Loki Odinson, Lord Regent of Asgard, couldn't fully enjoy the celebration that followed the discussion at the White House.
He wasn't even able to lord Midgard's failure over them as much as he had wanted.
The reason was that his mind was on something else.
Something was troubling him.
And that very thing was in his hand.
Or rather, it should have been in his hand—and the fact that it wasn't, that was the real problem.
The mighty spear Gungnir, a weapon of such power that he didn't feel inferior even next to Arthuria and her knights—the spear of destiny.
Even now, Gungnir shone in the light… or that was what it appeared like.
In truth, it was nothing more than an illusion, one Loki desperately held to hide the fact that he had somehow lost the spear.
Lost the weapon of Odin. The very symbol of kingship of Asgard.
He couldn't figure out what had happened, when it had happened, or where it had gone… half-suspecting Arthuria of stealing it. But there were no signs of that, and honestly, he didn't think she was the kind of person who would do it.
The only reason he suspected her to begin with was that she was likely the only one who could pull something like that off.
But calling her out—innocent or guilty—wouldn't be good. They had just fought side by side, and showing any kind of divide wouldn't be a good look. So he simply hid the fact that he had lost his spear and decided that surely Heimdall would know what happened.
He must have been watching everything, and few things could slip past his gaze.
So for now, he just smiled and waved to the cameras, keeping his head held high as he made a few comments to the mortal media.
He just couldn't focus with his mind distracted by the disappearance of Gungnir. Thankfully, Arthuria kept going on about how this was the hour Midgard had to step up and change on their own.
It was the perfect excuse for his silence.
Not even Thor saw anything strange about his behavior, but then again, Thor was never the most observant when it came to such things.
Or perhaps, Loki mused bitterly, his brother simply chose not to look too closely.
Thor was radiant in victory—laughing loudly, clapping mortals on the shoulder hard enough to make them stagger, accepting their cheers as naturally as he accepted sunlight. The hero. The warrior. The symbol Midgard adored.
And Loki… Loki played his role.
He smiled for the cameras, inclined his head regally, spoke just enough to remind the world that Asgard stood victorious—that Asgard had come when called. He praised the courage of Midgard's defenders, spoke of unity between realms, of vigilance against future threats.
All the right words.
All carefully measured.
Years of making a mess and blaming Thor had given him plenty of practice in pretending. As a god of trickery, tricking hapless mortals was no challenge at all.
Still, his worries remained.
Gungnir was not merely a weapon. It was an extension of Odin himself—bound to his will, his authority, his very presence. Loki had wielded it for over a year now. He knew its weight. Its resonance. The subtle hum it carried.
And he knew its might—the danger of that weapon in the wrong hands… but that wasn't even the worst.
No, the worst was the fact that he had lost the symbol of kingship. The spear of Odin. The weapon of Asgard's king.
This was supposed to be his hour of triumph, where he could show off his might, his worth—hold the spear high and accept the love and admiration of the Nine Realms—where he would prove himself in the eyes of the entire cosmos.
That despite Odin sleeping, his son, Loki Odinson, still stood firm, and that Asgard remained strong with him on the throne.
The humiliation it would be if someone waved around Gungnir, exposing that he had somehow lost it… that thought meant he couldn't even enjoy himself.
He adjusted the glamour automatically, ensuring that no flicker betrayed him as he turned toward another cluster of reporters. Cameras flashed. Mortals cheered. Somewhere behind him, an Asgardian soldier raised his spear in salute.
Loki's smile sharpened.
If they knew, he thought, how quickly would that cheering turn?
Arthuria's voice carried across the gathering, commanding attention without effort. She spoke of responsibility, of Earth's need to face its future without gods solving every problem for them. Loki was grateful for it—her presence drew the focus away from him, allowed him to retreat into silence without suspicion.
For once, being overshadowed was a blessing.
As the celebrations finally wound down and the Ehangwen prepared to depart, Loki felt the strain settle deep in his chest. He exchanged farewells with forced grace, clasped forearms with warriors and heroes alike, and offered Thor a fond, if distracted, smile.
"It will be good to get back home. I have missed the meads of Asgard," Thor said warmly, suspecting nothing.
"Yes… Well, since you did fight in this war, I suppose I can use that to lift your banishment. Just don't cause any problems before I have a chance to announce it," Loki said, not even bothering to find an excuse to keep him out of Asgard.
He briefly looked around at his forces; the army of Asgard stood ready to return home now that the last of the Chitauri host had been wiped out.
To have led this army, he should be proud, but pride was overshadowed by worry.
"Warriors of Asgard!" he roared, lifting the fake Gungnir into the air. "We fought, we engaged in glorious battle, and we won!"
"VICTORY!" everyone roared back.
"Now, proud warriors of Asgard! Let us return home! Heimdall!" Loki shouted.
With Gungnir, he could have opened the Bifrost on his own—but now… he had to rely on the old gatekeeper.
Thankfully, the Bifrost soon opened.
The familiar pull of Heimdall's magic wrapped around Loki and the Asgardian host, tearing them away from Midgard's skies and carrying them home.
------
Asgard welcomed them as heroes.
The golden spires rang with song and steel as warriors marched through the streets, banners unfurled, armor gleaming beneath the eternal sun. Citizens lined the paths, cheering, throwing petals, calling Loki's name.
The people of Asgard all had warrior's blood in their veins. They might be peaceful today, but they loved a good fight, and this had been the first war in centuries—so everyone was excited about it.
"ALL HAIL THE LORD REGENT!"
"ALL HAIL ASGARD!"
Loki walked at the head of the procession, spine straight, chin lifted, illusory Gungnir held proudly at his side.
And gods help him—he looked the part.
Every eye followed him. Every cheer fed the myth. Every step reinforced the image of a ruler who had led Asgard to victory beyond the Nine Realms.
It should have been intoxicating.
It should have filled the hollow places.
Instead, the absence in his hand felt heavier with every step.
By the time the final feast concluded—after speeches, oaths, and the ritual honoring of the fallen—Loki felt wrung dry. He excused himself at last, retreating from the revelry under the pretense of exhaustion.
No one questioned it.
A king was allowed his solitude.
His chambers were quiet, cool, and familiar. Loki dismissed the servants with a gesture and let the door seal behind him. The moment he was alone, the illusion shattered.
The spear vanished from his grasp like mist in sunlight.
Loki stared at his empty hand.
The door opened.
Loki spun, magic flaring instinctively—then stopped short.
"Mother," he said, forcing calm back into his voice.
Frigga stood in the doorway, her expression soft, knowing, and far too gentle for the storm inside him.
"I thought you might be restless," she said, stepping inside. The door closed behind her.
Loki hesitated… then lowered his hand.
"You know," he said quietly.
Frigga smiled, sad and fond all at once. "Of course I do."
She approached him, placing a hand over his clenched fist. "You did not lose Gungnir, my son."
His eyes snapped to hers. "Then where is it?"
Frigga met his gaze without flinching.
And then, with a wave of her hand, Gungnir was in her grasp. "Your father summoned it."
The world seemed to tilt.
"Father… woke?" Loki whispered.
"Yes."
That single word had Loki freeze.
For a long moment, he just stood there, looking at his mother, who held Gungnir in her hand so casually. The symbol of kingship he had treasured somehow seemed diminished in her grasp.
"I must go see him at once." Loki quickly recovered. He had to see him.
"Relax," Frigga said calmly, stopping him before he had a chance to run off.
"Relax?" Loki stared at her, confusion filling his face and voice.
Frigga just smiled gently, looking at the son who had grown so much. "Your father is sleeping once more."
Her following words had Loki stagger back two steps. The whiplash of emotions and news his mother had just delivered left him with no chance to respond.
"What? What do you mean, Mother?" Loki asked, his voice tight. "You said Father summoned Gungnir. You said he woke."
Frigga nodded slowly.
"For a time," she said. "Long enough."
Loki's breath came shallow. "Then where is he? Why has he not—"
"Because what needed to be done," Frigga said gently, "has been done."
She turned, walking toward the balcony doors, and Loki followed without thinking. Beyond the glass, Asgard stretched out in all its impossible splendor—towers of gold and crystal, stars hanging close enough to touch, the eternal calm of a realm that had known no war within its walls.
"Your father is a very foolish man," Frigga sighed. "He always gives me trouble, but that is just the type of person he is—leaving me to explain everything."
Loki's fingers curled slowly.
"What… happened?" he asked.
Frigga was silent for a moment.
When she spoke again, her voice carried something ancient.
"Your father reminded the Titan of what it means to challenge a god," she said. "Not a pretender. Not a warlord crowned by fear. But an Allfather."
(End of chapter)
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