that a bunch of you are asking a few other questions now. Like... who/what was Mal really? Where is the High Council? Who are Narfi and Nari? All of these questions, if I decide to write a sequel, will be answered. Heh. We'll see how tired I am after finishing this novel.

Reply to review re Loki's Sexuality & Gender is below the Glossary.

DO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS CHAPTER! It took me a week and a half to write. I didn't write it in a linear fashion which scared me to death and I really struggled carrying the emotion through to the end. Let me know if there are any plot holes or spelling errors etc. Thanks so much for reading guys!

See you in a bit!-KI

Information on Levels of Mage/Magical Abilities

Level 1 – Eno'sa
Level 2 – Eno'tho – Thanos
Level 3 – Eno'frei
Level 4 – Eno'ah – Elven Mages/Odin
Level 5 – Eno'ko – Asgard/Jotun/Any Other Healthy Realm Mage/Prince Loki before Odin caps him
Level 6 – Eno'yul – Sharda'aa/Regular Mage
Level 7 – Eno'vee – Uncollared Kol'la/Current Prince Loki post-Fall (past Sleen & Jela)
Level 8 – Eno'mah – Collared Kol'la/Current Prince Loki post-Fall (up until Sleen)
Level 9 – Eno'lei
Level 10 – Eno'sanai

Alien Glossary:

'auzha – fucker
bollen - boulders/monoliths
chi'iano – a radioactive piece of rock similar to uranium
cho'ai - lover
Dou'ma – idiot
Eno'Keshi'ko – the system of Eno, a type of magical level measurements
Fen'chi Galaxy – Andromeda Galaxy
gan'ga'war – steel balls
gan'ko – ganka'jya chon, a steel beetle
iz'kyr – a kind of frozen stone powder which is used as a narcotic for some species
Janah – similar to dammit
Ka'autha'ndarna - Reality
kalo – a kind of purple-red fruit, similar to a pomegranate or dragonfruit
Kholathan – Safety Belt/Protected Zone
kol-sava'atha – a titanium-rich ore
kolm (sniffer) - a kind of drug like weed
kon'bi – short for konji'bifu, space bat
ku'sha – "fuck"
lasu – space rat
l'gon – storyteller
lifeljos – life light/signature
Morning-star - a mace
myech'myena - shape-shifting
Mye'hyoi Peyt – Milky Way
n'ch'nka – a kind of cow
Nord-Stjarna – north star
Nyr'Fjor - Jotunn's original name for V'slozh'noi
oma'auzha – mother-effer
oto'oa - big sister
pu'lotni – plutonium
pye'nee - a kind of bird
Ra'ska'yeh o Phyllo'xia – Tales of Phylloxia
roobyn – a red stone
r'senk'ne – a kind of deer/cow hybrid
Shen'grid – the Protected Zone, the zone in which habitable planets orbit around a sun
Shi'nuwu – Reality/Yggdrasil
sigan – short for yan'sigan, rock-worm
So'shah – Earth/Midgard
syem'fyerma – family/community farm
Tai'shu – The Void
tro'watal – perseverance
udji'oo – a drug, like opium
whota – wheat

Re: Loki's Sexuality & Gender

To the Unnamed Guest… Here is a modified answer to your question. I hope this helps!

The initial question you asked was why Loki doesn't have liaisons with men. There are many facets to the answer as I wrote before (Chap 74) which I won't reiterate. In response to your response, Loki has not been with shape-shifting folk who could give him the s/he mate he might want is b/c Loki in MCU-verse (according to Branagh and rational calculations) is so young he appears to have little to no interest in making a family previous to his fall and my Loki for differing reasons also has little to no interest in even thinking about the whole issue. So there is no reason for Loki to search out shape-shifting folk b/c he has no procreation needs. He has hang ups about his kids being disabled or monsters (convo with Shax) and after he discovers his kin might still be out there, Loki is in no position to look for them. He's got other things on his plate (aka Thanos taking over universe, Thor in trouble, Asgard & Midgard screwed etc). Having sex with shape-shifting people who might be able to make him pregnant is the last thing he wants.

Besides, Asgardian standards require a man and a woman in form, yes, and as such it's also a rational extrapolation to believe that Asgardians would also require that a man doesn't do anything strange like get pregnant. I'm fairly certain that even if Loki and his "shape-shifting wife" kept their bedroom gender-swapping activities private, the results (a preggers!Loki) would not be so acceptable.

Also, the need to get pregnant isn't in everyone's biology. I'm not sure why we would assume Loki has an overwhelming need to procreate. My Loki currently has no biological imperative whatsoever. HOWEVER… That being said, there is nothing in my story that promises that Loki will remain in Asgard for the rest of his life. Perhaps there will be ways for him to explore himself in other places when he has a better state of well-being. MAYBE… (hints) MAYBE in the sequel, Loki will be elsewhere and in another situation where exploring the complexities of mating and child-raising will become necessary.

A word of warning, however. I am NOT interested frankly in all the mechanics of being pregnant and I don't see humor in being pregnant at the same time as your wife. I'm the eldest of 10 kids (not counting 3-4 miscarriages, all from the same 2 parents)… and I find nothing humorous about being with child. I can safely say that if I don't have babies, I'll be very happy. Nothing short of a miracle of supreme love will make me have babies. I actually considered myself asexual for ten years or so and only recently have been able to relax about my possible het-sexuality, forget having children. As a result, Loki's journey to acceptance of duties as a Lesser Kindred and his foray into romance and family creation will probably echo my own journey and it won't always be fun. There are amazing, comedic takes of preggers!jotunn/Asgardian!Loki out there, but I'll be more serious about it. There will be some laughs… but it won't be the point of the character or anything like that.

I am aware that Loki's gender fluidity has become a voice for marginalized groups in society. My Loki, I hope, speaks for a less sexual group of people, in which his person is not defined by who he has or doesn't have sex with – or his ability to or interest in (or lack thereof) procreation. The people he has sex with in my story were put there to show a blossoming of interest, but it by no means should define him.

I hope this answer helps! Thanks for your questions!