Paradox

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The old Loki never returned. Despite the old man’s blatant fear of Alioth, refusing to get anywhere near it for the few years they lived in the Void, the monster was what had got him in the end. He had found his ‘glorious purpose’...and he’d left Kid Loki alone.

Footsteps crunched the dead, dried grass below as Kid Loki stared ahead. Croki bumbled along beside him, sniffing the air. Some rubble was still left behind from the fight, but the giant structures that the old man had created were in ruin, just like the real Asgard. It hurt to look at. To know the older Loki would never return, and neither would many of the other Lokis.

He turned his gaze toward where the beast had once resided, its purple now reduced to a dazzling green and parted to the side, billowing quietly, almost as if it were asleep. Or dead, he thought bitterly, wishing it had been so. The older version of himself and Sylvie both had ventured beyond Alioth. Perhaps they would be returning soon with answers…or perhaps not. Whoever was in charge of the TVA would no doubt be a tough adversary. Despite himself, he hoped that they would get through this okay.

His foot kicked something, and he stopped to look down at it. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, it was a pair of old horns. Some of the gold was chipping, and it was covered in a thin layer of dirt, but he recognized them. Each Loki’s horns looked different, and he’d seen these almost every day for a long time. Slowly, he crouched beside them, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes and the lump in his throat. He took them gently in both hands, swiping his thumb across the middle to wipe some dirt away.

“That old fool,” he whispered, staring at his own reflection in the gold. The breeze whipped at his hair, and he hated how broken he looked. He almost looked just like a regular child, but he wasn’t a regular child, not by a long shot. Regular children didn’t accidentally kill their brothers. Regular children didn’t have to depend solely on themselves for survival.

Although, he supposed he hadn’t really been on his own since he came to the Void. Not really. The old man had respected him from the beginning. They had come to some sort of understanding: Lokis didn’t trust, but they could get some mutual benefit by working together to survive, so they did. But somewhere along the way, the boy had begun to think of the old man as a friend. He figured he was the one sane Loki left (that wasn’t a crocodile). He was his only friend, and now he was gone.

Croki sniffed the horns, whimpering softly. And Loki exhaled shakily, sitting down fully in the dirt, holding the horns in his lap. One hand stayed atop them, the other coming to rest on Croki’s head. “He isn’t coming back,” he murmured bitterly, staring up at the remains of Alioth, swallowing the lump in his throat. “He’s gone.”

Lokis were always meant to end up alone. He knew this. So why did it hurt so bad?

A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it, plopping on one of the gold horns. It slid downward, leaving a clear trail in the residue. He almost scoffed. Perhaps his ‘glorious purpose’ was just to be left behind by everyone else.

Suddenly, a door opened up behind him. Shocked and confused, the boy held the horns closer and picked up the crocodile, scrambling to his feet. If the TVA had come here to pick a fight, he was ready to fight back. Maybe a good old fashioned fight was what he needed to feel better. But when he turned around, he was surprised to find a familiar face.

Agent Mobius stood there, wind whipping at his suit jacket and hair, an exhausted look on his always-kind face, masked with a smile. “Hey there, Loki. You wanna get out of here?”