Chapter Text
* * * S o m e w h e r e B e y o n d t h e W a l l * * *
Carol Danvers arrived at the Head in a Kree scout ship - small, sleek, built for two and barely any cargo. It was perfect for slipping into the docks of a crowded hub. Not that the Head was crowded anymore.
She cut the engines and let the ship drift the last hundred meters. The docks stretched out ahead of her − vast, silent, almost empty. Only one section of the docks still showed light, a strip of flickering neon somewhere deeper inside the Head. Once, the Head had been a crossroads for the galaxy’s vagabonds and smugglers, mercenaries and bounty hunters of every kind. Before the Sundering, it never slept − loud, chaotic, thick with the mingled scents of a thousand species arriving and departing without pause. Now it was almost deserted. The Head felt abandoned, like an old dog left on a chain and forgotten by its owner.
The reason was simple. The Head was too close to the Wall.
No one met her when she landed. No greetings, no fees, no one trying to squeeze credits out of her for docking or maintenance. Those who came here could enjoy their freedom.
A bitter kind of freedom. Right on the edge of Battleworld, because the Wall was an artificial distortion in Space and Time, a bridge between the Multiverse and the new world of Doom’s Justice.
“Need help getting beyond the Wall, girl?” a hoarse, drawn-out voice called.
A stooped dwarf shuffled over. She knew the look - one of those petty officials who confused getting in the way with being in charge.
Carol said nothing. Just watched him.
“I’m Charon,” he went on, unfazed. “I can show you a way through. A hidden passage. Straight to the citadel of order. Of reason. Leave all this chaos behind.”
“I don’t need your help,” Carol cut in, sealing the hatch. “Is Starlin’s still open?”
The dwarf grinned.
“Ah. One last drink before the world finishes falling apart?”
“Is it falling apart?”
“Universes collide every day. Refugee ships drift in from the rifts. Variants and vagabonds crossing paths like it’s nothing.” He leaned in slightly. “You don’t call that chaos? Battleworld,” he added, almost reverently, “is the only place left with law. With peace.”
“Peace?” She raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged.
“If you change your mind, you’ll find me near the shaft elevators. I’ll even take your ship as payment.” His smile sharpened. “Time’s coming. You’ll all be looking for a way into Doom’s world. No more choices. No more loss. Just order.”
Captain Marvel left him without another word.
Carol entered the snake-like corridors leading to Starlin's Bar, her mind racing. Chaos. It wasn't far from the truth — not for where they were now. She felt lost. Every case she took these days was a moral dilemma, a test of conscience. Who was the victim, and who was the foe? Who could she even help anymore?
Helping used to be her business. But every time she chose one side, she doomed the other. Now she was less a savior, more an arbiter. When universes collided and refugees came, they all asked her the same question: who had more rights to settle? To trade? To claim vital resources? New Asgard Hub was the only place that could solve these disputes, but they couldn't take everyone in, couldn't judge every collision. They were already doing the impossible.
After weeks of moral fog, her present case – tracking down a stock of stolen weapons from Grandmaster– felt like a vacation. It was a simple hunt, and Captain Marvel knew exactly where to begin. Places like The Head had always been good at keeping secrets.
Starlin's Bar was unusually dark and empty. Everything looked the same — the flickering neon light beating like a heart, the old panels patching holes from old brawls, the mismatched furniture still standing in its usual places, and the long counter with its stunning array of drinks from all over the galaxies. But the air was thick and stale. The kitchen hadn't been working for a while, and the ventilation was malfunctioning.
The space was almost empty — except for the lone figure at the counter. There was no bartender, but the shelves were intact. A tall, dark-haired figure hunched over it. A large valise rested beside him, his only companion, close enough that his arm brushed it from time to time.
She was about to call out to the man when four figures emerged from the far corner of the bar. They appeared from nowhere, concealed by the shadows and a veil of magic.
Carol recognized the shape of trouble the moment she saw it. She slid into the nearest seat, melting into the darkness.
A whistle cut through the silence.
"Hey, mister!" a woman in full black battle gear called out mockingly. "You forgot to return the book to the library! The one in your valise."
Carol knew the face – Asgardian. A Valkyrie. But clearly not from their universe. Now they called them variants.
The man turned around. He wore an elegant black suit, an odd choice for someone traveling the galaxy. But more interesting than the suit was the face. Carol knew him too. Loki. What were the odds of running into a variant like this now? The bounty on his head was enormous, even by post-Sundering standards. Doom was hunting the Governor of Asgard Hub across all realms, preferably alive. Hunters usually preferred him or his variants dead. Catching a trickster was almost impossible.
The black Valkyrie seemed just as impressed.
"What a pleasant surprise!" she said to her companion standing nearby. "Look, my love, I thought you were the last."
Carol saw the same face among the four, Loki's, but in a long black coat. Two variants of the governor. In a bar near the Wall. What a mess!
The Loki in the coat smirked. Two short blades flashed in his hands.
"No, no, my love, don't rush," the black Valkyrie urged, stepping protectively in front of her Loki. "Let me handle this pretty thing... Now, Mister! Give us the book and you're free. Not a scratch on that handsome face of yours."
Loki in the suit remained silent, studying them. He massaged his right hand with a motion Carol recognized all too well. She had seen it before − on the Avengers base, after he came out of the coma, ten years ago. The same absent, careful pressure, as if the pain never quite left him. Wait a minute, was that him? The real governor of New Asgard Hub? Here? Was he insane, sitting here unprotected, a stone’s throw from the Wall and from Doom himself? Carol was almost on her feet when a brutal voice jerked her out of her thoughts.
"Valkyrie, why are you coddling him!"
A massive third figure stepped into the dim light. Hercules himself. He lunged straight for the valise that lay on the counter near Loki the Governor the one in the suit. Hercules’ steps were heavy; they shook the walls of the bar. But the moment his fingers touched the valise, a flash of green sparked. Hercules was hurled backward with cosmic velocity, crashing through wall after wall and leaving a tunnel of broken panels in the rough shape of a demigod.
The moment passed and a vicious growl echoed from the tunnel. Hercules came roaring back through the passage he had just carved, like a giant locomotive thundering through an underground shaft. Governor Loki hadn't moved. He simply watched the approaching threat. When Hercules was three strides away, Loki made a small, elegant gesture and a portal opened in front of the demigod.
Hercules plunged through at full speed and vanished.
Space Stone. Carol knew that power signature.
The Governor smirked and picked up a glass from the counter. It held what looked like nothing more than water
"That was a bold move. Very unreasonable," the black Valkyrie observed.
She drew two short blades and attacked.
Loki splashed the glass in her face. She froze for a second, then her blood boiled and she lunged at him like a tiger in a frenzy. He parried. Two short blades flashed in his hands.
The dance began.
And what a close-quarters dance it was! Two masters of the same style, the same tactics. They moved like partners on a ballroom floor, not enemies in a smuggling bar on the edge of the Multiverse. But he seemed to anticipate her next move before she even made it. He was deliberately playing with her – and the more she realised it, the more furious she became.
It didn't last long. He caught her off guard, pulled her close. One brief touch of his bare hand to her head and she crumpled, unconscious, as if struck by a sleeping spell.
Loki in the long coat smirked at his doppelgänger.
"She's a hot girl, you know. We could have a pleasant night, the three of us, together. Don't you think?"
Loki the Governor smiled, gripping his right hand.
"I know you quite well, Loki. You don't share your prizes." These were the first words that Carol heard from the Governor of the New Asgard Hub.
"Oh, yes. You know me." Loki in the coat repeated, like his reflection in a mirror.
He twirled the blades in his hands in a quick, fluid motion, then slightly bowed his head. Ten more twins of Loki in the coat appeared, forming a tight circle around the Governor.
"And what will be the next move? Twin?"
Loki the Governor stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the illusions around. Then he flicked the blade from his sleeve, twisted, and struck into the void behind him. The real Loki in the coat appeared behind the governor's back, his illusions fading. His face was a grimace of pain, shock and something almost divine.
"You won. Though I got you too," he whispered and crumpled at the Governor's feet. Loki in the suit stood perfectly still for a moment, then sighed and pulled a black knife free from his lower back, embedded deep. His Variant had been lucky to land the last blow. Loki studied the knife carefully when a clap of hands and bickering laughter echoed through the bar.
Carol saw the last of the attackers. And this time she knew the real danger. Scarlet Witch. Her dark magic pulsed like a screech of metal and it made Carol's skin crawl. She was on her feet now, ready to intervene, when Loki's voice cut through her mind, clear and calm.
"Don't interfere, noble Captain. She is mine."
The authority in his voice made Carol stop in an instant. And, despite herself, she felt respect for him.
"My dear, you." Wanda kept giggling, clapping her gloved hands. "It really is you. What a surprise for Victor. Did you finally come to surrender? What are you doing here? Hmm?"
Her expression shifted, from amusement to suspicion. The change was so fast, so sharp, it could only belong to the mad. She cast a brief glance to the valise, stood on the counter, but Loki attracted her full attention.
Loki said nothing. He watched her cross the distance, floating just above the dusty floor. She stopped inches from him and traced his face with her long fingers. They were flickering with red, deadly magic.
"Will you come with me on your own? Or should I put you in a deep sleep, so Your Majesty feels less pain? Less sorrow?" She smiled, drinking him in. "Come with me, darling. We've waited so long."
She embraced him, pleased. He returned the gesture. But the moment his hand truly touched her a violent shock ran through the Witch’s body. She convulsed and dropped at his feet with her eyes wide and frozen.
Sakaar. That was definitely their shock device. Now Carol was truly interested. This was the clue she'd been hunting: a weapon stolen from the Grandmaster's stocks after his planet fell. Her intuition in coming to this bar, hadn't been wrong.
The moment Wanda fell Loki moved without hesitation. But his first step was more a stumble than the stride of a victor. His right hand flared green, wrapping around his side and pressing hard against the wound in his lower back - the left kidney spot. His left hand grabbed the valise.
Only slightly unsteady, he began his way out of the bar.
He moved fast. Carol wanted to call out to him, but hesitated, realizing she didn’t know how to address him. Your Majesty? Loki? Mister Governor?
Nine years ago, when they had been briefly introduced, he had barely been lucid during his long recovery. Now he was a governor of a great hub of different universes, anchored to Earth but hidden in a separate dimension − the one that had saved billions of lives during accidental incursions or diversions caused by Doom and others. Some said it had been his own doing and Dr. Strange’s − science and magic, and of course the quiet work of a secret TVA organization. They had relocated into a pocket dimension after Doom attacked them at the End of Time and took someone very important to the whole Multiverse.
While Carol processed all of this, they had already left the bar, and she found herself in the docking area. At last, he turned to her, and she could see him fully in the artificial streetlights.
"Miss Danvers, what can I do for you? I am in a hurry and don’t have time for a long conversation," he said, smiling politely.
That was shocking − to see this new, gentlemanly mask so perfectly in place. He looked at her like she was a student chasing her professor after an exam. But she saw more in his posture − fatigue, even exhaustion, like after a very long and difficult journey. He was pale and clearly in pain. A faint sheen of sweat had already appeared on his forehead.
Carol felt uncomfortable bothering him, but her weapon case was urgent. And he could be considered a witness.
"The shocking device you used on the Scarlet Witch − is it from Sakaar?"
He almost laughed.
"Really? Are you truly occupied with such trifling mercenary matters? Very well, Miss Danvers, I must confess − I took their entire stock. Are you going to arrest me? Or conduct a proper interrogation?" She didn’t answer, and he continued. "No? Then I must excuse myself. I have a problem with a bleeding back at the moment. I need to patch myself up before the next arrival of refugee ships in a New Asgard port."
"Earth? You need to go to Earth? From here?" she exclaimed. "You’re traveling with the Space Stone?"
"Ah, you are a good detective, Captain. But my answer − no. Too far. Usually, I prefer the Head’s old elevators."
Carol had heard that the Head still had its ways of getting you somewhere else − if you knew where to look. The old shaft elevators led deeper, far below the docks, where the dimensional walls were thin.
The moment he was about to leave, a great, bustling noise broke the silence of the abandoned Head. Scarlet Witch, furious and clearly irritated, flew out of the broken facility and high into the open space above. She unleashed a burst of magic, and the ground trembled like an earthquake.
Carol saw a clear note of disappointment on his pale face. It seemed the elevators were no longer an option.
"I can take you to the next station on my ship, and we can continue our conversation. Would you object to a flight, Your Majesty… or should I call you Professor Odinson?"
"Professor Odinson?" He almost smiled. "How nostalgic."
He studied her for a brief moment, as if weighing something unseen.
"Very well, Captain. Since you insist on offering assistance, I suppose it would be ungracious of me to refuse."
Handcuffs appeared in a green flash, and Loki secured the valise to his left wrist. Carol appreciated his foresight; he had clearly been in tight situations before and knew how to act.
* * * A b o a r d C a r o l D a n v e r s' S h i p * * *
The Kree ship left the surface the moment Wanda broke through the celestial cranial bone of the Head. In space, they couldn’t hear the sound, but Carol was sure she felt the Head’s final sigh before it dissolved into a cloud of dust. They were lucky to be in a small, almost invisible Kree ship, because Wanda unleashed absolute chaos behind them.
They moved fast and soon made a clean jump out of the mess.
While Carol piloted, Loki made some calculations with an ordinary pen and a lined sheet of paper. Very old-fashioned.
"Here," he said, selecting a point on the holographic map on the route panel.
She silently arched a brow. The dot he had chosen was an asteroid in a vast, deserted stretch of space.
"You don’t trust me, Ms. Danvers?" he added lightly. "Believe me − some places are not what they look like at first glance. You’ll see − there’s a tear in space-time. It will take us exactly where we need to be."
"ETA?"
"12 hours and 25 minutes."
"How do you know?"
He smiled.
"I am still a professor, Ms. Danvers. Not only a top manager of a multiverse port."
She believed him this time. People needed to be trusted sometimes, given a chance. That was her credo.
At last, he relaxed a little and settled into a chair. His right hand was still pressed to the wound on his lower back, glowing green, likely numb from being held at that angle for so long. The knife that had injured him appeared in his free left hand, and again he studied it attentively, as he had back in the bar.
Carol saw his pallor worsen.
"Do you need help?" she asked.
He looked at her absent-mindedly, as if still processing something.
"Magicians call this kind of wound a bleeding curse. It makes you bleed until the last drop of blood. If it hasn’t penetrated anything vital, I’ll manage to seal it till the destination point. And then Strange would know better what to do." He smirked. "Though he will be furious, obviously. And not only him."
She held his gaze for a moment, then decided he could handle one more question.
"Let’s return to the question of the Grandmaster’s weapon stock. Can I be sure it won’t fall into the wrong hands?" She stood with her arms crossed, at ease, waiting his answer.
Loki wrote something down, tore a sheet from his notebook, and handed it to her. It definitely looked like a formula.
"You know what energy is in practice. It runs in your blood. Try placing it into an equation of space, and you’ll find your answer. Consider it your clue, Captain."
"Very funny. Don’t like it."
"And I don’t like being pressed. You want my help and this is my way of helping you – understanding something new. The formulas are the best way to express complex ideas in a very simple way. You just need to learn how to read them."
She didn’t smile. For a moment, the tone, the calm certainty, the way he spoke as if the answer was already obvious felt familiar. She had heard it before. It was a different voice and a different war, but the same confidence.
"I’m not here for puzzles." She glanced at the formula, then back at him. "Are those weapons safe, or not?"
"Do you trust me, Ms. Danvers?" he asked, his tone almost teasing.
"Not fully. I’ve seen your file," she replied, her voice sharp.
"My best friend has seen my many files and he trusts me," he said proudly.
"And you, Mr. Governor?" she shot back. "Whom do you trust?"
He flinched, whether from the wound or the question, it was hard to tell.
He held her gaze for a moment too long. Then something in his expression changed, closing off, like a door quietly locked from the inside.
"That," he said at last, his voice cold, "is not a productive line of inquiry, Captain."
Carol didn’t press further. She had seen that look before - people retreating behind rank, behind control or behind whatever they had left.
Whatever fragile cooperation they had built back on the Head was gone.
They managed to share the cramped space of the ship. He remained deep in thought, asking for water only once. Their ship slipped through the hidden passage Loki had shown Carol, and now less than six hours remained to Earth. She didn’t disturb him, though in the last hours she watched him more closely. At times a tremor ran through him brief, almost imperceptible − and then it was gone, leaving him looking almost well again.
Carol turned her gaze to the galaxy outside.
It had changed. Not the stillness of death, but something restless crawled out there – flashes of color, shifting light, shadows moving where nothing should move. As if the structure of space itself had lost its shape. She studied the patterns for a while before something in her perception slipped.
Silence.
She straightened slightly, suddenly aware of how empty the ship felt. The familiar hum, something she had never consciously noticed, only felt, was gone.
She turned.
Her companion looked asleep at first glance. Eyes closed, both hands resting loosely, no trace of magic at work. Then she saw the dark stain beneath the chair. Blood.
She froze for a fraction of a second then moved. He wasn’t asleep. He had lost consciousness. His face had gone ashen, sweat beading on his forehead, cold and slick. And now the trembling was unmistakable.
So now it was time to act. First, she needed to stop the bleeding, not with magic, but the usual way. But before she could touch him, a mocking voice made her almost jump.
"No, no, no, my dear. I wouldn’t advise that."
She turned.
A flickering image of Loki stood by the control panel, dressed in what looked like an Asgardian outfit, leaning lightly against it. His gaze was fixed on the colors of the galaxy outside.
"So much has changed in so short a time," he murmured, almost to himself. "You can’t help him. It would be a waste of time. And time… is what matters."
Only then did he glance at her.
"I’m sure you can make this vessel go faster. Much faster."
"What are you?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Let’s say I am… what remains when consciousness gone." A faint smile touched his lips. "Once the line is cut, it keeps unraveling. I usually show up when he loses the wheel."
He waved it off lightly.
"Never mind. I’ll show you where to land. We can’t use the New Asgard dock. No one should see me in such a… regrettable state. There’s an alternate airfield behind Frigga’s Lodge."
"How can I help him?" she asked, then corrected herself, "…you?"
The other Loki looked down at his own body with a faint scowl.
"It will be a lesson," he said quietly. "One does something reckless − and the consequences follow."
A pause.
"By the way if you want me conscious, just touch the valise. I assure you − if anyone so much as tries to claim what’s inside, I will wake. Even from the dead. But about now – let me sleep, magic exhaustion, blood loss. Nothing particularly novel."
Then, more distantly, he added:
"Of course it could become… inconvenient. For more than just me. "
He exhaled softly.
"Strange will think of something. He usually does." A flicker of dry amusement returned. "Though I expect I will be… thoroughly reprimanded."
* * * T h e M u l t i v e r s a l H u b * * *
Dr. Strange observed the New Asgard Hub from the glass wall of the control room at TVA Headquarters. Three views at once.
In the distance − an enormous port, where cosmic ships of all calibers crossed paths. Not like streams of vehicles on a highway; there were no fixed routes here. Ships emerged from folds between universes, spilling out of wormholes that opened and closed like blinking eyes.
And then there was the Bifrost.
The new one.
Not the rainbow bridge of Old Asgard, but something greater − a web of shimmering threads, each leading to a different universe. It glimmered for those who came on foot, an invitation to walk between worlds.
This was the hub of the living Multiverse − a masterpiece of science and magic. Prediction models, crafted by the finest minds, and by professor Odinson himself, implemented through the limitless magical potential of Kamar-Taj and Yggdrasil – an eternal source of New Asgard power.
A glance down − and there were the crowds.
Representatives of countless species and variants filled the spacious, brightly lit halls. If their universes had collided, they came here to ask for shelter. Or for a new world to call home. Some came to declare war. Some to sign peace treaties. Others sought counsel, or resolution of trade disputes − or came simply to spy on the hub itself.
This was the chaos the TVA had been created to contain − a storm of voices, claims, and grudges, all demanding to be heard. The TVA had been relocated into a pocket dimension after Doom’s attack, but its bureaucratic habits remained unchanged.
Strange felt Mobius approach before he saw him. He didn’t need to turn. He recognized the slow, measured footsteps. That was Mobius, carrying the weight of a thousand timelines on his shoulders.
He gave Stephen a paper. A rolled sheet of names and times unfurled in Strange’s hands into a scroll as tall as a man. Its edge brushed against his shoes.
"Our meeting schedule for tomorrow," Mobius said in his usual tired voice. "Routine claims. Resolved issues we just need to approve. Only two or three contradictory cases − ended in a tie." He paused. "Your vote is the deciding one. Nobody wants the responsibility."
Stephen arched a brow.
"Mobius, I’m not a governor. That’s not in my job description."
"You’re his adviser. And in his absence − his deputy." Mobius shrugged. "They don’t want to decide. They’ll be happy if you do."
Strange said nothing, and Mobius took it as permission to continue.
"We’ve got a Deadpool from Earth-12101 who killed everyone in his universe and now wants us to delete him before he does it again. If we delete him, we lose the only evidence of how it happened. Three Howard the Ducks fighting over the same Duck woman. Her fiancé died in the Sundering. And a formal complaint from several universes about a world where children run everything, rather like Lord of the Flies, except they keep kidnapping adult villains from neighboring universes, turning them into children, and 'saving' them from adulthood."
Strange rubbed his forehead.
"And another complaint from an elderly couple in Norway. Beta-Sacred-Earth 616. They live in an old boathouse by the Lysefjord, just below Frigga’s Lodge. They say the light from the Multiverse lighthouse is keeping them awake at night. The locals can’t see the port, but technically, it’s impossible to hide the lighthouse."
"That is not my job, Mobius." He exhaled, irritation clear. "How long has he been gone?"
"Two weeks. We lost contact with him four days ago."
Strange darkened.
"He didn't call Sylvie? And how far is this unscheduled voyage of his?"
Mobius shrugged.
"Loki said it was urgent."
"How urgent? Cosmic? Multiverse? Don't tell me he called it a personal matter."
Mobius checked his electronic notebook.
"Academic purposes. He said he needed to visit a library."
"Is he making fun of us?"
"I don't think so." Mobius tucked the notebook away. "After Thor and Flox left for the Battleworld, Loki got… serious. So much serious, it's starting to make me nervous."
Strange felt himself grow old in an instant. His third eye began to ache again. The migraine was close to exploding.
"Where is Sylvie?"
"She took a day off." Mobius shrugged. "After that disaster with the universe that died from the unknown virus. She was chief on the field during the descent. Good they found the cause. Now we've got another free universe in stock." He paused. "The case was dark. Emotionally devastating. Too many deaths. Everyone in her group saw their own variants dead. And that universe was almost identical to the beta-Sacred Timeline. She visited her variant's house. Saw the bodies of her variant children."
Strange looked at Mobius.
"Is your car running? Will you drop me off at the Frigga’s border?"
A twinkle flashed in Mobius's ever-tired eyes. Strange realized that he, too, could use a break from the madness and chaos in which they constantly found themselves.
* * * T h e F r i g g a T r a i l * * *
The New Asgard Hub had grown from the root of Yggdrasill - the one Sylvie and Loki Odinson had planted in their garden at Frigga’s Lodge. When the time came, that root became an endless source of power for interdimensional travel and portals. But the place where it grew was something more. It was protected by the most powerful force of all: a mother’s love. Frigga’s love was invisible and yet it shielded the land from all hostile intent. No one could reach it by vehicle or by portal. Only on foot.
Every time Strange crossed its borders, hidden among the rocky grasslands of Norway, he checked his own emotions. Travelers walked these lands slowly, through the quiet beauty of the fjords, and in that silence, they could think or speak from the heart.
Strange weighed his intentions carefully before approaching the masters of this place. The sea air was healing. He felt his lungs open like flowers in sunlight.
Walking. Thinking. Breathing. It was a retreat for those who needed time to recover.
After the Darkhold, Stephen was not always certain of his own motives. That was why he didn’t like crossing Frigga’s border, he was, quietly, afraid of being rejected. But this time, his intention was clear. He needed to find the Governor of the Hub, or Professor Odinson. Two faces of the same man.
Frigga's Lodge was surrounded by a garden that looked more like Eden, Yggdrasill's magic again. A brick road led to the entrance of a large house built in the style of old Norwegian fjord homes.
Suddenly three arrows, shot by an invisible hand, pierced the ground in front of him, blocking his path.
Dr. Strange got the clue. He smirked.
"Vivien, show yourself," he called out, scanning the ancient oaks lining both sides of the road.
A teenage girl dropped from the hidden hollow of an oak. She was clearly a girl, but with a boyish grin and a wild, Mowgli-like energy, a battle bow gripping in her left hand, a nest of black curls crowning her head, and a trickster's light burning in her eyes.
"Hello, wizard. Have you come for good or ill? Speak now, and from the heart. Do not lie, or I will kill you."
She drew the arrow, aiming at his heart.
Strange sighed, though he couldn't suppress his smile.
"Are you alone?"
Vivien bowed her head and smiled.
A large bear stepped lazily from the shadows, followed by a handful of rabbits. And two huge ravens called out from the depths of the oak's crown.
"Speak, wizard. Or I will kill you and then interrogate your soul. Why are you here?"
The bowstring sang in her hands. The rabbits stood on their hind legs, as if on command, and the bear let out a massive yawn.
"I'm looking for your dad, Vivien. No bad intentions."
The bow trembled in her hands, but her voice was steady and her eyes burned.
"Swear on your dearest, dirty wizard, that you're not up to anything bad."
"No bad. I swear."
She exhaled and lowered her bow.
"You may go, bloody wizard. Remember your oath." She glanced toward the house. "Mum's in the kitchen, by the way."
She looked into his eyes again, as if trying to see straight into his soul, then turned and vanished into the shadow of the trees.
Strange entered the house without knocking. No need, the masters knew about their guests from afar. Sylvie, in a soft wool sweater and worn jeans, didn’t even raise a brow when he entered.
"Tea is ready. Help yourself," she said and turned to her work.
Strange lowered himself into the chair by the window. It was too small for him, but he didn’t complain. A hot teapot with chamomile tea was waiting for him on the table. Sylvie continued with her kitchen work, without showing any interest in his arrival.
"When two people have something to say and remain silent, the silence is deafening," he said at last.
She sighed, crossed her arms.
"What do you want to hear from me? No, he didn’t call. No, I have no idea where he is. Yes, I am mad. Yes, I am furious. Yes, I want to be the first one to kill him when… if he returns."
"Did he leave any clues? Where did he go?"
"Of course not. He disappeared as usual, like a coward, at night. Left me a love sonnet. And a bunch of roses. Want to read it? Maybe you’ll find a clue."
Strange almost smiled.
"I’ve had the pleasure of hearing them from the author himself. More than once."
"The last time he did that, Rocket was rescuing him from a prison on the other side of the galaxy."
Strange’s expression hardened.
"Doesn’t it occur to him that he’s not a hero anymore? Thor left. He’s not only the King of New Asgard; he’s the one responsible for the balance of the world. Doom imprisoned his other self in the End of Time. If he could, he would have killed him and never signed any treaties. Like he did. The peace between our two worlds, the order of the Battleworld and the chaos of what’s left of the Multiverse, is fragile."
"When the threat is real," Sylvie said quietly, "he doesn’t trust anyone. Not even me. Not Mobius." She met his eyes. "And you’re always at the bottom of his list. Doom’s double agent."
"Of course, I’ve discussed it." Strange held her gaze. "I didn’t choose any side. The balance, that’s what I’m here for. I don’t agree with Victor. And Loki’s intentions aren’t clear, even to himself. I am sure of that."
This time she smiled. Her phone rang and she answered.
"It’s Sven. He said a spaceship landed at the alternate airfield behind. Nobody could do it except him."
Sven Nuddson, the housekeeper of Frigga's Lodge, lived in a small cottage between the entrance to the Lodge and the V.I.P. airfield in his backyard. He was an old man, and old men usually preferred not to hurry anywhere.
The engines of a spaceship woke him from his after-lunch nap. While he was pulling on his first sock, the ship had already landed. By the time he pulled on the second, voices were already near his hut.
He was a little surprised when he opened his creaky door and found Mr. Odinson himself sitting on the bench near the entrance to the Lodge. He seemed out of breath and in no hurry to enter his own house. A new face, a blonde young woman, was talking to him in a loud voice.
"Ah, Sven! My old friend!" Mr. Odinson called out, beaming with his usual charming smile.
Mr. Odinson unhooked the handcuffs that bound him to the large, dusty valise.
"Sven, please take the books from this luggage to the same spot we chose under the weapons chamber."
Sven noticed that he was slurring his words and looked unwell, sweaty, pale, shaking. Was he drunk? The old housekeeper was used to his unusual masters, but this was the first time he felt pity for Mr. Odinson.
The woman noticed the housekeeper’s concerned look. The moment Mr. Odinson handed over his luggage, he relaxed and leaned back on the uncomfortable wooden bench. His right arm was wrapped around his torso, pressing hard against his lower back. He was one step from the entrance, but he didn’t move.
Captain Marvel saw that he had no intention of going anywhere.
"Let me help you," she said.
"No. That’s fine, my noble Captain. You are free to go now." He made an authoritative gesture, like a king dismissing his guard. "Your mission here is complete. I can even send you an official gratitude on behalf of the Governor of the Asgard Hub. A lifetime discount on maintenance services. And our coffee shops."
Carol frowned. He had become more talkative since she woke him, but his words sounded more like delirium than coherent thought. His mind was walking the edge of consciousness, drifting between reality and his own world.
That was when Dr. Strange and Sylvie appeared.
When Loki saw them both, his face darkened instantly and he buried it in his palm. A moment of weakness, and then a new mask slid into place. He smiled broadly, gathering the last of his strength.
"Darling, I'm home at last. How are our girls? As for me, everything is fine, I assure you. I'm whole." He slurred more, visibly swaying and losing focus.
"Captain Marvel," Strange said, his face an open question.
"Found him at the Head. Near the Wall. Four attackers in a bar. Knife wound to the lower back. Magic infected. Tried to stop the bleeding for at least six hours by himself. He wouldn’t let me help him."
Strange’s face darkened. He made a visible effort not to explode.
"I'm calling Eir. She'll be here in half an hour. I'll prepare the room." Sylvie turned, not sparing a glance to her husband and marched away.
"I said, nothing serious. I am whole," Loki called after her, trying to reach her ears.
The moment Sylvie left, Strange rushed to Loki and lifted him by his shirt. Loki hissed, suddenly awake. His eyes glowed.
"The Wall? Are you out of your mind? To be near the Battleworld without anyone to protect you?"
"Do not dare touch me," Loki hissed. Green light flickered weakly in his hands. "You, rotten wizard, reek of Darkhold magic."
"And you reek of your own blood. Bleeding magic curse. I can smell it from a hundred meters. You cannot afford recklessness in your position. Do you understand? We all depend on you."
Loki smiled, his eyes nearly closed. He was unstable. Without Strange’s grip, he would have fallen.
"Have you chosen a side at last, my dear vizier? Or are you still playing your role for Doom, ready to betray your king?"
"Inside. Now. You're in shock from blood loss." Strange almost cried.
"Leave me be, Sorcerer. I'm not going anywhere with you." Loki whispered.
"Father?"
Everybody stopped.
Carol saw a girl in a school uniform – seventeen, maybe, though her beauty made her older. It seemed she had come from the distant road. Her appearance was striking, silver hair falling to her feet, large emerald eyes, a tall, slender figure.
"Ellie," Loki said softly.
"I can help, Ms. Danvers. We can do it together."
Ellie made a sign. Loki didn’t protest and surrendered instantly under his daughter’s gaze. The two women finally helped the wounded man across the threshold and toward the house.
Strange’s gaze shifted, almost imperceptibly, and settled on the valise in Sven’s hands. For a brief moment, the air tightened. Old Sven did not move. His grip on the handle remained steady. He understood what he had been entrusted with, even if he did not know why.
Strange held his glance a second longer, then without a word, he turned and followed the others toward the house, his cloak trailing silently behind him.