(LOKI)

Legend foretold that Surtur would arrive on Vigrid atop a horse burning white with heat; he would be armored in black glass molded to his form, unafraid of anyone or anything. His sword, aptly given a name since it was a masterpiece of balance and size, would do plenty of damage even without the Eternal Flame to ignite it.

Thor and I stared at him in complete awe as he crested the bottom of the hill to Vigrid. Every story spun when we were children came to life before our eyes without a single incorrect detail. He could've ridden out of Odin's animated books.

"Are you ready for this?" Thor asked with a grin, too giddy for the occasion. "It's been too long since I've had a worthy opponent."

I rolled my eyes. Only because I took care of the last one who might've challenged you...

Odin finished directing the other soldiers and stood between us. He met my height, albeit artificially, raised by his boots. One for ceremony, he wore his helmet of oxen horns, which encouraged me to appear as though I wore my horns as well—in reality, they would've interfered with movement. Thor felt the same way I did and didn't cover his head at all.

"We're here." Odin scanned Surtur's army, which spread out on either side of the great beast in a line of black weaponry. "Every soul left in Yggdrasil has a part to play."

Thor braced himself by spreading out his legs even though they were still more than half the vast field away. "Watch those ones on the left flank. They'll charge at us."

"No, no. Surely they will fly over our heads and turn for the city," I quipped. Sarcasm helped distance myself from the horror all around us.

Odin put up one hand and spoke so soft and slow, one might've thought he lost his nerve. "Enough, my sons."

I bristled. "That's the second time you've done that today." It wouldn't matter how strongly I glared since his eyes remained steadfastly to the front. It occurred to me how everything around us must've been something he saw in some vision—perhaps it's what he saw with Frigga at their binding with the Don. He'd been right about everything else to this point about Surtur's arrival and what to expect. What was he leaving out?

Odin took two steps forward instead of properly addressing my confrontation. Appropriate, if annoying. "Surtur has come for me and me alone. Let our army squash his minions. Your roles are to clear the field of wounded and advise where strategy is needed. There will be no tolerance for cowards. No freedom to wait out enemy resources. This last stand is where this universe will end. She births another, waiting only for the right horizon."

"We will defeat him, Father." Thor met my eyes and gave a quick nod of affirmation.

I didn't doubt his strength or skill. Only if fate would allow him to use all his talents. "Then let's go get the bastard."

At my declaration, Odin yelled a single long note and charged Surtur with Gungnir ready to strike. Once he took action, the rest of the army did as well, making a wave of bodies ready to crash against the enemy.

For life. For death. For Asgard.

Keep fighting. Keep fighting.

My hands became boulders on the end of my arms. Every new swing threatened to reinjure my long-since-cured left shoulder. I gave up using a sword and went back to daggers, forced to steal some from the dead so I could down enemies before they came too close. My magic disguised and covered me more than once—clever defense was still my strong suit, thankfully.

While our soldiers were swift and keen to avoid being crushed by the giants steadily flooding in, we lacked strong numbers. Even quick on our feet, we couldn't miraculously produce more fighters than we had available. A youthful troupe of Crimson Hawks valiantly spread out amongst the common guards—what initially looked like a flock of red birds was somberly replaced by a wash of their blood. Inexperience proved to be the end for many of them. Their flying counterparts, the Valkyrie, came in on winged horses and rained fiery arrows on the mess of disfigured creatures below.

They seemed to travel in slow motion, echoing the speed of my thoughts. Keep fighting. Keep fighting. How...how long have we been fighting? At least one sunset passed—perhaps two. Ragnarok was no battle. This was a full war. Were we winning or losing? No one kept score, and how could they?

Stone monsters spat lava and tortured any Aesir within their reach, melting them to their armor and cooking them alive. The screams of many—more brutal than any my centuries of memory could recall—sent shivers up my spine each time they wailed to nothing. I gave a merciful death of cold to anyone who survived an initial fire attack. It was the absolute least I could do for them.

Thor, unlike me, fought in a rush and cared little for any mess he left behind. Rubble followed him, making obstacles on the battlefield that were inconvenient for all, though I didn't ask him to change anything about his tactics. We were likely only as well off as we were because he'd singlehandedly taken down more than one brigade of adversaries. If only Modi could've seen him in real life instead of a fictional, exaggerated version—he might've been proud of his father's real skills. Thor struck his hammer on the ground and expelled droves of foes to the edge of the field, no lies required.

For all we had against us, our only advantage was the arena. This was our home. Our guardian realm. The city was safe so long as we had blood to spill. Odin, Thor, myself...we were far more valuable than any common folk.

A foolish assumption that worked to our advantage. After all, we fought for them, not for ourselves.

Hours passed, perhaps even days, though the position of light in the smoggy skies was our only evidence of time moving at all. We collectively felt suffocated under the thick blanket of stifling atmosphere. Every so often, Thor commanded rain, dousing the Fire Giants and bringing us an iota of relief.

But it would only last so long. Opponents multiplied, martyrs for their hopeless cause. Dying by sword and hand and spear. I mindlessly whizzed through many of them, making the task of numbering my kills all the more difficult after I'd reached triple digits. At nearly a hundred and fifty, I stopped tracking them precisely and estimated deaths by the hour instead.

"Gods, where are they coming from?" I muttered, grateful to have a moment to breathe and wipe my brow. "They could run down our tolerance long before we have a chance to destroy half of their resources."

Thor stopped as well, panting at my side. He bumped my shoulder. "You're not getting tired are you?"

I raised my brow and swiped at the still-pouring sweat covering my face. "Don't tell me this is leisurely for you."

He laughed—though I suspected, like my sarcasm, he did it to trick his own mind. No sane fighter would look at our circumstance and find any of it easy. It was a proper challenge. Ease could be earned in the past, but not now. Every second of experience before the horns called us to fight prepared us, but it didn't alleviate the struggle one bit.

I pointed toward the southwestern edge, at the very end of Asgard's land. "You've been watching them, yes?"

Odin and Surtur battled on their own, as expected from the start. Neither our people nor his dared interfere with their showdown. Odin forbade it and commanded us to stay north until or unless he could not keep Surtur from the front line. Even too frail to walk straight day by day, Odin pulled every last strand of strength from his bones not to falter now. If I hadn't known better, I would've thought he yielded to Pluto all those years ago on purpose; after all, he couldn't withstand those blows for longer than an hour, maybe? And what about his fights with Laufey? His quarrels with Malekith? Even me?

For a split second, I was impressed. You've been holding back, old man.

Thor squinted at them. "I've only spared my eyes that way when no one's trying to burn me alive. Father's still holding his own."

From far away, Surtur walked less like a skeletal demon and more like a lizard of sorts. His hips, widely spread, meant he shifted side to side awkwardly with each step. Beneath his glassy armor, an unmistakable sheath of scales shined through. A dragon without wings, ready to breathe destruction onto the remnants of everything we knew and loved. He swung Twilight over his head and came down on Odin again and again, blasted back by Gungnir in an endless cycle.

Something shifted in my heart. Not exhaustion—panic, like I'd been goosed from behind in the dark. A change in the wind, in the air, in the ground. Almost as if Mother, or fortune, forced my gaze in their direction at just the right time.

Keep fighting. Keep fighting. Come on.

Surtur roared and dug his feet into the terrain, holding steady against Gungnir's discharge. It was only a small window, but he took it—instead of barreling his sword down vertically, he swiped Odin from the side, throwing the old man backward.

I bolted, not even sure why. Purely instinct, no doubt. Thor was smart enough to use Mjolnir to fly for Odin, catching him before his body could be further decimated by impacting the ground. No one else, on either side of the war, followed us. Our race brought us closer to Surtur and death.

"Father?" Thor pleaded, cradling him on the hard ground as Surtur sauntered our direction. "I'm here. What do you need?"

Odin pointed at the enemy. "My son..."

"Shh. Regain your strength. Loki—" Thor eyed me to come closer so I could support Odin's weight.

I knelt and took over. "Hurry. Before he raises that sword again."

"Right." Thor beckoned a black cloud with the swirling of Mjolnir before he charged. His hammer against Twilight clanged in the background, punctuated by hearty grunts that felt more performative than genuine.

The limp man in my arms sucked in the air around us like he'd been without for hours. The patch over his bad eye had been lost sometime during the battle, and his good side was closed. When he coughed, flecks of scarlet stippled his lower lip.

"Gods..." I muttered, fumbling for one of Freyr's vials in my boot. "Tell me where you're injured. I have something to dull the pain."

He didn't open his eye and rocked his head back and forth to deny me. "No. Do not waste it on me now."

What was I to say? That it wasn't a waste? That I wanted him to live? The only proper thing was to insist. "Don't be stubborn. Now is no time for martyrdom. You held him off this long; a bit more time, and we might see his end."

Odin shifted his grip on Gungnir, swallowing hard as he did. When he breathed, I swore his lungs were filled with bubbles. Blood dripped from his right nostril. Slowly. Painfully. His armor was too stiff and thick to see any other obvious wounds. Surtur tore him from the inside out; either by the blow, or from their lengthy, grueling dance.

I placed my right hand on his chest, over his heart. "Odin, please—"

"L-life is a series of choices, Loki." He gulped again, barely able to keep up with the fluid pouring into his mouth from within. "Did you know each one leads to a different path? An endless supply of p-possibilities."

You're waxing philosophical at a time like this?

"Someday, you might learn how to reverse time," he said. "Change everything. You know now what decisions made you who you are. If you had infinite chances to do things over again, every time taking the path of ease, it c-could be possible to live in a reality of nothing but peace, joy, pleasure, fortune..."

"You're not making sense." I propped him up higher and startled when Thor bellowed; fortunately, it was only more intimidation on his part.

Odin reached for me, finally opening his now-bloodshot blue eye. It was gray now, faded, like his life force had already waved goodbye and held on by his lashes. "Frigga t-told me that."

I narrowed my eyes. "Told you what?"

"About the choices we make. About knowing what r-really matters. She said, 'If you could re-live your existence and change every decision you ever made, the ones you'd keep will prove to be how you're remembered.' She s-said the end would bring a perfect clarity to everything."

I cleared my throat to keep my eyes in check. "It's not the end. No clarity here."

He wheezed. "If I could live a thousand lifetimes...if I could change all moments from the past...I wouldn't change my F-Frigga. I wouldn't change my sacrifice to be the Allfather. I wouldn't change the arrival of Thor. And there's one other that would stay."

The drumming of my heart made a melody of his words. "There...there is?"

He patted my shoulder, gently, but in a way I recalled from childhood. The smallest signal of real affection. "I would g-go to the temple. I'd find the child." Odin's single eye dripped a tear that cleared a line of soot from his cheek. "Every time, in any life. I would choose you as my son, Loki."

Having children of my own made me soft. So did Sigyn. So did Ragnarok. But despite my always being prone to showing emotion on my face, I wept unlike I could ever recall.

"Shh," he said, being the man I'd always needed him to be, seeing me for who I really was and not faulting me for it. It was a comfort, not an admonition for appearing weak in front of the enemy.

"I'm sorry, Father," I blubbered, sniffing as my stomach cramped from quick staccato breath. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be the son you wanted me to be."

"You are." He found my hand on his chest and squeezed hard. "Your mother is proud of all you have become. Loki Odinson, you are forgiven."

There wasn't enough time to mend the chasm of the past before Mjolnir whizzed past my face, quickly followed by Thor, catapulted by the beast. Surtur, nearly hidden completely by flame, seethed with yellow eyes and charged toward us once again.

"My turn," I said, laying Odin flat on the ground. He didn't protest or complain.

I will prove my worth to me now.

Thor screamed for me as he gained his bearings. "Loki, the edge...mind the drop at the edge!"

In the distance, at the crux of where the sun kissed the horizon, an unfamiliar haze rose through the sky. Drop? Did he destroy part of Asgard itself?

Surtur swiped his dented shard of a sword left and right. Twilight was still plenty dangerous, but as long as it was cold, it couldn't fulfill any legends of total destruction.

But he didn't know what I knew—nor did he know just how much fun a game of illusions could be.

I shouted for Surtur, approaching with slow steps that camouflaged the gravity of my uncertainty. "Such a mighty beast with such a useless weapon. What a pity."

He growled in response. Even without recognizable features, his grunt screamed annoyance.

"Surely you only need but one thing, yes?" I tucked my daggers into the sheaths on either side of my hips and clapped once above my head. Instantly, I appeared in projections surrounding him—five of me versus one of him. Behind each one was a live depiction of that which he sought: the very goblet of Eternal Flame.

Inefficient at turning in any direction, Surtur jerked his head in all directions, trying to decide which one to focus on.

It was slightly comforting to know I could recreate the flame well enough to fool him, as I hadn't looked upon it in person for ages. Teasing him, I yelled from all angles, overlapping each declaration to confuse him further.

"If only you could light the blade."

"Spectacular if you could, really."

"Without the flame, Twilight is nothing. You are nothing."

"And where is your rival? You let Odin get away?"

"You've nowhere to go, fiend. Admit your failure and retreat."

Surtur huffed more and more. Smoke poured off him in a deeper tone, out of his ears and even mimicking a tail. It was dangerous to anger him; could I even survive the kind of hit that Thor just took?

Either way, it was worth the risk.

"Which one will you choose?" I asked, layering my words again.

"Yes, which one, indeed."

He lurched to the illusion closest to him, immediately dissipating it. His infuriated snarl shook the ground.

"Oo, so close, but keep guessing."

He spun and leapt across the field to the version of me across from him and swiped with long claws at the next.

For both, I cackled. "What a fool. To not even be able to tell your true target."

"Surely you can do better than that."

He ran for the north, but this time, I dissolved before he even reached me.

My voice hung on the wind. "One left." With my back to the edge Thor warned me about, I folded my arms and spread my legs to brace myself. "You have figured out the game, Surtur. Congratulations."

The cry from his lungs made my stomach flip in endless knots. He bared his teeth, which were really blackened coals, though even as I faced his wrath, the glass of his armor was beautiful. Unbecoming of a being who had a single purpose—to kill Odin Allfather and bring Asgard to ruin.

But before Surtur came close enough to learn if I was genuine, Gungnir struck him from behind and lodged into his right shoulder.

I gasped. Not part of the plan. "What?"

"Loki, go!" Odin hollered, meeting my gaze in a flickering glance. He lunged for Surtur again with the sword across his back—likely the first time during the whole battle that it had even been unsheathed.

"But, I..."

Thor picked me up before Surtur tumbled, saving me from being crushed and melted. "Some nice trick, brother," he said, nauseating me with his optimism again.

"Good thing he was too daft to blast them all with fire, or I could've been cooked."

"Right. Well, Father says he's ready to end this. It's—" Thor turned and went silent, turning white in an instant.

I focused where he did and felt the same dread. An emptiness spread from my feet to my head. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Too late. Not enough.

Surtur writhed on the ground with Odin atop him. The old man sliced and smashed with unrelenting fervor. But as he did, the weight of the beast cracked the firmament.

Thor and I gave each other a single confirming glance before rushing to Odin's aid. One chance. One attempt.

Is this really the end?

Surtur screeched as he gave a final thrash, breaking through Asgard's ground. The universe below swallowed him, extinguishing his fire and leaving only the sound of his agony behind.

And as he disappeared, so did Odin. We were too late.

Thor fell to his knees at the new edge of Asgard. He stared down the swirling void of space and screamed, "Father!"

I remained standing and squeezed his shoulder. It wasn't real anymore—the haze of the destruction around us made Vigrid feel like a lost dream. Odin, gone, after making amends. Thor, helpless and lost. Shock kept me upright and nothing else.

Frigga's star above shone with its perfect red gold, as always. She flickered, waving at us, calling to us, highlighting our silhouettes against the darkening sky.

I cried to her. "He's coming to Valhalla, Mother."

Thor sobbed beside me, never one to fall apart. Too heavy of a weight for even him. The fading sound of crashing weapons droned from the far end where we'd started, proving that the battle would continue even amidst our tragedy.

Yet we were granted a single gift. It stole my breath. "Thor, look." I tugged him up by his short cape to stand. "Do you see it?"

He wiped his face and looked up like I did. "What?"

"By Frigga's star. There." I pointed, trying my hardest to relax through my exhale so I could stop shaking.

They were lovers again. They brought peace between realms. A god and a goddess, of war and of love, watching over the birth of a new Yggdrasil. Odin's star, blue and blinding, shone down on us beside Frigga, too close to her to be a mistake or coincidence.

Thor couldn't appreciate it the way I could—after all, he didn't speak with Mother like I did. They were gone, and he was orphaned. Nothing I said could ease such a penetrating wound. "What do we do now?" he asked, struggling to pick up Mjolnir with wet hands.

"We change tactics and keep moving." I forced his gaze my way and stood up straight. "May I be the first of many to declare a new era. To my brother, I pledge my life and my service. I swear to defend him to my last and dying breath. It is with honor and pride that I join him in battle. To you, the new King of Asgard."