Chapter Text
Loki’s perspective.
When I was small…
When I was small, we had a fish tank.
The first time I saw them, I was very interested. As a child, everyone likes to watch swimming fish. And I am no exception.
“It’s time to feed the fish. Do you want to see ?”
I nodded, and my father smiled. He put into it three pieces of bait. Four fish compete for three pieces of bait.
”Father, the little fish is hungry.”
”Right. This is its punishment for not getting the food.”
”Why you don’t give them four pieces, father ?”
“Why do I have to do that ? They’re my fish. How do I feed them is my right.”
“Father, can I give them one more piece ?”
”Of course, you can.”
I give them one more piece, but they still competed. The little fish is still hungry. I asked my father.
”Why the little fish is still hungry, father ?”
”Because it is weak.”
”Did you see, Loki ? If everyday, I give them four pieces, and one day they have three pieces, they will not fight for each other because they are full every day. But if we release three bait every day, they will scramble for bait. At that time, even if we gave them an additional bait, they would still scramble, and there would still be a hungry.”
”Why they don’t share each other, father ?”
”Why do they have to do that ?”
Silence. I couldn’t answer.
”You see. Life will never be fair. Only strong people can win 'food'. And the weak will be removed.”
.
Perhaps that day, father wasn’t just talking about the fish. He was reminding me of something else — about inheritance, about the way this world truly works. I didn’t understand it back then. I thought it was only a cruel game between hungry creatures. But now I see… it was never about the fish. It was about the throne.
The throne, like the food, was never meant to be shared. It only belongs to one. Either Thor or me. And in the end, it depends on who is stronger. Father knew that. Maybe he wanted us to fight. Maybe he wanted to see which of us would survive. That’s how kings are made, after all — not by love, not by mercy, but by endurance.
I used to pity the little fish, struggling for a piece of food. I told myself I was different — that I would never become like the others, desperate, ruthless. But as I grew older, I realized something cruelly simple: the weak don’t get to choose kindness. They don’t even get to survive.
So I ask myself now — which one am I? The small fish, still waiting for someone to drop an extra piece of bait? Or the one strong enough to take what I want, no matter the cost?
Maybe power isn’t given. Maybe it’s taken. And perhaps… that’s what father truly wanted me to understand. The throne only waits for one. And this time, I won’t wait for anyone to feed me.
We’ll see who’s strong enough — this time.
.
Thor’s perspective.
I remember that day — the sound of water, the soft glow of the lamp over the tank, and Father’s voice, calm and distant as ever. Loki stood beside him, silent, watching the fish fight over the bait. I was younger then, too young to understand the look in their eyes, but I remember the feeling — that quiet heaviness, like something important was being said beneath the surface.
I leaned closer, curious. “Father,” I asked, “can the small fish ever eat the big one?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just watched the tank — the water, the colors, the motion — then finally turned to me. His eyes were steady.
“Yes,” he said. “If its teeth are sharp enough. If it’s bold enough to strike. If it’s faster… and if it’s hungry enough.”
I frowned. “So even a small one can win?”
He smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “Only if it’s willing to bleed first.”
Then he turned away, as if the lesson was over. But the words stayed with me — sharper than any blade I would ever hold.
.
I finally understood what Father meant that day.
For so long, I believed I was the strong one — the big fish in the tank. I had power, the hammer, the armies, the voice that shook the skies. And Loki… he was the small one. Clever, quiet, watching, waiting.
But that’s the thing about the small fish. The more it’s pushed aside, the hungrier it becomes. The more it’s beaten, the sharper its teeth grow. And when the hunger turns into will, when the pain turns into focus — the small fish no longer fears the big one.
I was the big fish, too proud to see the danger swimming beside me. I thought strength was about muscle and might, about who could strike harder. But Loki learned something else. He learned that strength can hide behind patience, that power can come from pain — and that even the smallest one can eat the big fish… if it’s hungry enough.
Father’s lesson wasn’t for me alone. It was for both of us. He just knew we would understand it in different ways.
And maybe that’s why I can’t hate him — my brother, my shadow.
Because now I know: the big fish doesn’t always win.
Sometimes, it’s the one who’s been starving the longest… who bites the hardest.
And maybe, after all this time, I finally understand why Father smiled that day.
He wasn’t smiling at the fish.
He was smiling at his sons — knowing one day, we would test his words against each other.