Chapter Text
A lone falcon fought its way through the hurricane.
Below it, the capital was burning. The sound of battle rang out across the valley. The orange clouds flared with lightning and tore open to reveal the planet of Vanaheim, hanging low in the sky.
With a last effort, the bird made it to the top of the mountain range and burst through the wall of wind. It had reached the eye of the storm. For a moment, the falcon glided low to the ground. Then Loki released the spell, feathers whirring and retreating into the cowl. He dropped the last couple of feet, landing hard. His breath whistled through gritted teeth, his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He looked towards the peak.
There, atop a makeshift plinth and protected by the raging storm, sat the Casket of Ancient Winters. It was glowing with a brightness that made Loki’s eyes water, drawing power from the crystal veins running through the earth. The ritual was not yet complete.
Deigja could still be saved. But he didn’t have much time—he knew what followed the thunder, and he knew who had called this storm. Loki began climbing the ridge, crouched low to the ground.
Loki could smell Thor’s presence before he saw him: the petrichor, the hint of snow. A bolt of lightning exploded the ground to his right side. Loki yelled and threw up a force wall, deflecting a shower of ice and debris. From the mist, a shadow shot forward, crashing through Loki’s walls. A hand grabbed his throat and slammed Loki to the ground.
The grip of the Jötun burned him with ice, skin peeling from his collarbone, chest, throat, and Loki screamed. He summoned his daggers, slashing through the tendons in Thor’s wrist. Thor grunted, his hand spasmed, the ice stopped. Loki stabbed at Thor’s shoulder, but Thor knocked the knife from his hand before it could find purchase. It gave Loki the space he needed to kick Thor off. Loki rolled to his feet with a pained grunt. Thor’s ice had burned through his armor, and the skin of his chest was blackened—bleeding where it cracked.
Behind them, the Casket of Ancient Winters erupted into a bright blue beam of ice, shooting into the sky. Snow began falling around them. Loki had to act now.
“Hadn’t I already killed you?” Thor Laufeyson was pressing a palm down on his wrist, sealing the wound with ice. Loki could feel the presence of the Casket as Thor’s hands glowed. He twisted his wrist as the glow dispersed. He didn’t even seem to feel it as he reached for his hammer, spinning it with an electric hum, red eyes gleaming with fury and joy.
“We both know how easy you are to fool,” Loki Odinson said. Thor stood between him and the Casket, and Loki began circling him, hands dripping with green magic.
The damn Casket was the whole reason this war had lasted for a century. And now that the terraforming process had started, the Frost Giants would be impossible to drive back.
This battle had just turned into a nightmare.
Thor laughed. “You know, I was almost disappointed. The Aesir are so weak, killing you lot feels like kicking puppies. You and the Allfather pose the only challenge.”
“Spoken like a true monster,” Loki drawled.
“Monster? Is that what they call me on Asgard?” But Thor looked like a man enjoying himself. “Very well. Surrender now, and I’ll spare you. Run home, tail between your legs like a good lapdog.”
“There’s only one animal on this mountain, and it isn’t me.” Loki threw a blast of arcane force at Thor, who deflected it with his circling hammer. It was barely a distraction. It was enough. Surreptitiously, Loki released a secondary spell.
“Consider the offer withdrawn.” Thor lifted his hammer. Loki threw himself out of the way, and behind him, the ground exploded with ice. A shower of razor-sharp shards tore through Loki’s knees. He yelled, and his legs buckled beneath him.
Thor approached him—slowly, cockily—hammer whirring, eyes glinting with lightning. Loki was breathing hard and clutching his leg. He tried to stand and stumbled. Though Thor was the smallest Giant that Loki had ever met, against the orange sky he seemed as tall as a mountain.
In the distance, a horn sounded, two quick blasts, then one long mournful sound. Thor’s attention snapped towards the city. He looked worried.
“Let’s end this.” With a smooth motion, he brought Mjölnir down on Loki—
The duplicate shimmered out of existence, and the hammer hit frozen ground. Thor yelled in surprise and spun around. Loki was standing by the Casket.
“No!” Thor roared, panic in his eyes, and he ran towards Loki.
There was no time left for precautions.
Gritting his teeth, Loki pushed through the beam of ice magic. Pain shot up his arms, cold burning through him like fire. A scream tore from his lungs when he grasped the handle of the Casket. With the last of his strength, he pulled it towards him. When it shifted out of its socket, the magic flickered out, and the beam broke and scattered.
The terraforming process stopped.
Thor’s hammer went straight through the illusion, and it winked out of place. The plinth atop which the Casket had been resting crumbled.
“Will you ever not fall for that?” Loki wheezed, a couple of feet from where Thor’s hammer had torn through the duplicate. He spun his trembling, unfeeling hands and vanished the Casket into his pocket dimension.
Loki ran and jumped off the cliff, touching his cowl. Golden feathers enveloped him like the rippling wheat fields of Asgard’s plains, arms transforming into wings. With a single, agonizing snap, they carried him high above the burning city.
He could not hold this form for long, not while his arms were radiating agony. For now, the adrenaline kept him sharp. He simply needed to hold on until he found a safe place to land, preferably in the healer’s tent.
The horn sounded again. Two sharp blasts, followed by one drawn out.
Below him, Thor soared through the air. Thor made for the overrun castle at the center of the capital and landed on one of the fortified walls. He went to his knees with an anguished yell.
Loki flew over on his way to the healers’ tent.
In the courtyard, Laufey had been thrown on his back. Odin stood over him, plunging Gungnir into his shoulder. Loki watched as Laufey’s struggles ceased, and he collapsed. As the horn sounded a third time, all around them, the Frost Giants laid down their arms. In a great wave, originating from the ruins, the Jötnar went to their knees.
Relief hit Loki as a nauseating wave.
The war was over.
Asgard had won.