It was a cold, wintery night.

  The humans of GreyEarth—one of many worlds—moved in their millions through the metropolitan sprawl of Winter Haven. Towers loomed like sleeping titans, their breath rising in plumes of steam and frost. Magic hummed in the shadows beneath the glow of neon and starlight.

  And tucked away in a quieter part of the city, down a crooked stone lane half-remembered by time, stood a classic tavern called The Owl and Hen.

  Inside, warmth reigned.

  The fire roared, mugs clinked, and laughter danced among the beams of old timber. Adventurers and wanderers congregated with loud boasts and louder cheer, swapping tales of loot claimed and friendships forged, of maidens rescued and holdfasts saved from siege.

  In the far back, however, where the hearth’s light faded and shadows gathered thick like smoke, sat a lone figure.

  A young man—lithe, handsome, with hair black as the void between stars. He wore simple, faded garments and an old tattered cloak that had once been a vibrant orange but was now dulled by long travel and wear. He sat alone, silent, untouched by the merriment around him.

  The others paid him no heed.

  He preferred it that way. He didn’t care for the noise or the bravado. He needed only time—to plan, to think.

  He had not eaten, though food was easy to come by. His stomach was tight with nerves. All he allowed himself was a cup of ale, for ale soothed the mind, and tonight, his mind needed soothing.

  He wasn't sure if the one he waited for would come. Seven nights had passed with no sign. This was the eighth. One more night wasted, and he'd be forced to reconsider his options—none of which pleased his heart.

  But still, he hoped.

  He hoped the one he had summoned would remember the old bonds of kinship, if they still mattered at all.

  His eyes remained fixed on the main tavern door, watching the coming and going of strangers.

  And then, just as he was about to rise and leave for the soft pillows of his tavern bed, the mighty oak door of The Owl and Hen burst open.

  A deafening crack silenced the tavern. Heads turned. Jugs paused mid-toast. The warmth of the room was broken by a blast of cold that howled through the gap like a beast unleashed.

  In the doorway stood the silhouette of a mighty man.

  He was six and a half feet tall, broad of chest and thick of arm, a brute shaped by battle and blood. He looked more beast than man, a creature hewn from grizzly muscle and godhood. Behind him, a whirlwind of snow and night blew in, making his tattered orange cloak billow like a flame against the dark.

  Lightning split the sky.

  In the flash, the strangers within saw his face.

  “Can it be?” someone whispered.

  “No... it can't. What would a son of Wodin be doing here?”

  Then another voice, urgent and certain: “Wait! Look! Hanging from his belt!”

  All eyes turned to the object strapped to his golden belt—a hammer, crusted in dried blood.

  “Mjolnir,” many whispered.

  The mighty man stepped inside and into the warmth. He did not flinch. He did not hesitate. His gaze swept over the room like a hunter seeking prey.

  His right hand went to the hammer.

  Then, with a voice like thunder ripping through the stone walls of the tavern, he roared:

  “LOKI! I HAVE COME!”

  Gasps filled the room. The mighty man seized a cup of ale straight from the hand of one of the sturdiest adventurers and downed it in a single gulp.

  “Show yourself!”

  The young man with the raven-black hair rose from the shadows and approached. He clapped mockingly, a slow, theatrical rhythm.

  “Bravo. Bravo,” he said. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

  The grizzled brute was not amused.

  “Enough. Explain yourself, Loki Liesmith,” he growled. “You said you had proof. I came here only as a courtesy.”

  Loki smiled.

  “Courtesy, Thunder God? My, my. You’ve changed since last we met.”

  The man with the hammer stepped closer, voice low and dangerous.

  “Careful now, Loki. If it were up to me... I’d have already bashed your pretty little skull in. No words. Just silence. But Asgard has decided I hear you out. Unlike you, I obey the law. I am no kin-slayer.”

  He paused. “But I’ve bent the rules before. You would do well to remember that.”

  Loki was about to reply with something sharp, something cruel—but something in the tone Thor used made him reconsider.

  “Well said,” Loki said instead, offering a mock salute. “I salute your law-abiding ways, Thor.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Thor remained stone-faced.

  Loki glanced around. Every eye was still upon them.

  “Now then... let’s make our way to the stairs. My room is upstairs—private, quiet. Just you and me. I know you love the company of mortals, but I prefer fewer eyes and ears. Too many distractions here. You said you came out of courtesy, so allow one as lowly as I to return the same in kind... brother.”

  Thor’s gaze was sharp.

  “Half-brother,” he corrected.

  “Yes,” Loki said, still smiling. “Of course.”

  Thor motioned for him to lead the way. He would not walk with Loki behind him.

  Loki chuckled under his breath and turned toward the stairs that led to the upper rooms.

  As they walked, he paused briefly at the bar. “Tansy,” he said to the old motherly tavern keeper, “here’s some coin for the door. And bring some ale and meat to my room, would you?”

  He tossed a few silver coins on the counter and continued up the stairs.

  Thor stopped beside her.

  “I’m sorry about the door,” he said gruffly, and dropped a full pouch of gold beside Loki’s silver.

  Then he followed Loki—his hammer at his side, eyes never leaving the path ahead.

  The door creaked open, and they stepped inside.

  The room Loki had claimed at The Owl and Hen was surprisingly luxurious—almost regal. A plush rug of deep crimson covered the floor. The bed, large and feather-stuffed, sat draped in silken sheets dyed in forest green and midnight blue, clearly meant for comfort rather than austerity. A small side table bore a crystal decanter of dark wine, half-emptied. A roaring fireplace crackled in the hearth, casting golden warmth across the walls and illuminating the elegant wooden carvings along the ceiling beams.

  Thor paused at the threshold, gaze narrowing.

  "So... this is where the runaway sleeps," he muttered. His expression soured. "You left Asgard in shambles, Loki. And now here you are, living in comfort while our people grieve."

  Loki raised an eyebrow. "Would you have preferred I slept in a ditch?"

  Thor grunted but said nothing more. He strode over to the chairs in front of the hearth and sat, his massive frame sinking into the seat like a thundercloud settling in. Loki followed, ale in hand, and took the opposite chair.

  Silence hung between them for a few heartbeats. Then Thor broke it with a growl.

  "Why shouldn’t I split your skull open right now and be done with it?"

  Loki sipped his ale slowly, eyes never leaving Thor’s. Then, quietly, "Because I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill Baldur."

  Thor’s jaw clenched. "You expect me to believe that? After everything? After the chaos you’ve sown?"

  "It was a mistake," Loki said. "A tragic misunderstanding. I never laid a hand on the boy."

  "Then why run, Loki? Why not stand before Wodin and the Aesir like a man if you were innocent?"

  Loki’s voice grew sharp. "Because I had no choice! You know Freya. You know what her grief would have driven her to do. You know how the others see me—a liar, a trickster. Who would have stood by me then?"

  "I would have," Thor said without hesitation. "If you had come to me, looked me in the eyes, and told me the truth—I would have stood with you, even if the rest of Asgard turned their backs."

  Loki blinked. That… surprised him. There was no deceit in Thor’s words. Only bitter honesty.

  "I panicked," Loki admitted. "I had no idea what would happen if I threw myself on the mercy of the Allfather. Everything was falling apart. Baldur was dead, and it looked like my doing. I did what I always do—I ran."

  "You should have trusted him," Thor said, his voice softer. "Wodin is our king. Our father. He would have listened, if your heart was true."

  "I know that now," Loki muttered. "But at the time... running felt like the only option."

  Thor sighed and leaned back. "You’ve been gone a long time, Loki. Most in Asgard think you dead. Or worse. Freya still grieves. Still rages. The fire’s cooled, but the embers burn hot beneath. You’re lucky it was me Wodin sent to hear you out… not her."

  Loki gave a long, slow nod. "I am grateful. Truly."

  Thor turned to face him fully. "What have you been doing all this time, Loki? In this world of GreyEarth? What kept you hidden so long among mortals?"

  Loki drained his cup and leaned forward, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "It began that morning... a fine Sunday in Asgard. I was heading off for a hunt—my usual routine. Bow, quiver, knives. But Baldur wanted to come. You know how he was—playful, curious. I should have said no. Every bone in me said no. But he begged. So I gave in."

  He paused.

  "I made him swear not to tell anyone. He fetched his own bow. I even showed him how to shoot properly. We hunted birds. Even brought down a young stag. He was a natural."

  Loki’s gaze darkened. "But then... the fog came. Thick, unnatural. We got separated. I called for him—no answer. When I found him, he was already gone. Arrows in his chest... arrows made of mistletoe."

  Thor inhaled sharply. Loki continued.

  "And then I saw it. A shimmer in the air. A cloaking spell wearing off. A figure standing over him—tall, broad... wrong. Not one of us. A frost giant."

  Thor leaned forward, thunder stirring behind his eyes. "You saw his face?"

  "I saw enough. I didn’t know his name, not then. I changed shape—into a deer—and chased him through the woods, but he vanished back into the fog."

  "And you left Baldur behind?"

  "No. I carried him back to my chariot. I was going to take him home. But then I saw riders in the distance—Freya’s household guard. I panicked again. Turned into a deer once more and fled."

  Loki exhaled and looked into the fire. "I ran until my hooves bled. And when I finally stopped, I asked the trees what they had seen. They gave me one name."

  He looked up. "Mavikundi. That’s who killed Baldur. A frost giant named Mavikundi."

  Thor’s hand gripped Mjolnir tighter. "If this is true, the frost giants will pay dearly. One of their own has slain a god."

  Loki nodded. "I have tracked him here. He’s in Winterhaven, Thor. Right now."

  Thor stood slowly. "Then help me find him. Help me drag him back to Asgard. If what you say is true... if you truly are innocent... the Allfather will know."

  "And if I’m lying?" Loki asked.

  "Then I’ll bind you myself," Thor growled. "And deliver you to Freya. I’ll watch as she takes her vengeance."

  "You have nothing to fear, brother," Loki said, smiling faintly. "Everything I’ve told you is true."

  Just then, the door opened with a soft knock and creak. Tansy, the kindly tavern keeper, entered with a tray of steaming food, her grown daughter Darcy behind her, round-bellied and glowing with pregnancy.

  "I trust my lords are doing well," Tansy said. "Come, Darcy, pour for them. Yes, just like that."

  Darcy poured with practiced grace. Loki raised his cup. "We are doing well, madam. Wodin’s blessings on you and your kin."

  Thor smiled. "Indeed. This is welcome."

  Loki noted it again—Thor’s affection for mortals, especially those with warm hearts and full plates.

  The worst of it had passed. Thor believed him. He was in a good mood. Loki dared to feel... hopeful.

  The rest would come down to timing. He had spies working within The Owl and Hen tonight—paid in silver to watch the crowd. One of the guests had to be on Mavikundi’s payroll. If they reported Loki and Thor’s presence, the spies tailing them would follow, uncovering the frost giant’s lair.

  Then Thor could do what he did best.

  Loki would be exonerated.

  His name—restored.

  Everything, he hoped, was finally moving as planned.

  "Well then," Loki said cheerfully, clapping his hands and eyeing the food. "Chicken or ham, Thor?"

  Thor raised an eyebrow. "Both."