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Chapter Text

Loki remembered little about himself. He could count all the reliable facts of his life on the fingers of one hand, and even then some fingers would remain unused.

He sat in his cell in the Sanctuary, the cold metal walls reflecting his distorted face in the dim light. Every morning he performed the same ritual - trying to remember something, anything real, something that belonged only to him.

First: the name was Loki. At least, that was what Thanos claimed, and it was the only thing that felt right in his crippled memory. Sometimes, half asleep, he heard a voice - soft, feminine, humming the name like a lullaby. But whenever he tried to grasp at that ghost of a memory, it dissolved, leaving only emptiness and a headache.

Second: he was skilled with most weapons. Muscle memory remained even where memories had disappeared. Blades sang in his hands, swords became extensions of his body. He was especially good with knives and spears, as if they were made specifically for his palms.

Yesterday, during training, he picked up a regular spear and suddenly, without thinking, performed a complex combination of movements. The instructor, one of Thanos's minions, stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Where did you learn that?" he asked.

Loki didn't know the answer. The movements came to him on their own, as if his body remembered what his mind had forgotten.

Third: he was a sorcerer, and a very powerful one. Illusions obeyed his will, reality bent under his desires. But along with the power came fragmentary images - green flames dancing between his fingers; golden helmets with curved horns; majestic halls with marble columns disappearing into vaulted ceilings that he could not assemble into a whole picture.

Sometimes, when he used magic, something inside him squeezed painfully. Not physically, but emotionally. Like he was losing something important every time the green light flashed around his hands.

Four: In his past life, he was surrounded by blond idiots. Their faces were blurred, as if someone had roughly erased them from his memory, leaving only a feeling of irritation and deep, irrational hatred. Not a single name, not a single personality trait, just golden hair and the feeling that they were all unbearably smug.

One of them laughed especially loudly. Another was too serious. Another was constantly eating something. And then there was the dark-haired woman who looked at him with something like pity.

That was it. Four pathetic facts made up his entire personality.

As for the rest... There was a guy named Thanos, who claimed to be his father. But seriously, how stupid did this Titan think he was? Loki had studied himself in the mirror enough times to realize the obvious: yes, he was part machine, thanks to his daddy's cybernetic implants.

His left arm was entirely mechanical, a perfect work of technological art in black metal that moved as naturally as a living one. His left leg, from the knee down, had also been replaced with a cybernetic prosthesis of the same dark shade. And at the back of his neck, hidden under the skin, were cold metal plates - reinforcements for his spine that sometimes ached in damp weather.

His right eye was still organic, an emerald green, as before. But the left was cybernetic - the same shade of green, but glowing with an unnatural inner light. It displayed data, analyzed threats, recorded every detail of the world around him - information that Loki often would rather not see.

But it was definitely not purple. Often white, sometimes blue, when magic was especially active in his veins. But never purple.

The only logical conclusion: dear "daddy" had erased his memory, loaded him with cybernetics to make him the perfect weapon, and then lied about his parentage to ensure his loyalty.

Dumbass.

Loki got out of bed and walked to the small window in the wall. The stars in space looked cold and uncaring. Somewhere out there was his real history, his real family, his real name.

And someday he would find them. But for now, he had to survive. And that meant pretending to be the loyal son of the monster who had stolen everything from him.

Tomorrow would be another training session. Another lesson in being a weapon.

But Loki was patient. And when the time came, Thanos would regret letting him live.

Chapter Text

He didn't like Thanos at all. The Titan was cruel, cold-blooded, and had a nasty habit of calling genocide "balance." Loki tolerated this, hoarding his strength, and biding his time.

Every morning began the same way: Thanos summoned his "children" for a debriefing. Loki stood to the right of the throne, his cybernetic eye capturing the titan's every word, every gesture. Gamora took the seat to the left, her face a mask of professional devotion. Nebula, the younger and more impulsive, wasn't always good at hiding her emotions.

"We have a special mission today," Thanos announced, his voice echoing throughout the metal chamber. "Ronan the Accuser requires... assistance in retrieving the Orb. Gamora, Nebula, you must go to him immediately."

Loki felt something tighten in his chest. His sisters had been sent to a madman known for his cruelty even among Thanos's supporters. And he himself had been left here, in the Sanctuary, under observation.

It's now or never.

"Father," he said, stepping forward and dropping to one knee in a perfect bow. His voice was filled with carefully rehearsed enthusiasm. "I am ready to serve. Allow me to prove my worth. Allow me to accompany the sisters; my abilities can be useful in this mission."

Gamora gave him a quick, warning, worried glance. She knew him well enough to suspect something was wrong.

Thanos rose slowly from his throne, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the floor. He descended the steps, each tread clanging in the silent hall.

"Loki," the Titan stopped in front of him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "My most cunning son. Do you think I don't know what's going on in your head?"

Loki's heart sank, but he forced himself to look up and meet Thanos's gaze. "I think only of how best to serve you, Father."

Thanos's smile was as cold as the void of space, but he agreed. "Fine. Show me the value of my upbringing. But remember: any attempt at betrayal will cost you more than you can imagine."

The purple bastard bought the show.

Tension reigned on the ship bound for Xandar. Gamora piloted the craft, her movements precise and economical. Nebula fiddled with some weapon, occasionally casting suspicious glances at Loki. And Loki himself sat in a corner, plotting.

"You're up to something," Gamora said, not looking up from the console.

"Always," Loki replied. "The question is what."

"Loki," Gamora's voice grew serious. "Whatever you're planning, think twice. Thanos does not forgive betrayal."

"And I don't intend to betray him," Loki lied skillfully. "I'll just... disappear."

Nebula finally looked up from her weapon. "Disappear? And leave us?"

There was pain in her voice, which she tried to hide with anger. Loki felt a pang of guilt.

"Not abandon me. Free me. If I disappear, Thanos will unleash his full wrath on me. And you... maybe you'll get a chance at a normal life."

"A normal life?" Gamora laughed bitterly. "Loki, we're his daughters. We know too much. Even if we wanted to run away, we have nowhere to go."

"Then find a place," Loki insisted. "The universe is vast. There must be a place where we can just be... family."

There was a moment of silence.

Then Nebula quietly asked, "Do you really believe this is possible?"

Loki looked at his sisters, the only people in the universe who meant anything to him.

"Yes. But not yet. First, I need to find out who I really am."

And so Loki was here on Xandar, with Gamora, waiting for this Star-Lord, or whatever his name was, to appear. The planet was bright, bustling, full of life—the complete opposite of the cold Sanctuary.

They sat at the bar, pretending to enjoy their drinks, but in reality, they were keeping an eye out for their prey. The plan was simple: wait for the right moment to give their beloved sister the slip.

"He's late," Gamora noted, sipping something blue and fizzy.

"Perhaps he realized it was a trap," Loki replied, his cybernetic eye scanning the crowd.

"Or he's just an irresponsible idiot," she added dryly.

It wasn't that he didn't love Gamora; on the contrary, she was the only person close to him. She protected him when he was weak from cybernetic surgery. She taught him how to survive in Thanos's world. She was the older sister he never asked for, but desperately needed.

It's just that if he wanted to stay away from Thanos, he had to stay away from everyone associated with him. And that broke his heart.

"Here," Gamora nodded toward the entrance. "Leather jacket, headphones, stupid hairdo."

Loki followed her gaze and saw a man—a Terran, by the looks of it—who seemed to think he was the coolest guy in the galaxy. Peter Quill. Star-Lord.

"He looks like an idiot," Loki said.

"The most dangerous ones usually look like this," Gamora said.

But he didn't expect to be caught.

When things went wrong—Quill turned out to be more than just a simple man, Rocket appeared out of nowhere with a weapon the size of a small cannon, and Groot... well, Loki certainly wasn't expecting to encounter a ten-foot-tall sentient tree—he realized his plan needed some serious adjustments.

And he certainly didn't expect that this plan would turn out to be the best decision of his life.

[Nova Corps File - SECRET]
Name: Loki (last name unknown)
Status: One of Thanos Titan's adopted children
Relatives: Gamora (adopted sister), Nebula (adopted sister)
Current Location: Working with Ronan
the Accuser Threat Level: CRITICAL
Note: Subject is Thanos's heir and believed to be his most powerful child. Possesses advanced magic and cybernetic enhancements. Capable of creating complex illusions. Master of close combat. Approach with extreme caution.
Additional Information: Estimated age: approximately 1,000+ years. Race unknown. Psychological profile indicates possible amnesia or mental blocks.

While Peter distracted the man with the prosthetic, who was selflessly complaining about his fate and cursing all the thieves in the galaxy, shouting something about his retirement savings, Loki snuck up behind him. His cybernetic leg made no sound on the asphalt. A sharp kick in the right place, and the prosthetic detached with a distinctive click.

"Hey! My leg!" the man shouted, waving his arms and trying to keep his balance.

"Well done!" Rocket shouted from the roof, waving the stolen device. "Better than I expected from a new one!"

"We worked well together, Porcupine," Loki said, looking at Quill, who stood with a guilty expression on his face and tried to calm the lame owner of the leg.

"Can you please not call me that?" Peter groaned, looking around at the angry crowd that was beginning to surround them. "I have a normal name!"

"Hmm," Loki thought theatrically, dodging the fist of an angry passerby. "What if I named you Petunia?"

"You know what? Porcupine is good," Quill said quickly after a short pause, imagining the alternative nickname.

"I thought so. Come on, it's time to go before we're turned into mincemeat," Loki said, already heading toward their ship, creating illusory doubles as he went to confuse his pursuers. Green tongues of magic danced around his hands.

"Hey, that's cool!" Peter exclaimed, catching up with him. "How do you do that?"

"Long story," Loki replied, pointing an illusory copy of himself in the opposite direction.

"You know," Peter caught up with him, jumping over a trash can, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Don't tempt fate, Petunia."

But Loki was smiling—a real smile, not the mask he wore in the Sanctuary. For the first time in a long time, something felt… right. As if he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Behind them, Gamora shook her head at the chaos, but there was a warmth in her eyes. Perhaps her little brother had finally found what he was looking for.

Chapter Text

"It will be an honor for me to die alongside my friends," Loki said solemnly, looking around at the Guardians.

They were aboard the Milano, preparing for what could very well be their final mission. Outside the window, empty space, dotted with distant stars, drifted by. Rocket sat in a corner, adjusting some incredibly dangerous weapon, sparks flying from his tools, and occasionally cursing in a language Loki didn't understand. Groot sat peacefully against the wall, his wooden branches rustling softly in time with the ship's breathing. Drax methodically sharpened his knives, each movement ritualistic, meditative. And Peter and Gamora hunched over a holographic map, their heads almost touching, discussing their plan of attack.

Loki rose from his seat, his cybernetic foot silently touching the metal floor. Smiling at his sister, a real smile, not the mask he'd worn for years in the Sanctuary, he caught the attention of the entire team.

"I don't remember much of my life before that purple idiot decided to give me amnesia and cybernetic parts," he began, his voice quieter than usual. Loki rarely spoke of his past, and everyone knew it. "But recently, I managed to unearth one memory."

Rocket stopped fiddling with his weapon. Peter looked up from the map. Even Drax stopped sharpening his blades. Silence fell over the ship, broken only by the low hum of the engines.

"I was standing in a forest with five blond idiots," Loki continued, his cybernetic eye flickering as he sifted through fragments of memory. "Tall trees, the scent of pine needles, mist between the trunks. I don't remember their names, their faces, or even their voices, but I knew I hated them with all my heart. We came across a troop of ogres, huge, stinking beasts with clubs the size of me. And these idiots just attacked us without any plan."

Loki shook his head, and for the first time, there was something warm and irritated in his gesture, rather than bitter. “I sighed—I remember that very moment, the air leaving my lungs—and ran to help them, thinking, ‘I’m going to die surrounded by idiots.’”

He glanced around at his new comrades. Peter, now absently humming a Terran song and drumming his fingers on the table. Rocket, who had already returned to his weapon, but Loki saw one of the raccoon's ears still turned in his direction. Groot, who quietly said, "I'm Groot," but there was support in his voice. Drax, who looked at him with rare understanding. And Gamora, smiling the smile she reserved for her family.

"It seems my fate hasn't changed much," Loki said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "But I can't think of any more idiots to die with."

"Loki," Gamora interjected, unimpressed by his pathos, but with a twinkle of amusement dancing in her eyes, "we're basically the only people you even know."

"I gave a whole emotional speech, and you just ruined it. Thank you, sister," Loki said, but his indignation was feigned.

"Please, brother," Gamora smiled, and that smile was full of love.

"I'm Groot!" the tree giant cried joyfully, its branches rustling with pleasure.

"Yeah, Groot, you're a jerk too," Loki agreed, his cybernetic eye warming for a moment. "Best jerk ever."

Peter looked up from the map and grinned. "Hey, what about me? I'm a jerk too!"

"You're a special case, Petunia," Loki replied with mock seriousness. "You're a first-class idiot."

"I don't know whether to be happy or offended by this."

"Be happy," Rocket advised. "He meant it as a compliment."

And for the first time in many months, Loki felt truly at home.

Loki had no idea how he'd gotten himself into this situation. How the hell his life had gotten to the point where he was dancing to a Terran song with some idiot in a red leather cloak was one of the most perplexing mysteries in the universe.

It all started with Peter turning up the volume on his "Awesome Mix" again. Usually, Loki would simply retreat to his quarters and close the door behind him, but today something was different. Perhaps it was the adrenaline from a successful mission, or simply the fatigue accumulated over months of constant stress.

"Come on, Eileen!" echoed across the main deck of the ship, and Peter began jumping up and down, waving his arms, and singing off-key as usual. Gamora rolled her eyes and tried to walk past, but Quill grabbed her arm.

"Come on, Gamora! One dance!"

“Peter, leave me alone,” she waved him off, but she was smiling.

"Rocket!" Peter said to the raccoon, who was fixing something in the corner.

"I'll die if I dance to your stupid music," Rocket barked without even looking up.

"Drax?"

"Dancing is for the weak," said the warrior, continuing to polish his knives.

"Groot?"

"I am Groot," the tree giant replied, but his tone was dismissive.

Peter sighed dramatically and turned to Loki, who stood in the doorway, watching the whole circus with a mixture of bewilderment and disgust.

"Loki! Bro! Don't leave me in trouble!"

“No way,” Loki replied categorically.

But then Peter did something terrible: he looked away, like a puppy dog. The same look that made Gamora back down in an argument, Rocket share his explosives, and Groot tell stories about his home planet.

"Please? Please? Just one song? I promise not to call you Raven anymore!"

"You never called me that," Loki said.

"But you could! But now I won't!"

Loki looked at Peter, who was jumping up and down like a hyperactive child, then at the rest of the Guardians, who were pretending to be busy with their own affairs but were clearly waiting for his answer.

And then his cybernetic eye analyzed the situation and returned an unexpected result: the team's stress level had dropped by twenty percent since the music had started. Everyone's heart rate had evened out. Even Drax, who claimed dancing was for weaklings, was unconsciously swaying his leg to the beat.

"They're happy ," Loki realized. "This stupid music makes them happy . "

"One song," he gave in. "And not a word to anyone."

Peter squealed with joy and grabbed Loki's hands. And then the real madness began.

He danced around him to "Come on Eileen," and Loki, defying all logic, played along. His cybernetic eye automatically analyzed the rhythm and suggested optimal moves, which made the whole situation even more absurd. His head was racing with trajectory calculations, musical interval analyses, and predictions of Peter's next moves.

"I've turned into a dancing monkey," he muttered under his breath, but kept moving.

Beside him, Gamora shook her head, but Loki noticed her lips trembling with a restrained smile. Rocket put down his tools and grinned broadly. Even Drax looked interested, though for him the dance was more of a ritualistic gesture before battle.

"You know what, it's not that bad!" Peter shouted over the music, making some crazy movements that could have broken his neck.

"Speak for yourself," Loki replied, but he was smiling.

As the song began to fade, Peter grabbed him by the shoulders. "See? Fun!"

"You know what, Petunia?" Loki shouted over the fading music. "I think this really is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!"

He just hoped Rocket would figure out this weapon soon, otherwise they would all have to dance until they died.

3:17 AM – Milan

I'll kill this son of a bitch.

That's what Loki thought when he woke up at two in the morning to the sounds of "Awesome Mix Vol. 1." Normally a night owl, he wouldn't have turned down some late-night music. In the Sanctuary, he often stayed up until dawn, studying star charts or planning his escape.

But he didn't sleep for a whole week.

It all started when Rocket discovered Loki's cybernetic eye was connected to the galactic network. "For your own safety," the raccoon said, hacking the security system. Since then, Loki has been receiving spam at the most inconvenient times.

Yesterday, during a fight with pirates, an advertisement suddenly caught his eye: "Expand your... ship! For only 99 credits!" He was distracted by it and nearly got stabbed in the stomach with a sword.

And this morning, while he was trying to concentrate on meditation, his cybernetic eye started showing ads for "the best brothels in the Andromeda sector." Loki spent half an hour trying to figure out how to turn it off before giving up and going to threaten Rocket.

And somehow, Rocket kept hacking his cybernetic eye, causing pop-up ads to appear at the most inopportune moments. This time, it was a particularly nasty ad for "intergalactic dating," which Loki definitely didn't order. The hologram depicted a blue-skinned woman with three eyes, winking at him and saying something about "hot, single titans in your sector."

"Rocket," Loki growled into the empty cabin, "when I find you, I'll turn you into a doormat."

And the music was probably setting the rhythm for his dear sister, who was... amusing herself with Porcupine in the ship's main room. Loki tried not to think about what exactly they were doing there, but the soundproofing on the Milan was, to put it mildly, far from ideal.

Note to self: Don't eat at this table for the next few days. Or weeks. Or ever.

Muttering under his breath about the "darkness of space" and the "lack of personal space," he rose from his bed. His cybernetic foot touched the cold floor softly, and he headed toward his minicomputer.

A little internet trolling of the Nova Corps can lift his spirits. He's been amusing himself for weeks by leaving "anonymous" reviews on their official website. His favorite was the one about how their uniforms made everyone look like "pretentious space janitors."

After all, uninformed idiots were everywhere, and he had cybernetic powers and a lot of free time.

Loki turned on the computer and rubbed his face with his hands. Maybe after an hour of destroying the galactic web, he could get some sleep. Or at least stop thinking about the sounds coming from the control room.

The next morning, Loki hummed "Hooked on a Feeling," one of Petunia's Terran songs, while making himself breakfast. He'd had a productive night, hacking three Nova Corps databases and making a few artistic edits to the Guardians of the Galaxy files.

Their official profiles now listed Rocket as "a furry genius with a Napoleon complex and a penchant for pyromania," Groot as "a friendly vegetarian giant with a limited vocabulary but boundless wisdom," and Peter Quill as "a Terran leader with questionable musical taste but an uncanny ability to unite unlikely allies."

He described himself as "a former prince with memory problems and a superb swordsman," and Gamora as "the most dangerous woman in the galaxy with an unexpectedly developed sense of humor." Loki sat at the table between Rocket, who was busy creating something that looked like it was about to explode, and Groot, who had recently reached his full size thanks to Loki's magical assistance.

Groot's recovery process was... interesting. Loki spent three days slowly channeling his magic into the roots of the small tree, helping it regain its memory and personality. It was strange to feel another's mind expand under his power, ancient knowledge returning to its owner.

He was about to enjoy his diabetic masterpiece of bacon, cheese, and God knows what else (cooking wasn't his strong suit, but he tried), when he noticed something strange.

"Hey, Rocket?" Loki drawled, listening to the faint mechanical sound.

“Yes?” the raccoon replied, not looking up from his work on some flashing device.

"Why is the table ticking?"

"Oh, I turned it into a bomb."

Loki, like any sane person, took a few seconds to process this information. His cybernetic eye automatically began scanning the table, flashing alarming red lights.

"Rocket?".

"Yes, Loki?"

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU TURN A TABLE INTO A BOMB?!"

His scream woke up half the ship. Hurried footsteps could be heard from the corridor.

The raccoon shrugged with an air of complete innocence: “It irritated me.”

"HOW CAN A TABLE ANNOY ANYONE?!"

"It's too high. I feel uncomfortable sitting at it. I feel like a child eating an adult dinner."

"Rocket, you damn raccoon! Everything is too high for you!"

"Hey!" Rocket protested, waving a screwdriver. "First of all, I'm not a raccoon! And secondly..."

"Oh my God, just turn it off before you blow a hole in the hull and send us all to hell!"

At that moment, Peter and Gamora burst into the room, both wearing hastily thrown on clothes.

"What's going on?" Gamora asked, automatically assessing the threat.

"The missile turned the table into a bomb," Loki explained, pointing to a flashing device under the tabletop.

"Again?" Peter sighed. "Rocket, we told you not to use homemade explosives in living quarters!"

"Why should I listen to you?" the raccoon barked.

Loki slowly turned toward him, his cybernetic eye glowing ominously red. Data on the raccoon's weaknesses began to surface in his field of vision.

"Do you really want to know what I'll do to you if you refuse?"

His voice was quiet, almost gentle, the same tone he used in the Sanctuary before killing someone.

"...Good idea," the raccoon quickly began unplugging something in the desk. "But only because I don't want to remove your remains from the ceiling!"

"Am I Groot?" the tree giant asked worriedly, his branches rustling uneasily.

"No, Groot, no one will kill anyone," Loki reassured him, though his eye still glowed red. "For now."

Rocket disconnected the last wire, and the ticking stopped. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"So," Loki said, returning to his breakfast, "can someone explain to me why our technician thinks household furniture is a good place for explosives?"

“It’s a long story,” Peter replied.

"We have time," Loki smiled. "And now we have a safe table."

"Damn it, Gamora, did he really say that?" Loki looked at his sister incredulously, his cybernetic eye scanning every microexpression on her face to verify the veracity of what she said.

"Honestly, like a killer," Gamora stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm not lying. He looked me straight in the eyes, so serious, solemn, and in a completely sincere voice said, 'You're such a sexy pumpkin, I could carve you for Halloween,' and then he fell face-first into the remains of his dinner."

She demonstrated how Peter fell, dramatically hitting his nose on the table.

Loki glanced at Peter, who sat at the table with the air of a man seriously reconsidering his life choices. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were red, and there was a plate mark on his forehead.

"I didn't think Petunia could get that drunk," Loki muttered, eyeing his friend with professional interest. "Where did you even get so much alcohol?"

"I thought it was Porcupine," Gamora noted.

"While he was drunk and pestering my sister with weird vegetable compliments, to me he was Petunia," Loki said coldly. "I'm angry with him. Seriously angry."

"Fair enough," Gamora agreed. "Although, I must admit, it was rather inventive for a drunken idiot."

"Don't defend him," Loki grumbled.

Gamora bid them goodnight and retired to her quarters, still chuckling at the memory. Loki, true to his principles, sat with their future leader until he recovered enough to speak coherently.

He poured himself a strong coffee and sat across from Peter, waiting patiently. He'd learned to wait in the Sanctuary—sometimes information didn't come immediately, and the best-laid plans took time. Now he applied those same skills to caring for his friend.

When Peter finally raised his head and looked at him with bleary eyes, Loki said sternly, "Listen carefully, Quill. If you call my sister a pumpkin again—sexy, regular, or any other kind—I will turn you into an ornamental plant. Understood?"

"I get it," Peter groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh my God, my head is splitting. And why are you so loud?"

"I'm whispering," Loki replied. "You're hungover. Now tell me why you got high in the first place?"

Peter was silent for a long moment, looking at his hands. Loki saw the struggle in his eyes: the desire to hide behind jokes and the need to finally talk to someone.

“It’s an anniversary,” Peter finally said quietly.

"What?".

And then it all came spilling out.

Twenty-seven years ago, Peter's mother died of cancer. Meredith Quill was a young, beautiful, and energetic woman who sang songs to him and read him comic books. She taught him to dance to the Jackson Five and told him stories about his father, the mysterious man from the stars.

"She held my hand," Peter's voice trembled. "Until the very end. And I was such a coward that I couldn't even touch her before I died. I was afraid that... that it would make it all real."

He told her about how Yondu had taken him straight from the hospital, how he'd never seen her grave, how he'd never been able to say goodbye properly. How every year on this day, he'd drunk himself into oblivion because it was the only way to drown out the guilt and pain.

"She gave me a Walkman," Peter said, pulling his signature Walkman out of his jacket. "'Awesome Mix Vol. 2.' She said it was from Dad. But I… I was so scared I didn't take it. Yondu had to go back and get it."

As Star-Lord burst into tears at the table, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Loki didn't hesitate to embrace him. His cybernetic hand landed on Peter's back, cold and hard, but containing all the warmth he could muster.

"I don't remember my mother," Loki said quietly. "If I ever had one. But I know what it's like to lose the most important person in your life."

He thought of Gamora, of the fear that gripped him every time she went on a dangerous mission. Of how he would kill anyone who tried to harm her.

"I'd probably feel worse than you if I lost Gamora. Because I'd blame myself for not protecting her."

And he hugged his brother—and Peter had definitely become like a brother to him over the months of their shared adventures—and cried, mourning the injustice of the universe. Until alcohol and emotion carried him into the arms of oblivion.

Then Loki carefully picked Peter up—his cybernetic enhancements made him far stronger than he looked—and carried him to the cabin. He removed his shoes, covered him with a blanket, and left a glass of water and some painkillers on the nightstand.

He didn't do it out of a sense of duty. He did it because he'd spent enough difficult nights in the Sanctuary to know that waking up in a strange bed, alone, with no idea where you are or how you got there, was far, far worse than any hangover.

Drax watched all this from the doorway, his expression serious and thoughtful. The creatures' emotions were still a mystery to him, even after months of constant communication.

On his home planet, men didn't cry, hug, or care for the weak.
But even he knew what happened tonight was important. Family isn't just blood and oaths to the gods. Sometimes it's a choice. A decision to stay when others would leave.

And Loki made his choice long ago, the moment he first called Gamora sister.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in the galaxy, aboard a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicopter carrier.

Thor sighed as he stood in the maximum-security cell, looking at the woman who had caused him so much trouble. Nebula, as the prisoner was called, belonged to a species unlike any he had ever seen. Her blue skin shimmered metallically in the artificial light, and her black eyes were bottomless wells of hatred and pain. She resembled a cross between a jötunn and a dark elf, but her alienness was unique.

Her right arm was entirely cybernetic, a massive, menacing construct of dark metal. Much of her face around her right eye had been replaced by machinery, and a thick band of metal ran across her bald scalp. Scars crisscrossed what remained of her organic skin, telling a story of pain and compulsion.

She stole the Tesseract from the Midgardians, an artifact that originally didn't belong to them but was now under their protection. And it seems she knew Loki.

Thor recalled a conversation from a few hours ago. Heimdall had sensed the Tesseract's activation and immediately reported it to the All-Father. But while they waited for Odin, the Guardian of the Nine Worlds heard something that made his blood run cold.

"Of course, Father. I won't fail you like Loki and Gamora did."

These words haunted Thor the entire flight to Midgard. It was a desperate gamble. The likelihood that she was talking about his Loki was slim to none—after all, the galaxy was vast, and the name not so uncommon.

The likelihood that Loki had died in the fall from Bifrost a year ago was far greater. Thor had seen it with his own eyes: how his brother let go of Gungnir, how his fingers relaxed, how he vanished into the void of space with a peaceful expression on his face. Thor screamed his name until his voice broke, but the void did not answer.

But if there had been even the slightest chance that Loki had survived...

And so here he was, on Midgard, pretending he'd come purely out of a sense of duty and a desire to meet Jane. In truth, he hadn't even planned to let her know he was there. He loved her deeply and sincerely, but family came first.

First came the brother.

And Loki was his brother, though the green-eyed deceiver had vehemently denied it in their last conversation.

"Well?" Nebula asked sharply, interrupting his thoughts. Her voice was hoarse and full of aggression. "Are you just going to stand there and stare at me, or are you going to say something?"

Thor narrowed his eyes, studying her face. Her features were wildly beautiful, but they were twisted with pain and anger. His first impulse was to grab her by the throat and demand she tell him everything about Loki. But his time with his brother had taught him something: brute force rarely yielded reliable information. To get someone to talk, you had to either deceive or bribe them somehow.

And Thor never knew how to be cunning.

Unlike Loki.

Memories flooded back. They were teenagers, studying in the royal gardens of Asgard...

"Thor, your eloquence is simply astoundingly terrible," his brother's voice rang out mockingly. Loki sat in the shade of a large tree, reading a book on military strategy. "I refuse to work with you on diplomatic missions if you can't pull off the simplest deception without utter failure."
"Why would I cheat? Some of us have a hammer," muttered young Thor, brandishing Mjölnir.
Loki looked up from his book, and something flickered in his eyes—a mixture of sadness and pride.
"You'll be surprised, brother. Someday you'll understand that sometimes a sharp word cuts deeper than any blade."

Thor hadn't thought about that conversation for decades. Perhaps if he had remembered sooner, he would have noticed the expression on Loki's face—a mixture of sadness and pride as his younger brother uncovered yet another cunning plan. Now, to find Loki, he would have to use Loki's own methods.

"Listen carefully," his brother's voice seemed to whisper in his ear. " First, do what they expect. Let them know they understand you and are in control."

"Where is the Tesseract?" Thor asked bluntly, playing the role of a determined warrior.

Nebula grinned, revealing metal teeth. "Why would I say that?"

"Once they get you talking, keep the conversation going. Make them think they're better than you. Strike their ego. Arrogant people are prone to mistakes. But be careful—not too obvious. Be subtle. They're watching you, trust me."

Thor bit his lip and turned away, leaning back slightly. He tried to feign uncertainty, which was difficult. This time, Loki wasn't lying—she was watching his every move, and her smirk widened even more.

"What are you going to do with him?" Thor asked, as if gathering his courage.

Nebula lifted her chin and bowed her head slightly, clearly enjoying her superiority. "To conquer this pathetic world, of course."

"Why?".

"Why not?"

"Then knock them out from under their feet. If you can knock them out from under their feet, they'll try to hide. That's when they'll slip."

"Of course you don't want to conquer this world, do you?"

Nebula blinked, the first sign that her confidence was cracking. Thor straightened and smiled too.

“Of course I do!” she growled, but there was already a defensive note in her voice.

His smile widened. "No, you won't. At least not for yourself. You're doing this for someone else."

She tried to pull herself together. “Really? Who could it be?”

"And once you've got them hook, line, and sinker..."

"Your father."

"...to commit murder."

Nebula's eyes widened and she stepped back, clearly shocked by the blow.

"How do you know this?!"

"I know many things," Thor stepped forward, feeling the initiative shift to him. "Like how you're afraid of failing, like those two before you."

He knew little. But the phrase Heimdall had overheard was enough to make an educated guess. Loki's second favorite art in action: illusion, based on grains of truth.

"I will not fail like these traitors!" Nebula exploded, and her voice was filled with genuine pain. "I will not disappoint Father! I will conquer this world, and not even Loki and Gamora will stop me! And you! You, an Asgardian, will not stand in my way! Not even that monster in human form can do to you what I can do with Loki's stolen memories!"

Thor's heart sank. Stolen memories.

"So that's your game."

Thor turned to see Natasha Romanoff behind him, grinning at her small victory. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was monitoring the interrogation over the comm system.

Nebula growled at Thor, "You tricked me!"

Thor turned to her, hoping Heimdall had heard her tirade. "Loki's stolen memories" sounded extremely disturbing.

"I learned from the best."

Another memory flashed through his mind:

"I will never have to resort to such cowardly tricks, brother," said young Thor one day, filled with righteous anger after yet another court intrigue.
Loki turned to him with a meaningful look, too wise for his years. "Oh, perhaps I will."
"Is that a threat?"
"Not at all, brother. It's merely a prophecy."

Not for the first time, Thor wondered if the Norns had given his brother the gift of foresight, or if Loki was simply wiser than all of Asgard combined.

Now he knew the truth: Loki was alive. And apparently in the hands of someone powerful enough to steal his memories. The one who had turned his little brother into a "monster in human form."

Thor clenched his fists and lightning ran through Mjolnir.

He will find his brother. At any cost.

The next morning, the Milan's main deck...

Loki sat in his favorite chair, sipping his morning coffee and observing the Guardians' morning ritual. Rocket was already arguing with his instruments, Groot was peacefully meditating in the corner, and Gamora was studying the star charts. Peter, as usual, was fiddling with his iPod, choosing his music for the day.

"Quill, what's the purpose of this thing?" Drax asked, snatching Peter's headphones from the table and fingering them in his massive hands. "How are you going to kill with this?"

Peter looked up from his breakfast of Terran porridge, which he considered 'health food', "...Drax, these are headphones."

"Do you strangle your victims with rope?" Drax continued, examining the wire with genuine interest. "An interesting choice. Quiet and effective."

"Uh, no," Peter put down his spoon. "They're for music."

"So this is a torture device?" Drax raised the device to his eyes, as if examining a complex mechanism. "You harm your victims with sonic waves? You force them to listen to your Terran songs until they break?"

Loki spat out his coffee, trying not to laugh. His cybernetic eye registered Drax's microexpressions; the warrior was deadly serious.

"Okay, first of all, no, and secondly," Peter extended his hand, "give them back. You definitely can't be trusted with them."

"But how do they work?" Drax continued, examining the headphones closely. "Where are the blades hidden?"

"There are no blades!"

"So, poison? Do they emit toxic fumes?"

"DRAX! THESE ARE JUST HEADPHONES!"

Drax handed over the headphones with a disappointed look and left the room, muttering something about the Terrans making extremely ineffective killing tools.

Gamora turned to her brother, who was barely holding back his laughter.

"How long do you think it will be before Peter realizes Drax is just messing with him?"

"My sister," Loki shook his head with feigned sadness, "I love you very much, but you could have chosen a smarter guy. Petunia will figure it out herself when Drax runs out of things for this game."

"Hey!" Peter protested. "I'm not that stupid!"

"Of course, dear," Gamora said soothingly, patting his hand.

"I'm Groot!" the tree giant added cheerfully, his branches shaking with laughter.

Loki burst out laughing.

"You're absolutely right, my friend. He said Peter will probably only understand the truth when Drax starts asking about the sock murders."

Rocket learned to understand Groot over time and the experience gained during their shared adventures. Loki understood him thanks to all the magic he poured into restoring the creature to its former glory. The magical connection worked in both directions, allowing them to communicate almost telepathically.

Although the rest of the team—Drax, Gamora, and Peter—gradually began to pick up on the nuances of Groot's speech, they still relied on Loki as a translator, as Rocket was usually too busy explaining things. To their collective surprise, Groot had a rather dark sense of humor and a talent for observation.

"Knowing Petunia," Loki continued, sipping his coffee, "I think he'll only understand the truth when Nova Prime tells it to him out of pity."

"Why would she do that?" Gamora laughed.

“Okay, Verde, you get the idea,” Rocket shrugged, not looking up from his instruments.

As a child on Terra, Peter learned a language called "Spanish." One of the nicknames he gave Gamora was "Verde," meaning "green." It was one of the few words from that language he remembered, along with a few curse words and the phrase "Where's the bathroom?" The other Guardians adopted the nickname because they didn't want to pronounce all three syllables of "Gamora," having learned the hard way that the abbreviated "Mora" resulted in a painful punch to the solar plexus.

At that moment, Drax poked his head into the room. "Quill, what about this thing?" He was holding Peter's toothbrush. "Is this for cleaning weapons?"

Peter groaned and covered his face with his hands.

"Hey, Maura," Loki suddenly turned to his sister, deciding to distract her from playing with the guy, "remember that guy with the weird mask on his face? What did he call himself... The Other?"

"Something like that," Gamora nodded, her face immediately becoming more serious. "What?"

"What happened to him?"

"I thought Nebula mentioned that Ronan killed him during our last fight. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," Loki replied, puzzled, his cybernetic eye blinking as he processed the information. "It's just that for some reason, I'm really happy about this information. Like... like it's connected to something bad in my past."

"That's odd," Gamora remarked.

"It is indeed strange," Loki agreed. "My memories sometimes react to names or places, but I can't figure out why."

At that moment, Peter returned to the room with a clearly irritated expression on his face and a toothbrush in his hands.

"Hey, guys!" he announced without much enthusiasm. "I know we were planning on taking the day off, but an urgent message just came in from the Nova Corps."

The conversation died down. Peter's tone made it clear the news was serious.

"They were checking on Nebula," he continued, activating a holographic display. An image of a blue-skinned woman in combat armor appeared before them.

Gamora sat up straight in her chair, her face instantly tense and worried. "What's wrong with her? Where is she?"

"It looks like she's heading to a planet called Terra with a stolen artifact of incredible power," Peter replied.

Loki sat up straight in his chair. Terra... the name echoed faintly in the depths of his damaged memory, but he couldn't recall where.

"According to our intel, she plans to use this artifact, the Tesseract, to take over the planet," Peter waved his hand, and the hologram gave way to an image of a glowing cube. "The problem is, the Terran natives are completely unprepared for such an invasion. They have primitive technology and no space defenses."

"So it's a massacre," Drax remarked grimly. "Nebula won't stand on ceremony with the defenseless."

"We have to stop her," Gamora said, already rising from her seat. "Now."

"Gamora," Loki put a hand on her shoulder. "Think about it. She thinks we betrayed her. When you meet her..."

"I'll explain it to her!" Gamora interrupted. "I'll tell her the truth about what happened!"

"What if she doesn't listen?" Loki asked quietly but insistently. "Do you remember what she was like in the last days before she disappeared? Angry, desperate, ready to do anything to prove her worth to Thanos."

Tears glistened in Gamora's eyes. "She's my little sister, Loki. I can't just abandon her."

"No one's talking about abandoning her," Loki reassured her. "But be prepared for the meeting to not go as you hoped. Nebula is wounded and frightened. Wounded animals bite."

"That's why I need to be there," Gamora insisted. "She trusts me more than anyone."

"But there's a problem," Peter interjected. "Terra, or Earth, is my home planet. And after several alien incidents, the local authorities have imposed a strict quarantine. No one from outside is allowed in."

Gamora frowned. "But Nebula's heading there. How is she going to get around the quarantine?"

"She's not going to bypass it," Loki replied, understanding his sister's logic. "She's going to force her way in. She might even be counting on the local authorities granting her access to the planet to avoid orbital bombardment."

"Smart and cruel," Rocket nodded. "A typical example of our little psychopath."

"Luckily," Peter continued, "the quarantine restrictions don't apply to natives of this sector of the galaxy. Which means only you and I, Loki, will be able to go."

He gestured first to himself, then to Loki.

"Technically, I'm still a citizen of Earth, even though I haven't been there in over twenty-seven years. And your biological signature, according to the ship's medical scanner, points to origins in the northern regions of this sector. We are the only ones on the crew who have legal grounds to be in this system."

"No!" Gamora grabbed Loki's arm. "She might try to kill you! You know how she feels about 'betrayal'!"

Loki gently removed his hand. "Perhaps. But I'm the only one who can pass quarantine without breaking local laws. And who knows Nebula well enough to predict her actions."

"What if..." Gamora began.

"Gamora, listen to me," Loki interrupted. "When Nebula sees you, she might react emotionally. You're a symbol of everything she's lost. And with me... with me, she might try to play mind games, like old times."

He smiled, and there was a sad confidence in that smile. "Besides, if something goes wrong, I can protect myself. And she might catch you off guard."

"Then Terra. 'A small blue world on the edge of the galaxy,'" Peter said, turning on an image of the planet from space. "Beautiful, but technologically backward. Most of the population doesn't even know about the existence of other intelligent races. They think they're alone in the universe."

"Until recently," he added sadly. "A few years ago, there was an incident with... let's call them space invaders. Since then, they've had so-called 'superheroes'—people with extraordinary abilities who protect the planet."

"Superheroes?" Loki raised an eyebrow. "That sounds... theatrical."

"Trust me, they're more serious than they look," Peter said, turning off the hologram. "Especially if they find out there's an armed alien ship approaching their planet."

Loki chuckled, a familiar spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. "Terra, then. Your home planet, Petunia. Sounds like the perfect place for a family reunion."

Gamora looked at him for a long time, fighting the urge to go herself and realizing that he was right.

"Promise me," she finally said. "Promise me you'll bring her home. Alive."

"I promise," Loki nodded. "But only if it's possible."

“And to come back alive too,” she added more quietly.

"We'll be back," Loki promised, hugging his sister. "And perhaps not alone. After all, someone has to translate Groot's speeches."

An hour later, the Milano departed the space station, carrying Peter Quill and Loki—two men bound for a small blue planet on the edge of the galaxy, where a dangerous family reunion awaited.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, several hours later...

Natasha Romanoff sat at the table, surrounded by holographic displays and interrogation logs. The blue light from the screens reflected off her face, highlighting the fatigue around her eyes. She had been studying the recordings of her captive's conversation for three hours, analyzing every word, every intonation.

Thor stood by the panoramic window, his massive frame motionless as a statue, but Natasha could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he clenched and unclenched his fists. Clouds drifted past the glass, and the helicopter hovered ten thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean.

"Who is Loki, Thor?" she finally asked, continuing to read the reports.

The Asgardian prince turned slowly to face her. His eyes held such pain that Natasha sat up straighter in her chair. "This is my younger brother, Lady Widow," his voice was hoarse, as if every word caused physical pain. "He fell into the abyss of the Bifrost a year ago, after... after he learned the truth about his origins. Until today, we thought him dead."

Thor walked up to her desk and sat heavily in the chair opposite her. His hands rested on his lap, and Natasha noticed they were shaking slightly.

"We searched for him," he continued, more quietly. "Heimdallr searched the galaxy with his all-seeing gaze. Father sent search parties to all nine worlds. But space is vast, and the dead are not easy to find among the stars."

"Are you sure this is the same Loki?" Natasha tilted her head, studying his face. She'd seen enough grief in her life to recognize the signs. "The name may not be so common in the cosmos, but he can't be the only Loki in the universe."

"True," Thor agreed, running a hand through his hair. "But he was the only Loki I knew. And, more importantly, the only one whose knowledge of me, of our secrets, of Asgard's weaknesses, could cause real harm."

Natasha nodded, making notes on her tablet. "I understand the logic. But there's a problem, Thor."

She activated the audio feed, and Nebula's voice filled the room: "Even this monster in human form cannot do to you what I can do with Loki's stolen memories!"

"She said his memories were stolen," Natasha continued. "Even if he is the Loki you think he is, it's likely he doesn't remember you. Or his memories are distorted."

Silence fell over the room as Thor looked out the window, where the sun was slowly setting over the horizon, painting the clouds gold and scarlet.

"I know, Lady Widow," he finally said quietly. "That doesn't mean I'll give in. Even if he doesn't remember me and never remembers our childhood, our adventures, our quarrels..." His voice wavered. "Even if he remembers, but wants nothing to do with me or Asgard..."

He paused, choosing his words, and Natasha saw a tear roll down his cheek.

"Just knowing that my dear little brother was truly alive, somewhere among the stars, would ease my pain. Even if I only saw him once. Even if he tried to kill me."

Natasha nodded slowly. In her line of work, she'd seen plenty of family drama, but rarely had she seen such pure, selfless love.

"I understand. Just be prepared for disappointments. People change, Thor. Especially after a trauma of this magnitude."

"You remind me of him in many ways, Lady Widow," Thor said suddenly, looking up at her.

“Yes?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed. A keen mind, a knack for understanding people, a healthy pessimism about human nature," Thor listed, and for the first time in their conversation, a faint smile flitted across his face. "An ability to find truth where others see only lies. If you were ever to meet, I imagine you'd either become sworn enemies or best friends."

"If he has the same strength as you," Natasha chuckled, "I would, of course, prefer the latter."

"Believe me, widow," Thor shook his head, his smile growing even sadder. "He has so much more. Loki has always been smarter than me, more cunning, more resourceful. If he truly is alive and has gained new powers..."

His words were interrupted by a sharp jolt. The helicopter banked to the left, its emergency lights flashing red. Sirens blared throughout the ship. Something was approaching them.

Later, in the trap chamber...

Nebula slowly approached the control panel and placed her cybernetic hand on the red lever. Thor watched as her fingers gripped the metal surface: one movement, and the camera would drop him into the void beneath the helicarrier.

"Loki taught me that little trick," Nebula said, admiring the way Thor glared at her from his glass prison.

Loki had often done this to him as a child, when he wanted Thor to leave him alone with books or magical experiments. He really needed to stop giving in to that temptation.

The blue-skinned woman walked up to the control panel and placed her cybernetic hand on the lever.

"And now, Odinson, you will die without ever knowing the fate of your precious brother."

"Whoever once called me a 'drama queen' obviously never met you, dear sister," a voice suddenly came from behind the door.

Thor's heart stopped in his chest.

That voice. That sarcasm. That way of speaking—mockin' and soft at the same time, with that special intonation Loki used when he wanted to anger someone and calm them down at the same time.

Loki.

Chapter Text

His name was Loki, that was the only thing he knew for sure at the beginning.

He learned more about himself over time. He despised high temperatures, but was perfectly comfortable in places where it was cold enough to kill others from hypothermia. When he got cold enough, his one living eye would turn red and his skin would take on a bluish tint. Strange raised patterns that had never been there before would suddenly appear all over his body, like ancient runes written in frost.

In those moments, he felt... different. As if the cold awakened something dormant in him, something forgotten. He spent hours in the cryogenic chambers of the Sanctuary that the other inhabitants avoided, enjoying the icy peace and trying to catch elusive images from the past.

He was smart, perhaps too smart for his own good. Prone to practical jokes and cunning plans. He had a strategic mind that could calculate moves ten moves ahead. He was a skilled liar, and he could tell when he was being lied to. These abilities helped him survive in Thanos' world, where truth was a luxury and lies were currency.

That's why he immediately realized that the purple titan posing as his father was nothing more than a liar and a manipulator.

He knew that he hadn't always been in the Sanctuary, no matter how many of the inhabitants greeted him like an old friend or asked if he remembered anything from the past. They pretended to forget about his amnesia when he said he didn't remember anything. No matter how many people congratulated him on his recovery from "that terrible fall" or asked when he would return to Thanos' army.

Liars. Liars, every single one of them.

They didn't know him. The events they kept telling him about never happened. He didn't fall... well, maybe he did, but that certainly wasn't the reason for his memory loss. He had never served among them, at least not willingly.

The scars on his body told a different story. Most of them had not been earned in honorable combat. Yes, there were battle marks - a knife wound to the stomach, a scar on his side where an arrow had grazed him. But the rest... they were deliberate. Methodical. Fresh.

Every evening, in the privacy of his chambers, he studied them in the mirror. The long stripe on his inner thigh where the skin had been flayed raw, too neat to be an accident. The burn marks on his feet, forming a geometric pattern. His slightly crooked toes - the result of methodical fractures, each bone snapped in a specific order.

The small marks near his nails where they had been torn off one by one. The fine lines near his eyes where the delicate skin had been cut. The long stripes on his back from a whip. And the worst of all were the tiny dots on his lips, where they had been stitched together in a pattern.

And there was the scar on the back of his neck, a long, neat line hidden beneath his hair. When he touched it, he could feel the cold metal beneath his skin. Cybernetic plates, implanted deep in his spine. He had had it since he woke up in the Sanctuary. Perhaps he had been so mangled during interrogations that he needed mechanical reinforcement to move at all. Sometimes, on damp days, the metal ached, a reminder that his body was no longer entirely his own.

He had been someone before he came to this place. Someone important, with valuable information. He had either given it up willingly, or it had been ripped from him by force. And when they had what they wanted, they had wiped his memory and remade him.

He was not their prince, no matter what they said. He was a shiny new weapon that would be used until it broke and then discarded.

Little did he know how prophetic the word "shiny" would prove to be.

He first met the girls who would become his sisters during combat trials. It was one of those days when Thanos decided to "test his children's progress" - a cruel sport that the Titan disguised as training.

The arena was at the heart of the Sanctuary, a circular platform of black metal surrounded by stands. There was little light - only a dim glow from torches around the perimeter, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls.

Gamora and Nebula were experienced fighters - Gamora had served as one of Thanos's best assassins for several years, and Nebula was known for her technical skills and ruthlessness. They looked at him from the heights of their experience, seeing him as a newcomer who had not yet been truly tested. A younger brother who would need to be taught how to survive in this world.

But on this day, they looked exhausted, covered in fresh scars from a recent failed mission on the border of the Kree Empire. Each wore a yellow band on her left shoulder, a sign that they had sinned and had to atone for their sin with blood.

Each wore a yellow band on her left shoulder, a sign that they had sinned and had to atone for their sin with blood. Loki knew the rules. A yellow band meant you were about to be expelled from the "family." A red band meant you had one last chance to prove your worth.

A black band meant death.

Thanos threw them into the arena with swords and ordered them to fight against the newcomer - against him. Loki understood the Titan's plan: if he won, he would prove his strength. If he lost, he would rid Thanos of the problem of a failed son.

"Show them what it means to be a true son of Thanos," — the Titan growled from the balcony, his voice echoing across the arena.

The girls attacked without hesitation - they had no choice. Hesitation in Thanos's presence was punishable by death. Loki marveled at their skill: Gamora moved like a dancer of death, each blow precise and deadly. Her sword sang through the air, leaving silver arcs. Nebula fought with mechanical precision, using her cybernetic enhancements to increase her strength and speed.

But he sensed their fear. Not fear of him, but fear of what would happen if they lost. There was a desperate determination in their movements, like older sisters who could not afford to lose to their youngest, even if it meant their own death.

After a fierce battle that lasted almost an hour, Loki emerged victorious, though not without difficulty. His arm was cut by Nebula's blade, and blood ran down his face from Gamora's blow. Both girls lay on the arena floor, bloody but alive. Their chests rose and fell heavily, looking up at him with an expression he knew well: death in waiting. Nebula looked scared, though she hid it. Her cybernetic arm shook as she tried to rise. Gamora simply stood there, as if she had already resigned herself to her fate. But there was still a glimmer of hope in the depths of her green eyes.

“Excellent, Loki!” — Thanos roared, rising from his throne. — “You were always the best! Now kill them!”

Silence fell over the arena like a shroud. Loki stood over the fallen sisters, his sword heavy in his hand.

And suddenly Loki understood why they were so afraid. They knew the rules of Thanos’s game: the loser dies. No exceptions, no mercy. He looked at the Titan grinning on his balcony, then back to the girls at his feet.

The stands were silent, the entire Sanctuary watching with bated breath.

His grip on his sword tightened. He knew the torture scars on his own body, knew that Thanos would not hesitate to hurt him for disobeying. And frankly, he had no reason to save them. He didn't really know them, their deaths meant nothing to him, and refusing to do so could cost him everything.

He had already raised his sword, telling himself that he would do it quickly, that he would end their suffering as mercifully as possible... until he looked into Nebula's eyes.

She, unlike Gamora, desperately wanted to live. With all her soul, with every cell in her body. There was no resignation in her eyes, only a wild, animalistic will to exist. He looked back at Gamora and saw that she had not resigned herself either - there was a fire in her eyes that said, "If I am to die, I will fight to the end."

Loki turned to Thanos, still wondering what he was doing, and dropped his sword. The weapon fell to the floor with a loud clang that echoed throughout the metal arena. The sound seemed deafening in the deathly silence.

He looked deep into the eyes of the monster who claimed to be his father and said with more confidence than he felt.

"No."

A murmur swept through the stands. No one disobeyed Thanos. Ever.

He could feel Gamora and Nebula looking at him in horror and confusion as Thanos slowly walked down the balcony into the arena. The Titan moved like a predator, unhurried, confident, enjoying the moment. Loki didn't look away, no matter how close he came, until Thanos stood before him, towering over him.

"What was that?" — Thanos's voice was deceptively calm, almost gentle. But Loki could see the fury in his eyes.

"I said no. I will not kill them.".

"And why, pray tell?".

Loki forced himself to stand up straight, even though every cell in his body screamed danger. The air around Thanos seemed to vibrate with suppressed rage.

“They are excellent fighters with the potential to become even more powerful. Their deaths would be a waste of valuable resources. They will be of far greater use to your army alive.”

Thanos looked down at him for a long moment, as if weighing his words. Loki tried to remain calm and confident, even as the memory of his torture pierced him with pain and begged him to surrender for his own sake.

“Very well, Loki,” — the Titan finally said, a cruel smile appearing on his lips. — “Since you have such faith in them, they are your responsibility. You may train them, guide them, use them as you see fit. But they are not a gift. They will come at a price. And there will be a price for disobeying me.”

Loki lifted his chin and looked at him coldly, ignoring the instincts that told him to lower his eyes. — “Name a price.”

The Titan grinned wildly and grabbed his hand. The pain was excruciating - the process of turning living flesh into metal was more excruciating than anything he had ever experienced. Thanos did not use anesthesia. On the contrary, he wanted Loki to feel every second of the transformation.
Loki watched as his hand became black metal, as the skin peeled away, revealing metal bones and tendons. The procedure lasted for hours. Then his eye - a sharp pain when organic tissue was replaced with cybernetics. And finally, his leg - from the knee to the foot, his right limb was transformed into a perfect machine. In the end, he had a black cybernetic left hand, a right eye with an emerald iris of an unnaturally bright shade and half of his right leg made of the same black metal.

Loki clenched his teeth and refused to scream, not wanting to give this monster such pleasure. But inside, he was dying from pain and rage.

When it was all over, he calmly used his magic to lift both girls into the air and bring them to his wing of the palace. His new cybernetic parts ached and throbbed, but he ignored the discomfort. He carefully laid Gamora and Nebula on the beds in the guest rooms, then sat down next to the medicine cabinet and began to treat their wounds.

"Why?" — she asked suddenly as he changed the bandage on her shoulder.

He looked up, not expecting her to speak. — "I'm sorry?".

"Why did you save us?".

Loki stared at her for a long moment, unsure of how to answer. The truth was more complicated than he could explain.

"To be honest, I'm not sure myself. But I think... I think I was once in your place. A long time ago, I lay on the ground, bloodied, my fate in the hands of the victor, and I begged for mercy... and he failed me. I couldn't let the same thing happen to you."

She studied his face for a long moment, then nodded and lay down, making herself comfortable. — "Thank you, little brother."

He stood up and headed for the door. — "We'll talk more in the morning."

In the days that followed, he learned that their names were Nebula and Gamora, and that they were both far more experienced than he was in the ways of the Sanctuary. To them, he was a younger brother—the least experienced in this deadly game, with much to learn.

Gamora had been one of Thanos's best assassins for five years, her reputation extending far beyond the Titan's empire. Nebula specialized in technical operations and sabotage—her cybernetic enhancements allowed her to hack into systems that organics could not.

They taught him many things about surviving in this place. How to read Thanos's mood from the subtle changes in his posture. How to avoid the worst punishments by following orders with precision but without overdoing it. How to sleep lightly, always prepared to attack or flee.

In return, he offered them something they did not have—magical protection and healing. The girls didn't have seidr, the spark of magic that would allow them to cast spells on their own. But he could protect their chambers with spells, create durable clothing for them, and heal wounds that conventional medicine couldn't.

Soon, rumors began to circulate in the Sanctuary that the girls were now considered princesses, Loki's older sisters. Thanos didn't discourage these conversations - after all, all three were his best agents, and he used them to the fullest extent. They were sent on the most difficult and dangerous missions, but now they returned alive more often.

But when they returned from missions, Loki was always waiting for them in his chambers with extra blankets, warm food, and a first aid kit. Nebula taught him how to hack security systems. He learned how his magic could interact with technology. Gamora shared the secrets of close combat, teaching him techniques that could compensate for his cybernetic enhancements.

They would sit in his rooms late at night and plan their escape. Promising each other over and over that they would leave together, that they were a family now, and no one would be left behind. They studied the star charts, looking for worlds where Thanos had no influence. They hoarded resources, stole information, prepared for the day when their opportunity would present itself.

It was when they began to plan their escape in earnest that Loki began to regain his memories.

Not complete memories, but rather emotional flashes. He would wake up in the middle of the night crying, not understanding why, with a sense of unbearable loss. Or suddenly feel such rage that magic began to boil in his veins, demanding release.

Golden halls. Rainbow bridge. Laughter - someone's laughter that made his heart clench with longing. A voice calling his name with such love that he could not bear it.

"Loki! Come on, we'll be late!", "Loki, you know I'd never leave you, right?", "I'm sorry, brother.".

A brother. He had a brother.

A blond man with blue eyes and a wide smile. Someone who loved him so much that it broke through even the erased memory. And the pain of this knowledge was unbearable, because he couldn't remember the face, the name, the voice - only the feeling of loss, so sharp that he wanted to claw it from his chest.

Loki didn't tell anyone about these flashes of memory. What could he say? That somewhere in another life he had a brother he loved and lost? That he was haunted by the ghosts of other people's voices?

Instead, he tried to ignore the visions, bury them deep, and focus on the present. On Gamora and Nebula. On plans to escape. On what he could control.
But the memory, once it began to return, did not want to stop.

When Ronan the Accuser showed up with his plans to get the Power Stone, they saw their opportunity. The plan was simple: Gamora would pretend to betray Thanos and allow herself to be arrested with the Orb. Loki would stay with Nebula, covering their escape. Then they would all meet at a pre-arranged location and disappear into obscurity.

Loki's arrest along with Gamora was a serious setback, but they decided to continue with the plan. What could go wrong?

Only when Nebula saw Gamora and Loki disappear together, she felt betrayed. That her siblings had abandoned her, as they had done all her life. She broke down and tried to fulfill her original mission - to deliver the Orb to Ronan.

During the final battle, they tried to persuade her to come with them. They screamed, begged, held out their hands. But Nebula did not believe. She had been lied to too many times, too many promises turned out to be lies.

She had disappeared in the chaos of Ronan's ship exploding.

They had pretended to celebrate their victory in front of the other Guardians, but that night, and many nights after, Gamora had snuck into Loki's room. They had sat on the floor, huddled together, crying until dawn, mourning the loss of their sister. Loki had used all his magic to drown out the sounds of their grief; he didn't want his new comrades to see them weak.

When Peter had announced that he had Nebula's location a few days ago, relief had flooded Loki. For the first time in months, he had felt something like hope.

Gamora had hugged him before they left, pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Bring her home," — she had whispered. — "At any cost."

"I promise," — Loki had nodded resolutely.

When he saw Nebula’s face on the screen for the first time in months, her face twisted in anger and pain, his heart broke even more. His older sister had become a tool of vengeance, full of rage and despair.

But he would bring her back. He would bring them both home, to their new family, to the Guardians who had accepted them for who they were.

But now, as he stood aboard this Terran ship and looked at the man behind the glass wall, something inside him twisted. Blonde hair, deep blue eyes full of pain and desperate hope. A red cape that fluttered even in the still air of the cell.

A face made of fragments of memory. A voice that called his name with such love that he wanted to cry and not understand why.

Loki clenched his cybernetic fist and forced himself to turn away from the cage. He had a mission. He had a sister who needed him.

But a voice from the past whispers in the back of his mind, and he's not so sure he can just walk away and forget that face again. And Loki's not even sure he wants to do that.

Chapter Text

Thor froze as the door slowly opened. A voice he would recognize among thousands of others echoed in the metal corridor. The Asgardian prince's heart stopped, then began to beat so hard it seemed ready to jump out of his chest.

Loki entered the room fully, and Thor felt the world turn upside down.

In the year since Loki's fall from the Bifrost, he had imagined this meeting thousands of times. In his dreams and fantasies, his brother returned the same way he had left.

Reality was a nightmare.

This was his brother - without a doubt, absolutely his brother. Every feature of his face, every gesture was painfully familiar. But at the same time, this was an entirely different person.

Thor remembered Loki as a slender prince with a sly smile and graceful movements. Despite his more than a thousand years, his brother had always retained the features of a youthful boy and the grace of a teenager - the grace of a young man who had not yet fully acquired his mature strength.

Now, someone completely different stood before him.

Loki was taller than Thor remembered - not by much, but noticeably so. His shoulders were broad, muscular, but still retained that special elegance that had always distinguished him from the rough Asgardian warriors. Under the black tactical uniform, one could guess the strong, but not bulky build of a fighter - not a warrior of ceremonial battles, but an assassin accustomed to shadow operations.

His movements acquired the confidence of a predator, ready to attack at any second, but they still contained that graceful agility that Thor remembered. As if someone had taken the grace of the prince and honed it to deadly perfection.

His brother's face retained his sharp features, but acquired the hardness of a grown man who had known pain. Sharp cheekbones became even sharper, his jaw - sharper. The skin was lined with fine scars, each telling a story of survival in a world where weakness meant death.

But the real horror began when Thor's gaze fell on the cybernetic enhancements.

Loki's left arm was entirely mechanical - not a crude prosthetic, but a work of technological art, made of black metal with silver accents. Thin, glowing lines of emerald green pulsed along the artificial muscles, like technological veins carrying energy instead of blood. The fingers moved with inhuman fluidity, each joint calibrated with mathematical precision. Thor realized with horror that this was not a temporary replacement - this was permanent.

The left eye glowed the same emerald color as always, but the light was too bright, too flat, devoid of living warmth. A cybernetic implant, no doubt. Thor imagined the way the organic eye had been removed, and his stomach clenched in disgust.

My little brother is half cyborg. They had turned the Prince of Asgard into a killing machine.

But the worst part wasn't the technology, it was how naturally Loki wore the changes. It was as if the mechanical parts were an extension of his body, not alien implants. He moved as if he had been born with cybernetic limbs.

"Nebula," — Loki said, and the voice was the same as Thor remembered, only harder, without the warmth. There was a steely edge to it that hadn't been there before. — "You look terrible."

"Loki!" — Nebula roared, and her scream was so painful that it echoed off the metal walls. — "So you finally came. You finally decided to show yourself after leaving me to die in the wreckage of Ronan's ship!"

"I didn't leave you..." — Loki's voice grew harder.

"You're lying!" — Nebula exploded, her cybernetic parts sparking with emotion. — "You ran away! You left me to deal with that madman alone! I saw you disappear into that ship with the others!"

"We were in prison, and we ran away to find you!" — Loki shouted back, taking a step forward. — "We've been looking for you for months!"

"Too late!" — Nebula whirled around, her mechanical parts creaking with the sudden movement. — "Too late for fine words! I am not the same person you knew! Father will give me the power I never had! The power to destroy those who dared betray me!"

"Thanos is not your father!" — Loki took another step forward, his cybernetic hand clenching into a fist, making a soft mechanical sound. — "He is a monster who uses us as weapons!"

Thor felt the world shift again. Thanos. The name was familiar — rumors of the ruthless titan had reached as far as Asgard. And somehow his brother was connected to this monster.

Nebula lunged at Loki like an enraged beast, drawing her signature curved blades as she ran. Blades whistled through the air, leaving silvery arcs. Thor instinctively braced himself for Loki to try to dodge, to talk to his attacker, to use magic or illusions - all the tactics his brother had always preferred to brute force.

What happened instead shook him to the bone.

Green sparks of magic - the only thing familiar in this nightmare - flared around Loki's right hand. A long, elegant spear of black metal with emerald inlays materialized in his palm. The weapon was clearly made especially for him - every line, every detail matched his style.

But what struck Thor most was the look on Loki's face. No fear, no uncertainty. Just a cold, professional assessment of the threat that he had seen in the eyes of veterans after major battles. And something else - a predatory anticipation in his eyes, the hungry smile of a predator who has spotted worthy prey.

Thor had never seen such a look on his younger brother's face. Loki had always avoided conflict, preferring to solve problems with words, cunning, anything but direct confrontation. He complained about training, called war "a crude way of solving problems," mocked the "primitive methods" of warriors.

This Loki met the attack with a readiness that was completely alien to the prince Thor remembered. A smile appeared on his lips - not the condescending, slightly arrogant grin that Thor had known since childhood. This was something else entirely. Predatory. Hungry. Cruel.

He wanted this fight. Realization struck Thor like lightning. Gods almighty, he was enjoying this.

Nebula rained blows down on him, her blades moving at incredible speeds, her cybernetic enhancements allowing her to strike faster than any organic being. Thor could see that she was a skilled fighter - every blow aimed to kill, every move calculated and honed. Any ordinary opponent would have been cut to shreds within seconds.

But Loki was no ordinary opponent.

He parried every blow with his spear, the shaft moving in his hands with frightening precision. Thor watched in shock as his younger brother - the same Loki who complained of bruises from sword training as a child and preferred books to real combat - fought like a natural-born killer.

Loki wasn’t just defending. He was counterattacking, exploiting every gap in Nebula’s defenses, every moment she was vulnerable. His movements were so fluid that it seemed as if he was performing a deadly dance, the cybernetic arm working in perfect coordination with the organic one, compensating for any lack of speed or strength.

“We’ve been looking for you,” — Loki said, easily parrying another of Nebula’s attacks and slashing back with the butt of his spear across her ribs. The blow was accurate but not lethal, aiming for a pressure point rather than a vital organ. — “For months. You were gone, and the trail ended in the ruins of Ronan’s ship.”

“You lie!” — Nebula growled, moving into an even more aggressive attack, her blades sparking as they struck the spear’s shaft.

Thor stood transfixed, watching the fight. This was not his brother. Not the Loki who preferred to read books in the shade of the trees while the others trained in the courtyard. Not the one who avoided physical confrontations, relying on his sharp mind and magical abilities.

This man fought like a killing machine - cold, calculating, brutally efficient. And what was most frightening was that he was clearly holding back. Thor saw dozens of opportunities for Loki to strike the killing blow, but instead he chose pressure points, aiming to immobilize rather than kill.

Nebula was a deadly opponent. Thor could see it in the way she moved, the way she used her cybernetic enhancements to increase her speed and strength. But Loki was superior in every way. His movements were smooth, precise, deadly. Every thrust of his spear had a purpose, every maneuver was thought out several moves ahead.

Where is your magic, brother? Thor thought in despair. Where are the illusions? Where are the spells? What have they done to you?

But Loki did not use an ounce of magic. Just pure physical skill, honed to perfection and augmented with cybernetic enhancements.

At one point, Nebula tried to break through the spear's protection, ducking under the shaft and aiming the blade straight for her gut. It was a desperate maneuver - either she would kill him, or he would kill her. Loki reacted instantly, swinging the weapon around and slamming the shaft into her ribs with such force that Thor heard the sickening crunch of bone breaking.

Thor winced at the sound. You would never have hurt anyone unless necessary before. What happened, brother?

Nebula was thrown back several meters and slammed into the metal wall of the corridor so hard that the plating buckled. Sparks rained down from the damaged panels. She slowly rose, her cybernetic parts sparking from the damage, but her fighting spirit was not broken.

"You've learned new tricks," — she croaked, wiping the blood from her lip and rising to her feet.

"Had to adapt," — Loki replied, and there was a strange tenderness in his voice. Almost affectionate. As if he were talking to a beloved pet that was performing funny tricks.

Thor felt his insides clench in horror. That tone... there was something deeply wrong with it. Kindness mixed with cold calculation. Love filtered through violence.

Nebula howled in rage and lunged at him again, but this time she had thrown all rules aside. She attacked like a cornered animal - desperately, brutally, using not only blades but claws, teeth, any means available. Her cybernetic enhancements allowed her to move with inhuman speed, but her emotions made her movements less precise.

Loki parried her attacks, but his face grew serious now. Nebula managed to get closer, and the melee began in earnest.

She leapt at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and punching him in the face and chest. Her cybernetic arm was denting his tactical armor. Loki fell backwards under her weight, his spear rolling away across the metal floor with a loud clang.

They were now rolling around the hallway floor, each trying to gain an advantage. Shards of metal plating and broken machinery flew in all directions from their struggle. Sparks flew from damaged panels, creating a hellish backdrop to the deadly fight.

In the midst of the struggle, Loki somehow freed his mechanical arm and pointed it toward the prison cell. Green magic flared, brighter and more controlled than Thor remembered, and the control panel exploded in a shower of sparks. The glass wall began to descend with a hiss.

"Come out," — he called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Nebula. His voice was calm, professional, like a seasoned fighter used to giving orders in battle. — "It's not safe here."

But Thor couldn't move. He stood transfixed, watching his brother fight with such determination to save the life of a woman he didn't know. Loki's movements showed such deep affection for the blue-skinned girl that a sharp pang of jealousy shot through Thor.

Nebula took advantage of the moment and slammed her cybernetic fist into Loki's solar plexus. Thor heard him exhale painfully, doubled over. Her organic hand grabbed his throat, trying to squeeze his airway.

They rolled across the floor again, crashing into the wreckage of destroyed machinery. Nebula was on top, her mechanical hand squeezing Loki's throat, and her organic one aiming its claws at his cybernetic eye, trying to damage the optics.

"You abandoned me!" — she screamed, and there was pain in her voice as well as rage, a deep, heartbreaking pain of betrayal. — "You and Gamora left me to die in the rubble! I called for you! I cried for help! And you... and you..."

Gamora? Thor frowned. Another unfamiliar name.

But Loki's mechanical arm was stronger. He grabbed her wrist, and Thor heard the scrape of metal on metal, saw sparks from the friction of cybernetic parts. Loki's face contorted with the effort, the veins in his neck bulged, but he abruptly flipped them both over, ending up on top.

"Enough!" — he growled, pinning her wrists to the floor. There was such authority in his voice that Thor sat up straighter. It was the voice of a commander accustomed to unquestioning obedience.

"We were looking for you!" — Loki replied, pinning her wrists to the floor, preventing her from striking again. There was a sudden note of desperation in his voice, and for the first time Thor heard something familiar in it - the pain of a younger brother who had lost something dear to him. — "Do you think it was easy for us? Do you think we didn't suffer when we realized we had lost you?"

They rolled across the floor again, crashing into the wreckage of destroyed machinery. Nebula clawed at Loki's face with the claws of her organic hand, leaving bloody streaks on his cheeks. Loki tried to hold her back, clearly trying not to cause serious harm.

"I waited!" — Nebula sobbed, tears now mixing with the blood on her face. — "I waited in the ruins of the ship! Waited for you to come for me! And then Thanos came... and told you that you betrayed him. That you chose a new family instead of us!"

"We didn't know where you were!" — Loki caught her hand, stopping her from striking again. His voice was full of pain. "We didn't know what happened to you!"

Thor stood there, stunned, trying to comprehend what was happening. There seemed to be some history between the two of them. Some connection that was causing them both pain.

"We were arrested, me and Gamora. Together." — Loki sat on the floor next to Nebula, his voice quieter, full of painful memories. — "The Nova Corps took us prisoner right after we helped stop Ronan. Then there were interrogations, different prisons, bureaucracy... We were in different cells for weeks before we were able to escape and find each other."

The Nova Corps arrested my brother? Thor felt his understanding of the situation crumble with every word. Loki was a criminal? For what? What was he doing there? But if he was helping stop Ronan the Accuser... that meant he was on the side of good? What was going on here?

"And when we finally returned to the rendezvous point," — Loki's voice wavered, and Thor could hear the real pain in it, — "you were gone. No one knew where you had gone. There was only rubble and blood and... silence."

The words had the effect of an icy shower on Nebula. She froze, her struggles gone, and stared at Loki with wide eyes.

"What?" — she whispered.

Thor felt something shift in his understanding of the situation. There was such sincerity in Loki's voice, such pain, that it was impossible to doubt it. It was the truth - the raw, painful, unguarded truth of someone grieving loss.

Nebula shook her head slowly, her face twisted in the horror of understanding. — "No... no, it can't be... Ronan told me... he said you ran away when I was hurt."

"Ronan lied," — Loki carefully released her wrists and sat up, still ready to fend off an attack if necessary. — "So did Thanos. So did everyone else in this damn galaxy."

His voice was softer, full of the tenderness Thor remembered from his childhood, when Loki would comfort injured animals or soothe younger children after nightmares.

"We never abandoned you, Nebula," — Loki's voice was almost a whisper. — "Never. You are our sister."

Sister? Thor felt his understanding of the world crumble with every word. Loki had a sister? Another family?

Tears streamed down Nebula's face, mixing with the blood from the scratches.

"I thought... I thought for so long that you had betrayed me..." — she sobbed, and her voice held the pain of a child who had lost everything she loved. — "I wanted revenge... I wanted to hurt you like that..."

"No," — Loki reached out and gently touched her cheek, wiping away the tears. The gesture was surprisingly gentle for a man who had fought like a berserker a moment ago. Thor recognized his brother in the movement, the one who had always been incredibly caring to those he loved. — "No. Never."

When Nebula took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up, Loki wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

Thor watched their embrace, conflicting emotions warring in his chest. Joy that Loki was alive. Horror at what they had turned him into. Jealousy at this unfamiliar family, who clearly meant more to his brother than the memories of Asgard. And something else - admiration for how strong his little brother had become.

In that moment of silence, as brother and sister embraced in the rubble of their battle, Loki suddenly felt someone else's eyes on him. He slowly turned his head and saw a tall, fair-haired man in a red cloak standing by the broken cell.

Something twitched painfully in Loki's chest. Blonde hair, like sunlight. Blue eyes, full of pain and desperate hope. Broad shoulders, noble bearing, a red cloak fluttering even in the still air of the ship.

Such familiar features. So familiar that he wanted to cry from the inability to remember.

Brother.

The word surfaced in his mind from the depths of his erased memory, bringing with it a wave of emotions - love, pain, longing, guilt. Loki took a step forward, not letting go of Nebula, but looking intently at the stranger.

"You..." — he began, and his voice trembled, as it had not trembled for months. — "You seem familiar to me. Very familiar."

Thor froze. Recognition flashed in Loki's eyes - weak, vague, but real. Hope flared in his chest like a flame.

"Loki," — he whispered, the name like a prayer. — "My little brother..."

Nebula tensed in Loki's arms, her gaze darting between them. She knew that tone - the pain of loss, the longing for what was lost. The same pain that lived in Loki's voice when he spoke of fragments of memories.

Loki shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut against a sudden headache. Fragments of memories - golden halls, majestic vaults, a rainbow bridge shimmering with all the colors of the spectrum, someone's laughter, full of joy and love - flashed through his mind, but did not add up to a complete picture. Like shards of a broken mirror, each reflecting part of the truth, but together they could not form a complete image.

"I don't know... I don't remember..." — He opened his eyes and looked at Thor with painful bewilderment. The cybernetic eye flickered emerald as memory searched for coincidences, processed data, tried to find connections. But the organic eye was full of human pain. — “But you… you were from my dreams. The blond idiot who always laughed too loudly. Who… who called my name so lovingly that I woke up crying.”

Nebula felt Loki tremble. In all the months of their adventures together, she had seen him tense, angry, focused, but never so lost. Instinctively, she pressed closer to him, offering support.

Despite the pain, Thor smiled through his tears. It was a smile so full of love, so full of joy, that even Nebula felt its warmth.

“Yes. That’s me,” — Thor’s voice wavered. — “Your older brother. The one who really did laugh too loudly. The one who always dragged you on adventures when you preferred books.”

The memories hit like a wave. Loki saw – no, felt – himself as a teenager, sitting under a large tree with a book, while someone nearby practiced with a hammer. Laughter. Jokes. Hands lifting him up after a bad fall. A voice whispering, “It’s okay, brother. I’m here.”

Loki straightened slowly and approached Thor, each step cautious, as if he were stalking a wild animal that might flee or attack at any moment. His cybernetic eye flickered constantly, scanning every feature of this unfamiliar and yet painfully familiar face - the shape of the cheekbones, the exact shade of blue in the eyes, even the micro-expressions that flitted across the lips and at the corners of the eyes. The organic eye, meanwhile, was full of painful bewilderment and cautious hope.

Thor stood still as a statue, every muscle in his massive body tense with conflicting desires - to embrace his brother, to hold him close, to make sure he was real, and at the same time not to frighten this fragile, incredible moment of recognition. He remembered how Loki had approached him like this as a child - with the same caution, the same searching gaze - when he wanted to apologize for another prank he had done but was afraid that Thor was still angry with him.

"You..." — Loki began, his voice shaking with uncertainty. He slowly reached his right hand toward Thor's face, but his fingers paused an inch from his cheek, as if his brother were afraid to touch a mirage that might disappear with the slightest movement. — "Your eyes are like that. Blue, like... like the sky above the golden city in my dreams."

Thor's heart skipped a beat, then began to pound so hard he was sure Loki could hear it. His brother remembered Asgard, even if it was only as a vague, painful image from a dream.

"I remember laughter," — Loki continued, his voice quieter, more thoughtful, as if he were afraid to startle the memories themselves. — "Loud, joyful laughter that made everything around him seem brighter. And someone calling my name with such... such love that it made me want to cry and laugh at the same time."

“Loki,” — Thor whispered, his own voice shaking with pent-up emotion, with years of unspoken grief. — “It’s me. Your brother. Thor. Your older, stupid, too-loud brother.”

Loki blinked, and for a moment there was something alive, something familiar in his eyes—that one organic eye. Recognition, a memory, but it slipped away like water through his fingers, leaving only aching emptiness and frustration.

“Thor,” — he repeated slowly, as if tasting the name, testing how it felt on his tongue. — “Yes... yes, that... that feels right.”

“Loki, I can tell you everything. About our childhood, our adventures, how you turned Sif’s hair into snakes when we were two hundred years old...”

But before he could say anything else, the metal doors of the room exploded inward with a deafening roar that shook the walls and sent dust flying from the ceiling. Chunks of thick metal flew in all directions like shrapnel, one of them missing Thor's head by inches and leaving a deep gouge in the wall behind him.

SHIELD agents poured through the doorway, a black river of tactical gear, automatic rifles, and the red dots of laser sights that immediately focused on Loki and Nebula. Their boots thundered across the metal floor in perfect synchronicity, creating the sound of an army marching. Behind them, like gods of war, came the Avengers.

Chapter Text

Natasha Romanoff moved with feline grace, pistols in hand even before she entered the room. The barrels were aimed firmly at Nebula and Loki, taking the stance of a professional sniper, ready to deliver the killing blow.

Steve Rogers raised his shield, the dim light of the corridor reflected in the stars and stripes. His face was stony and determined—Captain America in all his indestructible glory, defender of the nation, ready to die for what's right.

Tony Stark floated in the air in his Iron Man suit, his repulsors charging with a distinctive, growing hum, as if preparing to unleash the full power of Stark Industries' technology. The blue light from his arc reactor pulsed faster than usual, signaling his combat readiness.

Bruce Banner stood behind the others, but Thor saw with horror the tension in every line of his body. The doctor clenched and unclenched his fists, his breathing too rapid and shallow. The Hulk raced through the air, sensing danger and a thirst for destruction.

"Thor!" Steve shouted, his voice cutting through the noise of guns loading and footsteps. "Get away from them! Now! That's an order!"

"No, wait!" Thor raised his hands, desperately trying to stop the impending disaster. "It's not what you think! There's no threat here! They're not enemies!"

But his words were lost in the chaos of commands, warnings, and the sounds of weapons being loaded.

What happened next made Thor rethink everything he knew about his little brother.

Loki's reaction was immediate and completely unlike the boy Thor remembered. Instead of trying to explain the situation with words, diplomacy, or subtle cunning, which had always been his favorite tactics, his first instinct was to step between the threat and those he believed needed protecting.

Loki stepped forward, suddenly and confidently, completely covering both Nebula and, what surprised and touched Thor most of all, himself. The movement was so natural, so instinctive, that it became clear it wasn't a conscious choice. It was a deep, burning need to protect his family. His cybernetic hand clenched into a fist with such force that his knuckles cracked under the pressure.

Green magic flared around his right hand, brighter than ever, and the spear materialized in his palm once again—but this time it was not the elegant ceremonial weapon of an Asgardian prince, but a true weapon of war, created solely for killing.

Loki's expression changed abruptly, as if someone had flipped a switch. All uncertainty, all the agonizing attempts to recall a lost past vanished. In their place was the cold, dispassionate calm of a professional killer assessing potential victims and choosing the best way to eliminate them.

"Who are these people?" he asked Nebula, never taking his eyes off the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. There was no fear, no uncertainty, not even irritation in his voice. Only cold, mathematical calculation.

"Terran defenders," Nebula replied neutrally, automatically wiping the blood from her split lip and taking a fighting stance next to him.

"I see. Those 'superheroes' Peter was talking about, I guess," Loki said thoughtfully, as if solving a simple puzzle.

Thor felt his world turn upside down again. Previously, Loki's first instinct in a similar situation would have been to try to negotiate. He would have used his keen intellect, his honed diplomatic skills, his unique ability to find a way out of any conflict with words, cunning, deception—anything short of direct physical confrontation. Loki had always despised brute force, considering it the province of the weak, a primitive solution to complex problems.

This man—a cyborg with his brother's face—looked at a dozen heavily armed agents and several of the planet's most powerful superheroes, calmly calculating the most effective way to eliminate them all. Tony activated all of his suit's scanning systems, and judging by the change in his voice, he was clearly dissatisfied with the result.

"Wow," he muttered into his helmet, but his words were audible through the suit's external speakers. "Jarvis, are you seeing this? We literally have a Terminator with magical powers here. The energy signature is off the charts across the board. The AI ​​is assessing the threat level as critical plus."

"I said, put your weapons down!" Thor barked, but the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents seemed not to hear him. They were trained to do one thing: defend the heli-carrier from any alien threats, and the two cyborgs, one of whom held a glowing spear, certainly fit that category.

Natasha took a step forward, her pistols pointed directly at Loki's center, taking the stance of a professional sniper, ready to make the killing shot.

"You two, step away from Thor immediately," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument or negotiation. "Slowly. Hands visible. Any sudden movement, any sorcery, and we will open fire without warning."

Loki looked at her with an expression Thor remembered from childhood—that special blend of intellectual superiority, mild disdain, and genuine curiosity about the stupidity of others. But now, that gaze also gleamed with professional assessment: he was calculating the distance to his target, the possible angles of attack, the potential enemy's weaknesses, and the trajectories of evasion.

"How interesting," he drawled, his voice sounding far too calm for a man facing half a dozen guns. "This little dugout actually thinks she can threaten me. I wonder what she's so confident about."

Thor felt a cold dread run down his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. This wasn't the mocking, almost playful audacity he remembered from childhood. This was something far darker and more dangerous—the cold, dispassionate confidence of a man who knew he could kill everyone in the room and treated it as a simple logistical exercise.

"Loki, don't," Thor warned, sensing the familiar tension in his brother's muscles. He knew those signs all too well—Loki was preparing to attack.

But it was too late. One of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, a young man with shaking hands, apparently decided it was dangerous to delay any longer. He fired a stun gun, aiming it at Nebula.

Thor watched it all as if in slow motion, every split second stretching into an eternity. Loki reacted instantly to the threat to his adopted sister—not to himself, but to her. He intercepted the electrical discharge with the tip of his spear, and the magic, absorbing the energy, flared into green flame. But instead of simply neutralizing the attack or, as would have been logical for the old Loki, redirecting the discharge back at the agent who fired it, he chose the third option.

Loki directed all his pent-up energy into the ceiling directly above the group of agents. Sparks, shards of metal, and plating rained down, sending people scrambling for cover, but—and this struck Thor deeply—no one was harmed. Even while defending his family from attack, he had consciously chosen mercy.

Thor realized with sickening relief that there was still some of the old Loki left in him. He could still feel compassion, even for his enemies.

"Enough!" Steve roared, raising his shield even higher, creating a barrier between the two sides. "No fire! Direct order! All weapons on safety now!"

But Loki had already spoken, and what he said next turned Thor's blood to ice.

"Listen to me very carefully, Terrans," his voice grew quieter, but it sounded even more menacing, even more deadly. Each word was pronounced with surgical precision, like a scalpel slowly cutting through the tense silence. "I have no intention of killing anyone today, unless you make me change my mind."

An ominous pause. Thor saw the agents exchange nervous glances, instinctively sensing the mortal threat in every syllable, every intonation.

"But if any of you try to harm my sister," Loki's cybernetic eye glowed even brighter, methodically focusing on each potential enemy in turn, memorizing their faces and poses, "or that man," he cast a brief but meaningful glance at Thor, never taking his eyes off the main threats, "I will turn your flying metal box into a mass grave and dump the wreckage into the ocean."

Thor felt the world drop beneath him again, not once in the last hour. Loki—his Loki, who as a child had sincerely apologized to accidentally wounded sparrows, cried over wilted flowers in the royal garden, and called war "a crude and primitive way of solving complex problems"—had just coldly threatened to kill a dozen people with the icy certainty of a man discussing changes in the weather.

And what's worse, Thor saw in the eyes of every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent their implicit trust in him. Each of them intuitively understood that this cyborg with magical powers and a cold gaze truly could and would carry out his bloody threat.

In the past, Loki would have tried to find a way out of the situation with words. He would have used his sharp wit and diplomatic skills. He would have lied, flattered, bargained—done anything to avoid bloodshed.

This man with the brother's face simply told his potential enemies the terms of their death sentence in detail and now patiently waited for them to make their choice.

Thor was acutely aware that the situation was teetering on the brink of disaster. On one side stood his comrades, the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—good, honest people, ready to give their lives to protect Earth from any alien threat. On the other side stood his lost brother, who remembered neither him nor their shared past, yet instinctively rose to his defense, ready to methodically kill anyone who dared harm him.

"He's protecting me, " Thor realized with a sickening mixture of boundless gratitude and primal terror. He doesn't really remember me, doesn't know who I am, but he's still willing to kill for me.

Bruce, apparently sensing the tension in the air, suddenly stepped forward. His hands were raised in a conciliatory gesture, his movements slow and nonthreatening.

"Wait, please," he said quietly, but there was a special power in his voice that allowed it to cut through the tense, explosive silence. "Let's all just calm down and take a deep breath. No one's been killed yet, right? No one's been seriously hurt. Perhaps we can resolve this situation civilly, without bloodshed?"

Tony slowly, deliberately lowered his repulsors, but Thor noticed that the targeting systems were still active, ready for instant fire. Indicators on the suit showed that the AI ​​was constantly analyzing the threat and calculating optimal attack trajectories.

"The Doctor is absolutely right," Iron Man agreed, though his electronically altered voice held a distinct edge. "Let's calmly figure out what's going on here before we start mass-destroying the helicarrier."

Loki studied Bruce with his cybernetic eye for a few seconds, seemingly searching for a threat. Then Loki's posture relaxed slightly, though the spear remained materialized and ready for combat.

"A very reasonable approach," he agreed, and for the first time, approval and even the beginnings of respect could be heard in his voice. "Although I still don't understand why the Terrans consider us a hostile threat. We came here with purely peaceful intentions and to resolve family matters."

Natasha made a sound that could have been mistaken for a snort or a stifled laugh. Her pistols were still pointed at Loki, but her finger was no longer on the trigger.

"Peaceful intentions?" she repeated with poorly concealed irony and disbelief. "Excuse me, but just an hour ago, a girl with blue skin was planning to take over our planet using a stolen cosmic artifact. That doesn't exactly fit with peaceful intentions."

All eyes turned to Nebula. She stood next to Loki, defensive, continuing to methodically wipe the blood from her split lip, her expression the expression of someone being asked a completely obvious question that required no explanation.

"Yes, that's true, but I've changed my mind," she said with the casualness with which other people announce canceling a dinner at a restaurant or rescheduling a meeting. "I've decided I don't want to conquer your planet anymore. I'm not interested anymore."

A deafening silence swept through the hall. Thor saw expressions of utter bewilderment and incomprehension on the faces of every Avengers present. Even the seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. agents exchanged puzzled glances, as if unsure they'd heard correctly.

"You... changed your mind?" Steve asked slowly, lowering his shield a few inches in confusion as he tried to process what he'd just heard. "You just changed your mind about taking over an entire planet?"

"Exactly," Nebula nodded, with the air of someone explaining elementary mathematics or the basic laws of physics. "I don't need it anymore."

Tony lifted his helmet visor, revealing a face that was a deadly mixture of complete astonishment and poorly concealed irritation.

"Excuse me, but the explanation 'lost the will to conquer a planet with seven billion inhabitants' is certainly not something that's typically accepted in serious diplomatic circles," he remarked sarcastically. "We have strict protocols for such cases. Forms to fill out. Bureaucratic procedures."

Loki placed his hand on Nebula's shoulder, and his voice became quieter, almost gentler. Thor recognized that tone: it was the way Loki had spoken as a child, protecting someone he loved.

"My elder sister had... very serious personal reasons for this undertaking," he explained, adopting a perfectly diplomatic tone that vividly reminded Thor of the lavish palace receptions of Asgard and the complex political negotiations. "But now we have resolved them once and for all. The conflict is over. The threat to your planet is eliminated."

Thor watched this exchange with growing amazement and barely concealed pride. His younger brother spoke to Earth's acknowledged leaders and defenders with the same natural, innate confidence with which he once discussed the most complex plans of palace intrigue and interplanetary politics in the golden halls of Asgard. As if intergalactic conflicts and threats of planetary conquest were so familiar, so commonplace, that they deserved no special attention or concern.

But what simultaneously astonished and disturbed Thor most was that Loki spoke the pure truth. He didn't lie with his usual sophistication, didn't evade the answer with verbal manipulation, didn't try to artfully conceal unpleasant facts behind beautiful, evasive formulations. He simply laid out the situation as it was, with a directness and honesty completely alien to the deceitful prince, the master of lies and illusions, whom Thor remembered from childhood.

Natasha slowly but demonstratively lowered her weapon, but didn't holster her pistols—a classic professional precaution for an experienced agent. Her keen gaze continued to assess Loki and Nebula as potential threats, analyzing their body language, looking for signs of deception or hidden aggression.

"I suggest we move this extremely important conversation to the conference room," she said in a tone that sounded formally like a proposal, but in reality left no room for objections or alternatives. "There, we can discuss the situation calmly and civilly, without risking any accidental damage to the helicopter carrier's vital systems."

Bruce nodded approvingly, still holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. Loki noticed the doctor was still struggling with something deep within himself, another, far more dangerous personality trying to break free. "Very interesting," he thought, mentally filing the information away for further study.

"That's a great idea," Bruce agreed, carefully controlling every word. "We definitely have something serious to discuss."

Loki scanned the assembled group with his cybernetic eye, assessing the threat level. Data flowed into his head: pulse, body temperature, muscle tension. Everyone was on guard, but their aggression was decreasing. This was a good trend.

His gaze slid back to the fair-haired man in the red cloak, drawn as if by a magnet to the familiar features. Thor. The name echoed painfully in his head, evoking echoes of erased memories that floated and vanished like bubbles on the surface of water. Golden palaces shining in the rays of an unearthly sun. A rainbow bridge, shimmering with every color of the rainbow. Someone's laughter—warm, sincere, and achingly familiar.

Brother.

Loki felt emotions washing over him like destructive waves: love for Thor, so strong and all-consuming that he wanted to fall to his knees and weep. Searing rage at the unknown monster who had dared erase his memory of this precious man. A sharp longing for something irrevocably lost, something he hadn't been able to recall for days. The sadness of realizing that years, maybe even decades, of their shared past had been reduced to nothing. And beneath it all—rage. Cold, searing rage at Thanos, who had stolen these priceless memories of his brother, leaving only painful fragments and emotional wounds.

All of this mixed together in his chest, forming a painful tangle of contradictions that threatened to tear him apart from the inside, like a supernova about to explode.

Loki closed his eyes for a moment, gritting his teeth and employing every mental control technique his life in the Sanctuary had taught him. Now was not the time for emotional outbursts. He had a clear task before him: ensuring Nebula's safety and dealing with the current situation. Feelings and memories would have to be saved for a more opportune moment.

Meanwhile, the man in the iron suit activated the scanning systems, methodically inspecting the damage to the helicopter and, Loki noticed, himself. He felt subtle but persistent electromagnetic pulses penetrating his body, analyzing the operation of his cybernetic implants. It wasn't just annoying; it was an invasion of his personal space and a potential attempt to gather information.

"So, for reference," Tony said, his voice coming through the metallic suit's external speakers, "we have: an attack on international air travel, the theft of a space artifact, threats to planetary security, hostage taking..."

"I didn't kill anyone," Nebula interrupted, as if explaining the obvious to the children. "I simply wounded a few agents and took control of one of your archers. By the way, the control should have worn off by now; it's time-limited."

"You took control of Clint," Natasha said, her tone icy and empathetic. The archer was more than just a colleague to her.

"That redhead with the bow and arrow? Yeah, him," Nebula nodded, unfazed. "He's probably waking up somewhere in a Level C ventilation shaft right now, trying to figure out how he got there and why he has a headache. Nothing serious. Just a slight memory lapse from the last couple of hours."

Loki watched the faces of the Terran heroes closely, reading their microexpressions and analyzing their emotional reactions. Visible relief at the news that their comrade was alive and well. Repressed but palpable anger at being manipulated and used against their will. Wariness and tension about other possible hidden threats. These men were clearly a close-knit team—he could see it in the way they instinctively coordinated their movements, the way they took up positions for mutual protection, the way their eyes constantly assessed each other's condition.

"And as for your precious Tesseract," Nebula continued with a characteristic shrug, "it didn't originally belong to your primitive planet. You stole it from somewhere, and I stole it from you. It's perfectly standard galactic politics—the strongest takes the artifact."

She was absolutely right, Loki thought, quickly assessing the logic of the situation. Artifacts of infinite power, like the Infinity Stones, rarely belong to civilizations that discover them by chance. They are usually claimed by those strong and ruthless enough to wield them effectively .

In that tense moment, Loki felt a new, more intense wave of unauthorized scanning. His cybernetic eye automatically tracked and identified the source—the iron suit continued to tirelessly analyze him, collecting data on his physiology, weapons, and energy capabilities. Irritation instantly flared in his chest like a hot wave.

Loki slowly, with predatory grace, turned toward the man in the suit and stared at him with a completely cold gaze, devoid of any human warmth. His organic eye literally glowed with the green fire of magical energy, while his cybernetic one flickered aggressively with red warning symbols and alarms. His expression remained completely impassive, but every feature betrayed a deadly, naked threat.

When their gazes met, the man in the suit visibly flinched, as if he'd been electrocuted. His scanning systems instantly shut down with a distinctive electronic beep.

"Next time you try to perform an unauthorized medical examination on me," Loki said in a quiet but utterly icy voice, his piercing gaze never leaving his face, "please ask permission first. Otherwise, I might consider it a hostile act."

"Got it. Sorry," Tony replied quickly, and Loki was pleased to notice how his usually steady hand was shaking slightly.

Interesting. A brilliant inventor and skilled warrior in high-tech armor, but apparently unaccustomed to such direct psychological confrontation. Accustomed to dominating through technological superiority, not personal presence.

"Where is your ship?" the bearded man asked in a soft, conciliatory tone, apparently intuitively understanding that the situation was rapidly escalating and could get out of control.

"Approximately sixty miles north of this position, carefully camouflaged in dense forest," Loki replied, automatically spitting out precise but not overly detailed information. "Peter Quill is awaiting our return and is ready for immediate extraction if necessary."

Thor took a cautious step forward, his worried gaze darting between Loki and the rest of the Avengers, trying to gauge the level of tension and find a way to defuse the situation.

"Perhaps we should move the discussion to the conference room?" he suggested diplomatically. "There we can discuss the details of the situation in private."

Loki looked at him, at this mysterious stranger, who seemed at once painfully familiar to him and at the same time caused a storm of conflicting feelings in him that he did not know what to do with.

"A reasonable suggestion," Loki agreed after a brief pause, allowing his spear to dissipate in a bright green flash of magical energy. "To the conference room."

Nebula approached him silently, instinctively adopting her usual protective stance slightly behind and to the side—a classic position for mutual cover. They were a true family, a close-knit team, accustomed to having each other's backs under any circumstances.

"But keep one important detail in mind," Loki added, slowly casting an appraising glance at all the Terrans present. "If we don't contact the rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy within two hours and confirm we're all right, they'll come looking for us immediately. And believe me, Gamora and Rocket are far less diplomatic and patient in negotiations than Nebula and I."

"Information noted," the man in the iron suit replied dryly, but Loki noticed how his systems began to calculate possible conflict scenarios.

Walking through the long, brightly lit corridors of the helicarrier, Loki methodically analyzed every detail of his surroundings: the ship's layout, the location of security systems, possible escape routes, the thickness of bulkheads, the location of ventilation shafts. His cybernetic eye worked automatically, constantly scanning the walls for potential vulnerabilities that could be exploited in a quick escape.

Behind them came a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in black tactical gear, their footsteps pounding the metal floor in perfect sync. Loki noted their professionalism: they kept enough distance to avoid collision, but close enough to react to any threat. Their commander, a middle-aged woman with cold gray eyes, watched him closely.

Nebula walked next to Loki, slightly behind and to the right, in a classic fighting stance of mutual cover. Her cybernetic parts still sparked from the damage sustained in battle, but she moved with the confidence of a predator. Loki saw her own sensors scanning the corridors, memorizing every turn, every door.

But he focused most of his attention on the people around him, studying these mysterious “defenders of the Earth.”

Thor came very close, so close that Loki could feel the warmth radiating from him. The Asgardian prince kept casting hopeful glances at him, as if afraid that if he looked away even for a second, Loki would disappear again. Every time their gazes accidentally met, Loki felt the same agonizing stab of recognition, mingled with pain. Brother. The word echoed in his head like an incantation, like a mantra, evoking fragmented images and emotions that he couldn't piece together into a coherent, understandable picture of the past.

Red-haired Natasha hung back, but Loki felt her intense attention, like a physical touch between his shoulder blades. A professional spy of the highest caliber, constantly assessing potential threats and calculating options for neutralizing them. Intelligent, ruthlessly efficient, deadly. Certainly worthy of deep respect. Her movements were too perfect, too precise for an ordinary, even highly trained, agent—either extensive genetic modifications or years of incredibly brutal, inhumane training had transformed her into a living weapon.

The blond man with the Stars and Stripes shield—Steve—walked ahead of the group, his impeccable military bearing radiating the innate confidence of a true leader. A soldier and an idealist at the same time—an extremely rare and fascinating combination of personal qualities. His every movement exuded iron military discipline, but also an unwavering readiness to protect the weak and defenseless at any cost. In another life, under different circumstances, they might well have become allies, even friends.

The man in the iron suit—Tony—no longer dared to scan Loki, but Loki saw the inventor continue to analyze the corridors' architecture, calculate optimal escape routes, and assess the strength of the bulkheads. An undeniable genius, a talented inventor, a strategist with a keen mind. Selfish by nature, but not malicious—more narcissistic than cruel. He reminded Loki of someone... who exactly? A fragment of memory flashed painfully through his mind and then vanished, leaving only a sense of loss.

The bearded man—Bruce—walked especially quietly, clearly consciously controlling every movement, every breath. Loki recognized these telltale signs—this man constantly had to suppress his true, far more dangerous nature. Behind that seemingly calm and intelligent exterior lurked something incredibly destructive. In a way, they understood each other—both knew what it was like to be a monster masquerading as human.

"A most curious company, " Loki thought, observing the group's dynamics. Warriors and geniuses, steadfast idealists and pragmatists, soldiers and scientists. How did they manage to work together effectively? Each with completely different methods, principles, and worldviews...

But most of all, he was preoccupied and troubled by his own inner experiences. The emotions he desperately tried to suppress and control still seeped out, like water through cracks in a dam. Every casual glance at Thor evoked a new, increasingly powerful wave of conflicting feelings—not specific, detailed memories, but deep emotional imprints imprinted on his very soul.

Boundless love for Thor. So strong and all-consuming that he wanted to fall to his knees right there in the hallway and beg forgiveness for forgetting, for not remembering the face of the person he loved most. The sharp, physical pain of losing these priceless memories of their shared past. A tormenting sense of guilt for something specific he couldn't remember—but a deep intuition told him that he had once caused this wonderful man unbearable suffering.

"Focus ," Loki ordered himself sternly, employing mental discipline. "One thing at a time. First, make sure everyone is safe. Then you can tackle the painful confrontation with the past."

But as they approached the massive doors of the conference room, Loki couldn't shake the growing feeling that in a few minutes his life would change radically and forever. Once again.

The only question was whether he was truly ready for these inevitable changes and whether he had enough strength to endure another painful rebirth.

The massive conference room doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a spacious room with a long, oval, dark wood table and panoramic windows overlooking the clouds and the vast ocean. Monitors displaying tactical maps and S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia adorned the walls, and subdued lighting created an atmosphere of serious negotiations.

The Avengers took their seats at one end of the table in their usual order: Steve Rogers at the head, his shield resting on the table next to his hand, ready for immediate use. Tony to his right, his Iron Man suit emitting soft electronic whirs. Natasha and Bruce sat on either side, each wary in their own way: she with the professional calm of a seasoned agent, he with barely contained tension.

Loki and Nebula stopped at the opposite end of the table. Loki glanced around the room, his cybernetic eye automatically scanning for threats and escape routes. Nebula stayed close, her damaged cybernetic parts still sparking intermittently.

Thor stood between the two opposing sides, as if trying to physically bridge the tension between them. His gaze, full of hope and barely suppressed pain, kept returning to Loki.

A heavy, awkward silence fell. No one knew how to begin this unprecedented conversation with two alien cyborgs, one of whom an hour ago had threatened to take over the planet, and the other had coldly promised to turn the helicarrier into a "flying coffin."

Steve was the first to break the oppressive silence, slowly placing his palms on the table and crossing his fingers. His voice was even, commanding, yet somewhat cautious, as if he were negotiating with an unknown threat.

"Let's start with the simplest and most obvious question," he said, looking directly at Nebula. "Why? Why did you attack our planet? What did we do to you?"

Nebula shrugged as if she had been asked about the weather.

"Technically, I didn't attack your planet," she said, a hint of irritation in her voice. "I simply came for what I needed to complete my mission. Your people opened fire first."

"Tesseract," Tony clarified, its systems still analyzing visitors, but much less intrusively.

"Tesseract," she confirmed.

“Why do you need this?” Steve continued his methodical interrogation, carefully crafted and cautious in every word.

"Because I was ordered," she said sharply. "To take your pathetic world for Thanos. To prove my worth. So I wouldn't disappoint him like his other children."

"Thanos?" Natasha asked, and the name seemed to suck all the air out of the room.

Nebula chuckled, a bitter smirk creeping into her voice. "I was a fool. I thought that if I handed him your planet on a silver platter, he'd finally stop thinking of me as a failure."

Thor sat up straight in his chair. "Thanos? The Mad Titan?"

“You know about him?” Loki asked with genuine curiosity and a little surprise.

"Rumors of him reach Asgard," Thor replied grimly, his voice low and serious. "They say he's obsessed with a mad idea... of balance. That entire civilizations disappear after his visits."

Loki made a sound that could technically be considered laughter, but there was no humor or warmth in it. Only bitterness and old pain.

"Balance. Yes, that's what he calls it. A beautiful, noble word for a monstrous reality." Loki's cybernetic hand slowly clenched into a fist, the joints creaking with the strain. "Thanos sincerely believes that the universe is critically overpopulated. That all worlds are limited in resources, and that intelligent races are reproducing too quickly and mindlessly. His solution to this problem... is quite radical."

“Genocide,” Bruce said quietly, almost in a whisper, and the word sounded like a death sentence.

"Exactly half of all intelligent life in the universe," Loki confirmed with icy calm. "He calls it the ultimate act of mercy. A quick, just death that will supposedly save the rest from a slow, painful death from starvation, disease, and wars over dwindling resources."

The Avengers exchanged worried glances. The scale of the threat, unimagined, was beginning to sink in.

"And you... worked for this monster?" Natasha asked with barely concealed disgust.

"We were his children," Nebula replied, with a bitterness that even her cybernetic enhancements couldn't hide. "Adopted children, if you can call that slavery. He methodically collected orphans from the planets he himself had destroyed, turned us into the ultimate weapon, and cynically called it family."

Tony leaned forward, his repulsors automatically recharging. "How many of these... kids does he have?"

"There were many once," Loki said, a note of memory in his voice. "Dozens. Perhaps hundreds over the years. Now there are only three of us left—me, Gamora, Nebula, and four others. The rest either died carrying out his mad missions or became cruel disappointments to him."

"What happens to those who disappoint Thanos?" Steve asked cautiously but insistently.

Loki and Nebula exchanged a long, meaningful look. The answer was there: pain, horror, memories best left unspoken. No explanation was needed.

“But you ran away from him,” Bruce noted, trying to find at least some light in this dark story.

"Yes," Loki nodded. "In the end, we learned the terrible truth about who he really is. That his love is a clever lie and manipulation, and his family is just a clever way to control and enslave him."

Thor looked at his brother with pain and compassion in his eyes. "And your memories... what did he do with them?"

"Thanos loves to erase inconvenient memories from his victims," ​​Loki replied coldly, his cybernetic eye glowing brighter. "Especially those that could somehow interfere with their absolute devotion to him."

"But how did he even know about the Tesseract?" Tony asked, growing worried. "Earth is pretty far from the center of the galaxy, as far as I understand."

Loki looked at him carefully, studying him, then turned his gaze to the men in dark suits standing by the walls. His attention was drawn to a tall, black man with an eye patch, who was obviously the lead agent.

"And you really don't remember what you did a few months ago?" Loki asked, a hint of mockery in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" Tony frowned, but Loki noticed the man with the eye patch's shoulders tense.

"A few months ago, an incredibly powerful energy wave swept across the entire known universe," Loki began, slowly circling the table. "An entirely unique energy signature. Anyone with even the slightest understanding of cosmic artifacts and their properties would have instantly detected this incredible energy surge."

A wave of horrifying understanding swept across the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents' faces. The team leader turned so pale her lips almost turned white. Several junior agents exchanged guilty glances.

Dr. Eric Selvig, who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room until that moment, stood up, his face contorted with horror and understanding.

"Oh no," he whispered. "Oh no, no, no..."

The Avengers instantly turned to face the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, their gazes accusing and demanding.

"Project Pegasus," one of the guards said hoarsely.

"What is Project Pegasus?" Steve asked sharply, his voice taking on a stern, commanding tone. The shield in his hands gleamed, ready for battle.

Fury stepped forward slowly, clenching his fists. "A research program to study the Tesseract and develop advanced defensive technologies based on it."

"Defensive?" Tony asked with undisguised sarcasm, his repulsors beginning to hum quietly. "Or offensive?"

"We were creating weapons," Maria Hill admitted, her voice shaking. "A new generation of energy weapons, powered by the Tesseract. After the invasion of New Mexico, we realized Earth wasn't prepared for the alien threat."

Thor winced, realizing that this was his first visit to Midgard.

"And during the development of this weapon, the Tesseract was activated," Loki finished for them with ill-concealed contempt. "Congratulations. You've effectively sent a distress signal to every dangerous being in the galaxy, informing them of the exact coordinates of your planet and that you possess an Infinity Stone." Dr. Selvig leaned back in his chair, covering his face with his hands. "I warned you... I told you the energy surges could be dangerous... but no one listened..."

"Thanos isn't the only one who's detected this energy signal," Loki continued, watching the S.H.I.E.L.D. representatives cringe at his every word. "There are powerful and ruthless beings across the galaxy who have hunted such artifacts for decades, even centuries. The Collector, for example. Or Ronan the Accuser, with whom we recently had a very unpleasant encounter. Or the Red Skull, who, as I understand it, is already acquainted with some of you."

Steve turned sharply to Fury. "You created a weapon of mass destruction using technology we don't understand and didn't consider the consequences?"

"We acted in the interests of planetary security..." Fury began to justify himself.

"Whose safety?" Tony exploded, standing up. "Are you completely insane? Experimenting with unknown space artifacts without understanding their nature or calculating the consequences?"

"We didn't know it would attract attention..." Maria Hill tried to intervene.

"That's the whole problem!" Tony interrupted. "You didn't know! But you still got yourself into something you absolutely shouldn't have! Creating weapons using technology you don't understand!"

Natasha looked at Fury with cold disappointment. "And you didn't bother to warn us about these experiments? We're a team, Nick. We should have known."

"It was a secret program..." Fury began.

"A secret program that has endangered the entire planet!" Steve barked, losing his temper. "You created a weapon behind our backs, using technology Thor had already encountered, and you didn't even think to consult anyone who could have warned you of the danger!"

Bruce added quietly but clearly, "How many more secrets do you have, Fury? How many more potential disasters are you hiding from us?"

Fury stood silent, his face an impenetrable mask, but Loki saw his fists clench and unclench, a sign of inner tension.

Loki watched the proceedings with professional interest. The team was crumbling from within due to mistrust and hidden secrets. Interesting.

"If you're finished sorting this out," he interjected, drawing everyone's attention to himself, "then I'd like to continue explaining the situation. Because what you've done is just the beginning of your problems."

Steve raised his hand, calling for order, but his gaze remained icy, fixed on Fury. "We'll deal with internal matters later. Right now, it's more important to understand the threat we're facing." He turned to Loki. "Continue."

Nebula nodded toward the S.H.I.E.L.D. representatives. "Thanos sent me here as soon as the signal about your experiment reached his domain. He ordered me to obtain the source of this energy at any cost."

"And he gave you a special weapon to carry out the mission," Loki added.

"The scepter with the blue stone," Nebula confirmed. "It was this that allowed me to take control of your archer's mind and make him work for me."

"Where is the scepter now?" Natasha asked quickly, her professional instincts prevailing over her personal emotions.

"In our lab below deck," Coulson replied, consulting the data on his tablet. "We recovered it when we apprehended it and handed it over to the science team for analysis."

"It's a good thing they didn't experiment on it," Loki said with grim irony. "Otherwise, the entire helicarrier would have turned into a zombie ship controlled by one man."

Fury looked up. "What kind of weapon is that?"

"Before we can answer that, we need to understand the larger context," Loki said, beginning to pace the table. "The Tesseract is merely a protective shell, a container for something far more powerful. Within it lies one of the six Infinity Stones."

"Infinity Stones?" Dr. Selvig looked up, his scientific curiosity overcoming his fear.

Loki stopped by the panoramic window, his silhouette a sharp contrast against the bright sky. His voice became solemn, almost ritualistic.

"Before the birth of the universe, before time and space, before the very concept of existence, there was nothing. A complete void, without form or content. Then came the Big Bang. A cosmic singularity that gave birth not only to all matter and energy, but also to six elemental crystals of unimaginable, almost divine power. The Infinity Stones."

He turned to the table, the cybernetic eye glowing in the dim light of the room.

Each Stone controls a specific fundamental aspect of reality. Space—allows instantaneous travel to any point in the universe, opening portals between worlds. Time—confers absolute power over the past, present, and future. Reality—the ability to rewrite the very laws of physics at will. Strength—limitless energy and destructive force. Soul—complete control over the life and death of any being. And Mind—absolute power over the consciousness, thoughts, and will of any person.

There was a deathly silence in the conference room.

“And one of these Stones has been lying quietly in our vaults all these years,” Tony said slowly, with horror in his voice.

"The Space Stone," Loki confirmed. "And the scepter Thanos gave Nebula for her mission contains the Mind Stone. It was its power that allowed her to completely control your comrade's mind and turn him into a docile tool."

"Two Infinity Stones," Bruce whispered, his face turning pale. "On the same planet. My God, what have we done..."

"Now do you begin to understand the true scale of this disaster?" Loki asked with grim satisfaction. "Thanos will not stop or retreat. Now that he knows there are two Stones on Earth, he will send new armies, entire space fleets, new foster children. He will attack again and again until he has both."

“What if he does?” Steve asked, though his expression showed he was afraid to hear the answer.

Loki and Nebula exchanged another heavy, meaningful look—the look of people who knew more about Thanos than they wanted to.

"Each Stone increases its wielder's power exponentially," Loki explained. "With two Stones in hand, Thanos could conquer half the known galaxy in a matter of months, instead of spending decades systematically conquering planet after planet."

"What if he somehow collects all six Stones?" Thor asked, the horror in his voice growing as he already knew the answer would be terrifying.

"Then he could fulfill his mad, obsessive dream with a single snap of his fingers," Nebula said quietly but clearly. "Destroy exactly half of all sentient life in the universe. Instantly. Painlessly. Completely randomly. And completely."

A deafening silence fell over the conference room. The scale of the threat looming not only over Earth but over every living thing in space began to truly sink in.

"How much time do we have?" Tony asked, his usual self-assuredness gone, replaced by a grave, dark concern.

Loki paused, analyzing the situation. "You actually have more time than you think."

"Explain," Fury ordered curtly.

"Thanos doesn't have the Infinity Stones now," Loki said. "The only Stone he had, he gave to Nebula for this mission. And now you have that Stone, and Nebula has refused to give it back."

“And he was left with nothing?” Natasha asked.

"Exactly," Nebula confirmed. "Furthermore, Thanos is currently in a rather difficult situation. He's trapped in a special dimension called the Void. Escaping from there without outside help or powerful artifacts is extremely difficult."

"Emptiness?" Bruce asked.

"A prison between dimensions," Loki explained. "Thanos was trapped there after a failed attempt to conquer one of the worlds. The Infinity Stones were his only way to escape and resume his active conquest."

"So he's stuck without the Stones?" Steve asked hopefully.

"For a time, yes," Loki nodded. "First, he has to realize that Nebula's mission has failed, and he won't get a single Stone. Then he'll have to come up with a completely new plan to escape the Void. It could take months, maybe even a couple of years."

"A couple of years," Tony repeated with relief. "That's something. Enough time to get ready."

"But don't relax too much," Loki warned. "When he finally breaks free, his fury will be truly cosmic. And he will unleash the full might of his armies upon Earth."

A heavy silence hung over the conference room like a thick blanket. Everyone present was lost in their own thoughts, trying to comprehend the full depth of the information they had just received. The hum of the fans and the distant rumble of the helicopter carrier's engines seemed deafening in this oppressive silence.

Steve slowly spun the shield in his hands, staring into space. The captain's thoughts raced between strategic considerations and moral dilemmas: how to protect the planet from a threat of this magnitude?
Tony nervously drummed his fingers on the table, his brilliant mind already beginning to calculate possible defense options, technological solutions, alliances.
Natasha studied Loki and Nebula, analyzing their every move, every micro-emotion—could they be trusted?
Bruce clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling with the internal tension that threatened to unleash the Hulk.

Fury stood against the wall, his single eye cold as ice. The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was calculating the political implications, the secret protocols, the organization's possible courses of action.

Next to him, Maria Hill looked dejected, the knowledge that their secret experiments had led to such a disaster weighing on her.

Dr. Selvig sat with his head in his hands, quietly muttering formulas and calculations, his scientific mind trying to find a rational explanation for what he had heard, a way to somehow fix it.

Finally, Thor broke the silence. The Asgardian prince slowly stood and placed Mjölnir on the table with a dull thud that made everyone jump.

"I will take the Tesseract to Asgard," he declared firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "That is why I came to Midgard. The Cube belongs to Asgard—we placed it on Midgard for protection, but now it must be returned to my father's Vault."

Fury immediately straightened up. "Wait a minute, Thor. The Tesseract has been on Earth for over seventy years. We have certain rights..."

"What rights?" Thor interrupted coldly. "Rights to an artifact you experimented with without understanding its nature? Rights to an Infinity Stone that nearly led to an invasion by a cosmic tyrant?"

Loki watched the events unfold with interest. "Thor is right," he suddenly interjected. "Asgard is one of the few places in the Nine Worlds where the Space Stone can be safely stored. There are suitable vaults there, and the Allfather knows the nature of the Stones."

"And most importantly," Nebula added, "if one Stone is on Asgard and the other on Earth, it will be much more difficult for Thanos to get both at once. Splitting is a wise strategy."

Tony leaned forward. "She's right. Keeping two Infinity Stones in one place is like keeping all your explosives in one bunker. Too risky."

Steve nodded, thinking for a moment. "I agree. If Asgard can keep the Tesseract safer than we can, then that would be a wise move."

Bruce looked up. "What about the other Stone? The one in the Scepter?"

"We'll keep it on Earth, under guard," Fury said firmly. "But no experiments this time. Just secure storage."

"A wise move," Loki approved. "The further the Stones are from each other, the better for everyone."

For several minutes, technical details were discussed: how and when to retrieve the Tesseract, what security measures to take, how to coordinate the actions of Asgard and Earth. Gradually, it became clear that the emergency meeting was coming to an end.

Fury headed for the exit first. "Coulson, arrange for the Tesseract to be transferred. Hill, the full report on Project Pegasus should be on my desk within the hour. Selvig, prepare all the experimental data."

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents began to disperse, discussing the details of their upcoming operations. The Avengers also began to leave the room, each of them forced to process what they had heard and prepare for a new reality.

"What about her?" Natasha nodded toward Nebula. "We're just letting a potentially dangerous alien criminal go?"

Loki instantly tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the place where the spear usually materialized.

"She's no longer a criminal," he said coldly. "Nebula refused to carry out Thanos's mission. In fact, the information she provided could have saved billions of lives."

Steve raised his hand, preventing a escalating conflict. "Romanoff is right, this is not an easy decision. But given the circumstances and the assistance you've given us…" He looked at Nebula. "We're letting you go. But on the condition that you maintain communication. If Thanos tries to contact you, or you learn anything important…"

"Okay," Nebula nodded. "I have no reason to defend someone who made my life a living hell."

The room gradually emptied. Only Thor, Loki, and Nebula remained. Thor stood by the window, looking out at the clouds, his shoulders tense. Loki saw how… his brother was struggling with the urge to speak and the fear of saying the wrong thing.

Nebula tactfully retreated to the far corner of the room, realizing that the brothers needed to talk alone.

Finally, Loki took the first step. He walked slowly toward Thor, each step a struggle. Feelings churned in his chest: love, guilt, fear, hope.

"Thor," he called quietly.

The Asgardian prince turned, his blue eyes filled with pain and hope. "Yes, brother?"

The word "brother" struck Loki like lightning. Memories flared brighter: childhood games, shared adventures, laughter, arguments, reconciliations. Everything jumbled in a torturous whirlpool of emotions.

Loki pulled a small device from his inside pocket—a Guardians of the Galaxy communicator—and handed it to Thor.

"Take this," he said, not looking his brother in the eye. "It's a communication device. It works anywhere in the galaxy."

Thor took the device, and their fingers brushed for a moment. The touch was warm, alive, real.

"Loki, you don't have to leave," Thor began. "You can return to Asgard. Father will forgive everything that happened. Frigga misses you. We all miss you…"

"I know," Loki interrupted, his voice thick with weariness. "But I'm not ready. I… I want my stolen memories back, Thor. Everything Thanos took from me. Our childhood, our family, our adventures. But I need time to do it."

Finally, he looked up and met his brother's gaze. "I need to get myself in order, my memories, my soul. Understand who I was before I became a weapon in the hands of a monster. I can't go home like a broken toy."

Thor stepped forward. "Let me help. Together we can find a way to restore your memories. Heimdall sees all, the Mother knows ancient healing magic..."

“No,” Loki said firmly. “This is something I must do on my own. With my new family. The Guardians… they accept me for who I am. Not the prince of Asgard, not the god of lies, not who I once was. Just Loki. And first, I need to understand who this Loki is.”

The pain in Thor's eyes was palpable. "But will you contact me? When you're ready?"

"I promise," Loki nodded. "When my memories return, when I understand who I am and what I feel... then we'll talk. Really talk. About the past, about what was, about what will be next."

Thor extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Loki shook it. The handshake was firm, warm, full of unspoken promises.

"I'll wait," Thor said. "As long as it takes. I'll wait."

"I know," Loki said quietly. "You always waited. Even when I didn't deserve it."

They stood like that for a few moments – two brothers, separated by forgotten memories and pain, but still bound by a love that neither time, nor magic, nor even Thanos himself could destroy.

Then Loki stepped back. "I have to go. Peter is waiting for us in the forest, and Gamora will worry if we linger too long."

"Take care, little brother," Thor said, and there was so much love in those words that it took Loki's breath away.

"And you too," Loki replied. "And Thor... thank you. For finding me. For not giving up."

With these words, he turned and headed for the door. Nebula silently joined him. At the door, Loki turned around one last time—Thor was still standing by the window, holding the communicator and looking up at the sky.

As the door closed behind them, Nebula asked quietly, "Are you really going to contact him?"

"Yes," Loki answered without hesitation. "When I'm ready to face my past. Until then... until then, we'll return to a family that will accept us as we are."

They walked through the corridors of the helicarrier towards the exit, leaving behind the first chapter of Loki's long journey back to his home.

Chapter Text

The cold wind at ten thousand feet ruffled Thor's blond hair mercilessly, but the Prince of Asgard didn't notice. In his strong hands rested a small metal case, fitted with special shock absorbers and energy stabilizers—within it lay the Tesseract, the very cosmic artifact he'd flown to Midgard to retrieve just days earlier. Technically, the mission had been accomplished; the S.H.I.E.L.D. Security Council had unanimously approved the cube's transfer to Asgard, but now the artifact's return seemed such a minor detail compared to the hurricane of revelations that had befallen him.

The Avengers gathered to see him off on the flight deck of the helicopter carrier. The entire crew was aware of what was happening—agents and technicians cast curious glances their way and whispered among themselves. It's not every day their ship receives an alien prince who plans to teleport home via a cosmic artifact.

The atmosphere among the heroes was noticeably tense. Still reeling from the shocking revelations about Thanos, the Infinity Stones, and a cosmic threat they had never even suspected, everyone was trying to find their place in this new, far more dangerous reality.

Steve stood at attention, but Thor saw the captain's fists clench and unclench—a sure sign of tension. "Tell your parents we're ready to cooperate," he said formally. "If we need to join forces against this Thanos."

"Of course," Thor nodded. "Asgard will not leave Midgard alone to face such a threat."

Tony, as usual, tried to lighten the mood with technical details. "Hey, that communicator Loki gave you... does it work over such distances? I'm just curious how they solved the quantum entanglement problem from an engineering perspective."

"From what I can see, the Guardians of the Galaxy's technology is quite advanced," Thor replied, gingerly fingering his inner pocket where the intercom was located. "Judging by their ship, they're decades ahead of Earth science."

Tony's eyes lit up with interest and he opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Natasha interrupted him.

"What if he never calls?" she asked with characteristic bluntness. "What if what Thanos did to him changed him too much?"

The agonizing question hung in the air. Thor didn't know what to answer, for the same doubts had tormented him since his farewell to his brother.

"Then I'll know I did everything I could," he finally said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "That I gave him a choice, and didn't force him."

Bruce, who had been standing at the edge of the group, watching the clouds below, suddenly approached. "Sometimes it takes people a long time to recover from serious trauma," he said quietly, his voice carrying the anguish of someone undergoing his own transformation. "Perhaps your brother is on that path now. It would be cruel to rush him."

Thor nodded gratefully. Doctor Banner, better than anyone, understood what it was like to struggle with something dark within.

"Time will tell," Thor said, opening the case. The Tesseract instantly glowed a bright blue, and the air around it shimmered with growing cosmic energy. A wind picked up, reacting to the artifact's activation.

"Heimdall!" Thor called loudly to the sky, knowing the all-seeing guardian would hear his call across dimensions. "I am ready to return home!"

He addressed the Avengers one last time: "Goodbye, friends. Protect the Earth."

The familiar, dim, iridescent energy of the Bifrost began to envelop him, mingling with the blue glow of the Tesseract. A bright flash, and Thor was gone.

When the blinding light faded, Thor found himself in the familiar circular observatory hall. The golden walls, adorned with ancient runes of strength and protection, glowed softly with their own inner radiance. Through the enormous arched windows, a mesmerizing panorama of Asgard unfolded: the majestic golden spires of palaces, graceful rainbow bridges connecting floating islands, and a boundless starry sky in which other worlds floated.

Home. After everything that happened in Midgard, after the painful encounter with the changed Loki, Asgard seemed an oasis of stability and peace.

"Welcome home, Prince Thor," Heimdall said in his recognizable, deep voice, not moving from his post. The guard stood motionless, his hands resting on the hilt of Hofund's enormous sword, which had pierced the observatory's central mechanism.

Thor carefully placed the container containing the Tesseract on the floor and slowly turned to face his old friend and mentor. Something in his chest tightened with anticipation of speaking with him.

"Heimdall... you saw everything that happened in Midgard, didn't you?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. The all-seeing guardian rarely missed anything.

"Yes," Heimdall replied simply, finally turning to face him. "I saw it. And I'm very sorry, my prince."

His golden eyes, usually calm and all-knowing, were full of compassion and understanding of Thor's pain.

They stood in painful silence for several long minutes, both realizing the full horror of the situation. Heimdall had seen Loki fight Nebula, the movements of a seasoned assassin, not a prince. He had seen the cybernetic parts that had replaced living flesh. He had seen the cold detachment in the young prince's eyes, the way he held himself—not like a member of Asgard's royal family, but like a weapon forged in pain and ordeal.

"Heimdall," Thor stepped forward, "you told your parents that you saw Loki on Midgard, didn't you?"

The guard nodded, but his posture was tense. "Yes. The Allfather and Queen await you in the throne room for a full report. But, Thor…" he paused, choosing his words, "I must admit, I've seen far less than usual."

“What do you mean?” Thor asked, surprised.

"Your brother's magic has grown much stronger in his absence. Much stronger. It... it hides him from my sight," Heimdall explained, his voice carrying the professional irritation of a man accustomed to seeing everything. "I cannot track his movements, nor see the details of his life. Only in snippets, when his protective barriers are weakened."

"He's hiding from you?" Thor frowned, trying to understand his brother's motives.

"I don't think it's a conscious action," Heimdall shook his head. "More like an instinctive one, an automatic defensive reaction. Perhaps the result of training with Thanos. Or simply the development of natural abilities in extreme conditions."

Thor sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair, a habitual gesture when he was upset or worried.

"How do I tell my parents this?" he asked quietly, speaking more to himself than to Heimdall. "How do I explain to my father that his youngest son spent two years enslaved by a cosmic tyrant? That he's turned into... into what I saw on Midgard?"

Heimdall slowly turned his noble, time-worn face towards him, his golden eyes filled with ancient wisdom.

"The truth is always cruel, Prince Thor. But lies are inevitably crueler," he said quietly. "Your parents have a right to know what happened to their son. And they will need that information to help him when he is ready to return."

"Mother will be heartbroken," Thor clenched his fists, imagining Frigga's reaction. "She spent so many months hoping, praying to the gods for his return, supporting me in my darkest moments. And now… he's alive, but he's no longer the Loki we knew and loved."

"Perhaps," Heimdall agreed quietly. "But even in his altered state, a spark of who he once was still glimmers within him. I saw the way he looked at you when we met. Memory can be erased by magic or torture, but the soul... the soul remembers love, Prince Thor. Always."

These words brought Thor some comfort. He picked up the container containing the Tesseract and headed for the observatory's exit. Ahead of him lay the long journey across the curved Rainbow Bridge to the main palace—time to gather his thoughts and find the right words for the most difficult conversation of his life.

Thor walked across the bridge's crystalline surface, all the colors of the spectrum shimmering beneath his feet. Normally, this sight filled him with pride and peace, but today he barely noticed the beauty of his home world. His thoughts were preoccupied with the upcoming conversation.

How can he tell Odin that his youngest son has become a cyborg assassin in the service of a cosmic tyrant? That Loki has no memory of his home, his family, or most of his life before his captivity? That he calls strangers family, but views his own brother with the wariness of a stranger?

How could she explain to Frigga that her youngest son, whom she had raised from infancy, was no longer the child she had sung lullabies to? That his body had been mutilated by mechanical parts, and his mind had been deformed by memory erasure?

The golden spires of the main palace grew closer with every step. Thor saw guards on the towers, gardeners in the royal gardens, courtiers on the balconies and terraces. The ordinary, peaceful life of Asgard went on as usual, unaware of the cosmic tragedy unfolding among the distant stars.

The massive golden doors of the throne room, each several feet tall and adorned with intricate runic patterns, slowly swung open before Thor, accompanied by the quiet clatter of well-oiled mechanisms. He walked down the familiar long corridor between tall white marble columns, his heavy footsteps echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling, decorated with frescoes depicting the glorious deeds of his ancestors.

Odin sat upon Asgard's ancient throne, but even from afar, Thor could see that his father was more agitated than usual. The All-Father was clad in full royal regalia: golden armor adorned with runes of power, a heavy cloak of sky-blue fabric. However, the legendary spear Gungnir clanked nervously against the marble floor with a distinctive metallic ringing—a sure sign of the inner turmoil of Asgard's ruler.

Frigga stood next to the throne in an elegant sea-green gown, her usually calm hands clasped tightly in front of her. Even from a distance, Thor could see the tension in every line of her body—the maternal anxiety she tried to conceal behind her regal dignity.

"My son," Odin called in his deep, resonant voice as Thor approached the foot of the throne, "Heimdall informs us that you have not only successfully completed your mission to retrieve the Tesseract, but also... found Loki."

The last words were filled with hope, fear and a desperate desire for good news.

"Yes, Father," Thor stopped at the right distance and solemnly raised the container above his head. "The Tesseract has been returned to Asgard. The Midgardians volunteered to deliver it after learning of the cosmic danger threatening them."

He carefully placed the case at the foot of the throne, and everyone heard the Space Stone hum softly as it filled with energy.

"What danger?" Frigga instantly became alarmed and stepped forward. Her maternal instinct told her that something terrible was hidden behind the official report.

Thor took a deep breath, preparing to speak the words that would change everything.

"Thanos, Father. The Mad Titan is not only alive, but active."

Odin's face instantly darkened, as if a storm cloud had passed over him. The Allfather sat upright on his throne, his single eye gleaming dangerously.

"What? That's absolutely impossible!" he screamed, and Gungnir hit the floor with such force that it echoed throughout the hall. "Thanos is trapped in the Void by my father, Bor's magic! A prison designed to last forever!"

Thor watched his father freeze, realizing he'd said more than he'd intended. Apparently, the Asgardian royal family knew far more about Thanos than he'd thought.

"He is indeed trapped, but not powerless," Thor replied grimly. "And what's more, it was Thanos who held Loki captive for these two long years."

These words fell upon the throne room like blocks of ice. A deathly silence fell over the hall, broken only by the distant echo of the guards' footsteps in the corridors.

Frigga turned so pale her skin became almost translucent. She staggered and grabbed the carved back of the throne to steady herself.

"What... what did you say? Two years? He disappeared a year ago," she whispered.

Thor's heart broke at the pain in his mother's eyes. But there was no turning back.

"Time flows differently there. Two years for him, one for us," Thor sighed heavily.

"When Loki fell from the Bifrost, he didn't die, as we thought," he continued slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Somehow, Thanos took him in. The Titan turned him into one of his so-called adopted children."

"Adopted children?" Odin asked, his voice as cold as the ice of Jotunheim. "Explain."

"Thanos systematically takes orphans from the planets he destroys during his conquests," Thor continued, feeling every word sting. "He turns them into the ultimate weapon and cynically forces them to call him a father. Loki spent two whole years under his control. Thanos methodically erased most of his memories of us, of his home, of his entire past life, to ensure his absolute loyalty."

Frigga gave a strangled sob and covered her mouth with a trembling hand, as if trying to hold back a cry of pain.

"Does he... does he even remember us?" Odin asked, and for the first time in his life, Thor heard the Allfather's voice tremble with emotion.

"Only bits and pieces, fragments without context," Thor answered honestly. "He recognized me, remembered my name, but he couldn't recall the details of our childhood, our adventures together. He said he sometimes dreams of golden halls and hears distant laughter, but he can't understand what it means."

"And physically?" Frigga stepped forward, her maternal instinct making her think first and foremost about her son's health. "Is he injured? Sick?"

Thor froze for a long, agonizing minute. It was the most painful moment, the hardest to say out loud.

"Thanos... physically modified him," he finally managed to choke out. "Surgically replaced a significant portion of his body with cybernetic implants. His entire left arm, his left eye, most of his right leg. Possibly other internal organs as well, I don't know."

Thor closed his eyes, unable to bear his parents' reaction. "My little brother is now half alive, half machine."

Odin leaped from his throne so quickly that the ancient seat creaked. Gungnir struck the floor with a clang, echoing throughout the hall.

"How dare he!" the Allfather roared, his voice shaking. "How dare this abomination disfigure the Prince of Asgard! What an unthinkable abomination!"

"But there's good news," Thor hastened to add, trying to soften the blow a little. "Loki has escaped captivity. He rebelled against Thanos along with two other girls—also adopted daughters of the Titan. They realized their captor was a monster and a liar, and they managed to free themselves from his power."

"Where is he now?" Frigg asked quickly.

"He joined a squad of cosmic protectors called the Guardians of the Galaxy," Thor explained. "They're a team of outcasts and fugitives who travel the galaxy, protecting the innocent from various threats. They accepted him as an equal and became a new family for Loki."

Pain flashed in Frigga's eyes as her son found a replacement among strangers.

Thor pulled out the communicator Loki had given him. It was small, but clearly high-tech.

"He gave me this communication device," he said. "He promised to contact me when he was ready to come home and face his past."

"When will you be ready?" Odin frowned, trying to understand. "What exactly do you mean, son?"

"Loki said he wanted to try to restore his stolen memories first," Thor explained. "To understand and accept who he is now, in his current state, before confronting who he was before. He doesn't want to return home a broken, incomplete version of himself."

Thor put the communicator back in his pocket. "I gave him all the time he needed. Forcing him would only cause him more harm."

Frigga sank slowly into the bejeweled chair next to the throne, as if her legs could no longer support her.

"My poor, unfortunate boy," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What he went through during those two terrible years... What suffering, what torment..."

Odin slumped onto the throne, suddenly appearing much older than his millennia.

"And Thanos himself?" he asked wearily. "Where is that monster? Did he manage to escape the Void created by my father's magic?"

"No, he's still trapped there," Thor replied. "But according to Loki, Thanos is actively searching for a way to break free. And to do that, he needs the Infinity Stones—that's why he sent his adopted child to retrieve the Tesseract."

At the mention of the Infinity Stones, Odin's face darkened even more.

"The Infinity Stones..." he whispered, the horror growing. "The Tesseract contains the Space Stone. And if Thanos is collecting them..."

"Loki explained it to me," Thor nodded. "Thanos believes the universe is overpopulated. His goal is to wipe out half of all sentient life to restore 'balance.' With one or two Stones, he could conquer the galaxy in a matter of months. But if he collects all six…"

"He could carry out his mad plan with a single wave of his hand," Odin concluded, the horror in his voice almost palpable. "Destroy half the universe in an instant. I thought it was just the mad dream of a sick mind, but if he had all the Stones..."

The Allfather sank heavily onto his throne, looking much older than his millennia.

"The plan has taken on a whole new dimension," he muttered. "It's no longer just a conquest. It's an existential threat."

"But now we have time to prepare," Thor said, trying to sound optimistic. "Thanos has lost both the Tesseract and the Scepter with the Mind Stone. He'll have to find other ways to free himself."

A long, heavy silence fell over the throne room. Everyone digested what they had just heard, trying to comprehend the scale of their personal tragedy and the cosmic threat.

"We will wait for Loki's return," Frigga finally said, wiping away her tears and trying to regain her royal dignity. "No matter how long it takes. And we will be ready to help him heal."

"Heimdall will be watching," Odin added, regaining his usual commanding resolve. "Loki, as much as his magical protection allows. Thanos in the Void. Any sign of new cosmic threats."

Thor nodded, clutching the communicator in his pocket. Somewhere in the galaxy, his brother was trying to gather the fragments of his soul, unaware that they were waiting for him at home, and that the entire universe could depend on his decisions.

On board the Milan three days later.

Loki sat in a lotus position on the floor of his small cabin, his back straight thanks to the cybernetic plates in his spine. His metal hand rested on his knee next to his organic one, creating a strange symmetry between the living and the artificial. The ship's walls hummed softly with the engines, creating a monotonous background: the Milan was in interstellar space, heading for Xandar to resupply.

Distant stars drifted slowly past the porthole, their light reflecting off Loki's cybernetic eye, which had automatically switched to power-saving mode. He closed his eyes and began his usual ritual. His breathing deepened and slowed. His heartbeat slowed.

Find your center, he mentally repeated the mantra he had created for himself. Find the silence between thoughts.

Loki dove into his own consciousness, like a diver descending into the dark depths of the ocean. This technique was his own invention, a blend of ancient Asgardian meditative practices dredged up from the depths of his memory and mental self-defense techniques developed in the Sanctuary.

His mind was like a vast library after a fire. Entire sections had burned to the ground, and Thanos had methodically erased the unnecessary memories. But here and there, among the ashes and charred shelves, books remained—fragments of his true past.

Today he explored the childhood memories section. Most of the shelves were empty, but here and there were some scraps.

Golden corridors. The sound of children's footsteps on marble. Someone's laughter—familiar, warm...

Loki touched the memory carefully, like an archaeologist working with a fragile artifact.

A tall, columned corridor. He himself—much younger, without his cybernetic parts—runs across the marble floor. Someone catches up with him.
“Loki! Wait! Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Thor’s voice rings out, young and carefree.
And his own reply, ringing with childish joy:
“To the library! I want to show you something!”

The memory crumbled, but did not disappear—it firmly took its place in the reconstructed picture of the past.

He shifted to another sector of his consciousness—more recent events. Here, the damage was less severe, but Thanos had left his mark in the form of mental blocks and false memories.

Sanctuary. Training halls. Gamora teaches him how to use daggers...

But something was wrong with this memory. It seemed too... pure. Without the emotional pain that should have accompanied it.

Loki carefully explored the edges of memory and found what he was looking for—a hidden layer. True memory beneath a false veneer.

Gamora teaches him to fight with daggers, but her face is sad. Her movements are mechanical. And in her eyes... fear. Fear for him. Because tomorrow they will send him on his first kill.

Waves of emotion washed over him—fear, disgust, a sense of hopelessness. Loki shuddered, but held onto the memory, allowing himself to feel the suppressed pain.

Accept the truth. The whole truth. The good and the bad.

A sound in the corridor interrupted his meditation. Loki opened his eyes—someone was stumbling near his cabin door, muttering curses in a language he didn't understand.

"No, no, NO!" Rocket shouted indignantly from the repair bay. "Don't touch the red wire! The red wire is bad!"

Loki jumped out of his cabin just in time to see Peter pull his hand away from the control panel with a guilty look on his face.

"I just wanted to regulate the temperature..." Star-Lord defended himself.

"The BLUE wire regulates the temperature!" Rocket crawled out from under the control panel, his fur standing on end with static electricity. "The red wire is for the life support system! You could have killed us all!"

"How was I supposed to know?" Peter protested. "You don't have signatures here!"

"Signatures are for weaklings! A real pilot must FEEL his ship!"

Loki watched the proceedings with the weary air of a man accustomed to the chaos of the Guardians' ship over the course of several days. Gamora sat at the table, cleaning her weapon and occasionally shaking her head at her comrades' stupidity. Nebula settled into a corner with some technical device, which she methodically disassembled and reassembled—a meditative exercise that helped her cope with stress.

Groot, who had already grown to an impressive height thanks to Loki's magical assistance, dozed peacefully in the chair, its branches swaying slightly in time with his breathing.

"I'm Groot?" he muttered sleepily, opening one eye.

"Yeah, Groot, they're arguing about the ship again," Loki translated, approaching the table. "Rocket thinks Peter's an idiot, and Peter thinks the ship should have instructions."

"That's exactly what I said!" Peter exclaimed.

"You said something completely different," Loki countered with a slight smile. "But the meaning was roughly the same."

Drax chose that moment to emerge from the shower stall, wrapping a towel around his waist and vigorously rubbing his hair.

"What's all the fuss about?" he asked. "Is someone dying?"

"My patience," Gamora muttered, continuing to clean her blaster.

A few hours later

"So," Peter said, stirring what looked like the space equivalent of macaroni and cheese, "does anyone want to tell a joke?"

There was a moment of silence.

"A joke?" Drax asked, genuinely confused. "What is it?"

"Well... a funny story. To make people laugh."

"Why make people laugh?" Drax was completely serious. "Laughter should be a natural response to a funny situation."

"He doesn't understand humor," Gamora explained to Loki. "His people take everything literally."

"Interesting," Loki remarked, studying Drax. "Were you flirting? Or sarcastic?"

"Flirt?" Drax looked even more confused. "If I liked a woman, I told her so. 'I like the shape of your body, let's breed.'"

Peter choked on his food. Rocket giggled. Even Nebula choked on her laughter.

"Romantic," Loki remarked dryly.

"What is romance?" Drax asked, still serious.

"Oh, my gods," Gamora groaned. "We'll be here until morning."

"Romance is when you try to impress the person you like," Peter began to explain. "Flowers, candlelit dinners, beautiful words..."

"Why complicate things?" Drax asked, genuinely confused. "If she's ready to breed, why waste time on flowers?"

Loki laughed for the first time in days. The sound was unexpected even for him.

"What's funny?" Drax said, offended.

"Sorry," Loki wiped away his tears. "It's just... you reminded me of someone. A courtier from... where I lived. He didn't get the hint either."

"Do you remember anything from your past?" Gamora asked quickly.

"Bits and pieces. Fragments." Loki shrugged. "Meditation helps. Slowly, but it helps."

"And this Asgardian prince," Nebula interjected, "is your brother. Are you really going to call him?"

Loki paused. “When I’m ready. When I understand who I am now.”

"And if you still don't understand?" asked Rocket.

"Then I guess I'll stay with you idiots," Loki replied with a warm smile. "I can imagine worse."

"Come on, little brother!" Nebula encouraged Loki as he attempted a difficult acrobatic stunt. "You did it last time!"

"Last time, I wasn't thinking about what I was doing," Loki replied, landing less than gracefully. "Now my cybernetic leg is calculating the trajectory and ruining all the spontaneity."

"Turn off your analytics," she advised. "Trust your instincts."

"Easy to say," Loki rubbed his cybernetic shoulder. "How do you turn off part of yourself?"

"Why turn it off?" Peter, who had been watching the training, interjected. "Maybe you should learn to work with what you have?"

Loki thought for a moment. "You mean..."

"Use calculations to your advantage. Don't fight them, but integrate them into the bigger picture."

Loki tried again, but this time he didn't try to ignore the data from the cybernetic devices. Instead, he allowed them to become part of his movement, complementing his natural grace.

The result was impressive - a perfect somersault with a twist in the air and a soft landing.

"Yes!" Nebula screamed. "Wow!"

"I am Groot!" the tree giant commented approvingly.

"He said I looked very graceful," Loki translated, and for the first time in a long time there was a note of pride in his voice.

Loki's Hut, Night

Today, Loki decided to explore his earliest memories of learning magic. He carefully examined his childhood, searching for familiar emotional markers.

A sunny room in Frigga’s chambers. The scent of lavender and something sweet—perhaps cookies…
A memory came alive. Little Loki, barely five years old, sits on a soft carpet in front of his mother. Frigga holds a small flower in her hands—an ordinary daisy.
“Look closely, dear,” her voice is quiet, patient. “Magic begins with understanding. What do you see?”
“A flower,” little Loki replies, holding out his fingers to it.
“And another thing?”
The child frowns, trying to understand what is wanted of him.
“Is he… alive?”
“Very well! And what does it mean to be alive?”
“He has… light inside him?” Frigga smiles—a proud, admiring motherly smile.
“Exactly! Now try to feel this light. Not with your eyes—with your heart.”
Little Loki closes his eyes, holding out his hands to the flower. And suddenly his face lights up with wonder.
“Mother! I can feel it!” "It's warm!"
"Now try talking to this light. Very quietly, very politely."
And the flower begins to glow. Faintly, barely noticeably, but it is real magic. Loki's first magic.
"I did it! I did it, Mother!"
Frigga hugs him, and in her arms is all the love in the world.

Loki smiled, continuing his meditation. He had found another fragment—a lesson of a higher order.

The same hall, but Loki is already a teenager. Before him is a complex illusion—an entire miniature army of light.
“Remember,” says Frigga, “an illusion must be more than just visual. Sounds, smells, even tactile sensations.”
“But it’s so hard to retain everything at once…”
“That’s why you need practice. Again.”
And young Loki painstakingly adds details—the clank of armor, the smell of leather and metal, even the feel of the wind as the figurines move.
“Excellent! Soon you will surpass your teacher.”
“Never,” Loki replies seriously. “You are the best sorceress in the Nine Worlds.”
“And you will become even better.”

The next memory was more noisy - brotherly pranks.

The palace corridors. An official ceremony—some kind of important diplomatic reception. Many people in formal attire.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" whispers young Thor. "Of course not, but that's what makes it interesting," replies Loki, his hands glowing green.
He casts a spell on the statues in the hall. A few minutes later, all the marble warriors begin... to dance. Gracefully, elegantly, to the music of the orchestra.
The guests are shocked. Odin looks both angry and impressed. And the brothers behind the column are roaring with laughter.
"Loki!" Thor hisses through his laughter. "Father will kill us!"
"Only if he can prove it was us.
" "Who else can make statues dance?"
"Maybe they were simply inspired by the music?"

But here is a more serious memory - Odin's lesson.

A war room in the palace. A huge table with a map of the Nine Worlds. Loki, almost an adult, stands next to his father.
“Do you see this system?” Odin points to the map. “Three planets, rich in resources, but at odds with each other.”
“Alfheim, Vanaheim, and the minor worlds in the Nida system,” Loki replies.
“How would you resolve this conflict?”
Loki studies the map, his thoughts racing.
“Thor would go with an army and force them to make peace.”
“And you?”
“I would find out exactly what they’re fighting about. Big conflicts are usually small misunderstandings. Or the great ambitions of small people.”
“Go on.”
“Then I would find someone who is truly interested in the war. Someone always profits from other people’s quarrels. And I would eliminate that source.”
“Kill?”
“Not necessarily. Bribery, blackmail, persuasion.” "Assassination is when other methods fail. "
One nods approvingly.
"Good. But remember: sometimes diplomacy is impossible. Sometimes the enemy is not ready to talk." "
Then he must be prepared.
" "How?"
"By showing that the price of war is greater than he is willing to pay." "
And if he is willing to pay any price?"
A long pause. Young Loki considers his answer seriously.
"Then such an enemy is too dangerous to live."
"A wise answer, son."

The word "son" even warmed my memory.

But the next piece was more painful—a day when everything felt different.

The Relic Vault. A cold, dark place deep beneath the palace. Jötun artifacts hidden behind protective barriers.
Loki had come here many times, but something changed that day.

He approached the display case holding the Casket of Ancient Winters—the ancient source of the jötunns' power. And without knowing why, he reached out… He touched
the artifact. Instant transformation.
Blue skin. Red eyes. Raised patterns appeared on his body.
"What... what's wrong with me?"

But now, reliving those memories, Loki didn't feel the same horror he had then. Instead, he felt understanding.

That's why his skin sometimes turns blue when the magic is particularly strong. That's why he always tolerated the cold better. That's why he felt like an outsider.

In meditation, he allowed himself to be transformed, as he had several times before on the Guardians' ship. Blue skin, furrowed patterns, red eyes. But now it wasn't scary—it was part of his true nature.

I am a Jotun. A Jotun prince. And an Asgardian. And a cyborg. And a Guardian of the Galaxy. All at once.

The memory continued - a confrontation with Odin in the same room.

"Who am I?"
"You are my son.
" "TELL ME!"
"You... are my son."

But then the truth came. The bitter, world-destroying truth that he was a foundling, a trophy of war, a political tool.

"So that's what I was needed for? To unite the kingdoms?"
"I thought that one day we could unite our kingdoms."

The old pain washed over him like a wave, but Loki didn't let go of the memory. He lived it to the end, with all its emotions.

Then I found another fragment - a later conversation with Frigga after this discovery.

“You knew everything?”
“Yes.
” “And you said nothing?”
“I didn’t want you to feel any different.”
“But I’m different!”
“No,” Frigga’s voice was full of conviction. “You are my son. Blood doesn’t make you this way. Love does.”
“Easy to say...”
“Loki, look at me.”
“I see the same boy I taught my first spells to. The same boy who made the statues dance. My son.” “
Even like this?”
“Especially like this. You are beautiful, Loki. In any form.”

While meditating, Loki felt tears streaming down his cheeks—both organic and cybernetic. But they weren't tears of grief. They were tears of relief.

He realized something important: the revelation of his true nature was painful not because he was a Jotun. But because he felt betrayed. But Frigga's love was real. As was his brotherhood with Thor.

Maybe, he thought, it was time to start accepting himself as a whole. All parts, all aspects. Jotun and Asgardian, prince and outcast, organic and machine.

Peter's music began to play from behind the wall again, and Loki smiled, continuing to meditate.

Home isn't where you come from. Home is where you're accepted for who you are.

And now he had two homes. One was in the memories he'd pieced together. The other was here, on this noisy ship, with his strange family of outcasts.

And perhaps it was right. Perhaps the healing occurred not only in the silence of his own mind, but also in the chaos of everyday life, among people who accepted him as he was.

Thor stood in the ancient palace library, surrounded by tall, dark wooden shelves that reached so high that their tops were lost in the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. Thousands of dusty tomes, dragonhide scrolls, and rune-engraved stone tablets held the knowledge of millennia. Golden rays of morning sunlight filtered through enormous stained-glass windows depicting great battles of the past, illuminating countless motes of dust dancing slowly in the air.

Before him, on a massive oak table polished by countless generations of scholars, lay open books, some so ancient that the pages crumbled at the slightest touch. Maps inscribed with complex runes showed the layout of dimensions and passages between worlds, and especially ancient manuscripts contained everything known about Thanos, the Void, and the imprisonment spells created by his grandfather Bor.

Two weeks had passed since he returned from Midgard with a heavy heart and even heavier news. Every day, Thor diligently helped his parents search for information about the cosmic threat looming over the entire universe. But every few minutes, as if against his will, his hand instinctively reached for the inside pocket of his tunic, where Loki's communicator lay. The small device remained stubbornly silent, showing no signs of life.

Every time his fingers touched the smooth surface of the inactive device, Thor felt a twinge of disappointment, mingled with growing anxiety. What if Loki had changed his mind? What if the memories of the past were too painful? What if he'd decided it was best to forget Asgard forever?

"Son, you're testing that device again," Odin remarked, entering the library with another stack of ancient texts tucked tightly under his arm. The All-Father looked visibly weary—his in-depth search for information on Thanos's imprisonment required delving into the darkest, most dangerous parts of Asgardian history, knowledge best kept hidden from prying eyes.

There were dark circles under his one eye, evidence of sleepless nights spent studying ancient tomes.

"I'm sorry, Father," Thor quickly pulled his hand out of his pocket, feeling like a cornered child. "It's just... I can't stop thinking about him."

"You're worried about Loki. It's natural," Odin said understandingly, approaching the table and carefully placing the new books next to the ones he'd already studied.

On the cover of one of the volumes, Thor saw a detailed yet terrifying depiction of the Void—an endless space of absolute darkness between dimensions, where time flows according to laws incomprehensible to those in ordinary reality. Looking at the drawing, Thor felt dizzy at the thought of the horror his younger brother had endured there.

"Father, what if he never calls?" Thor could no longer contain the question that had been plaguing him for over a week, poisoning his every waking hour. "What if what Thanos did to him changed him so radically that he never wants to return to us?"

One put down his books and looked closely at his eldest son. The same fears, the same doubts were visible in his single eye.

"Thor," the Allfather's voice softened noticeably, losing its formal, royal tone, "you yourself said that Loki only began to remember you during your meeting on Midgard. Such deep, traumatic damage to memory and personality doesn't heal in days or even weeks. Sometimes it takes months, even years."

The All-Father slowly sank into the carved chair opposite his son, and Thor painfully noticed how much his father had aged over these two tense weeks. The gray hairs in his dark beard had noticeably increased, the wrinkles around his eyes had deepened, and his movements had lost their former regal confidence. The knowledge that his youngest son had spent three whole years in captivity at the hands of their long-time, mortal enemy was unbearably painful for Odin.

"When I was still a young prince, barely a man," Odin began, thoughtfully leafing through one of the thick books, "my father Bor often told me of warriors returning from particularly brutal wars with their minds severely damaged. Some couldn't remember their own names or recognize their children; others saw enemies and dangers where there were none. Full healing from such mental wounds required months, sometimes even years, of patient labor."

"But that was a normal war, Father," Thor countered, clenching his fists in frustration. "Brutal, perhaps, but normal. And Loki was working with Thanos himself. The Mad Titan, who possessed mind-altering techniques we could never even dream of. Who could do things to the minds of his victims beyond our darkest imaginations."

"That's why Loki needs even more time," Odin explained patiently, putting his book aside and focusing entirely on the conversation. "You see, son, Loki must not simply mechanically recall the lost fragments of his past, but deeply understand who he has become over these years of suffering. He must accept and unite all the disparate parts of himself—Asgardian and Jotun, prince and outcast, living being and cybernetic machine, victim and survivor."

Thor was about to protest, but at that moment, Frigga entered the library, carefully carrying a silver tray laden with steaming food. The queen looked no better than her husband—deep shadows of fatigue lay beneath her usually clear eyes, and her perfect hair was slightly disheveled, a far cry from the always flawless queen of Asgard.

"I brought breakfast," she said, placing the tray on the only empty space on the table between the open books. "You both completely forget about food when you're immersed in these endless studies. You'll need your strength."

Thor painfully noticed his mother steal a hopeful glance at his pocket, where the communicator lay. She, too, was living in anticipation of a saving signal that could change everything.

"Mother," Thor began carefully, not wanting to hurt her further but needing to be honest, "are you also worried that he may never contact us again?"

Frigga paused halfway to the chair, her graceful hands trembling over cups of fragrant hot tea.

"Every second of every day," she admitted quietly but completely honestly, sitting up slowly. "Every night I wake up in a cold sweat and think about him. About how he must feel now, painfully recollecting the memories of us. About how unbearably painful it must be for him to realize that the most precious memories of his life were cruelly stolen and distorted."

She sank into the chair next to Thor, her eyes shining with barely contained maternal tears.

"But I know my youngest son well," she continued, her voice firmer. "Loki has always been an incredibly proud boy. He will never want to come to us broken, inadequate, unworthy. He will wait patiently until he once again feels… worthy of our love."

"But he always was and always will be!" Thor flared, his voice echoing through the high vaults of the library. "Whatever those monsters did to him! Whatever he remembers or doesn't remember!"

"We know that, dear," Frigga said quietly, reaching out and covering her son's hand with her own. "But Loki must understand this for himself. He must come to this realization through his own experience, not through our assurances."

One put down another book and looked at his wife with a deep understanding and love forged over thousands of years of marriage.

"Frigga is absolutely right. Thor, do you remember what Loki was like before... before all these tragic events? He never openly asked for help, even when he desperately needed it. He always tried to cope on his own, to prove to others and to himself that he could be strong and independent."

"But that's a different situation entirely!" Thor insisted, feeling his patience begin to wear thin. "He's no longer just a proud teenager, rejecting his parents' help out of youthful stubbornness. He's a deeply traumatized man who might well think we'd reject him if we saw what he's become."

Frigga gently squeezed her eldest son's hand. "Thor, try to imagine yourself in his place. You spent two whole, painful years, sincerely believing that your entire family had either perished or forgotten your existence. You were methodically forced to believe that you weren't a person with rights and feelings of your own, but merely an advanced weapon in the hands of your master. And then suddenly you discover you have an older brother who is not only alive, but also remembers you as a very small, innocent, carefree prince, just like you were as a child."

She paused, choosing her words carefully so as not to cause her son even more pain.

"How would you feel if you knew for certain that you were no longer the person you once loved? That your body had been horribly mutilated by mechanical parts, your memory severely damaged, and your personality altered beyond recognition?"

Thor closed his eyes and tried to truly imagine the unbearable pain and confusion. “I would… I would also like to first understand who I am now before trying to reconnect with the past.”

"Exactly," Frigga nodded with sad wisdom. "Loki has always been an exceptionally intelligent boy. He intuitively understands that he won't be able to build a new, healthy relationship with us until he finally sorts out his old memories and accepts himself as he is."

But even as she uttered these wise, thoughtful words, the queen couldn't completely hide the deep pain in her voice. The heavy anticipation tore at the mother's heart no less than that of her eldest son.

"What if he eventually decides he'll be happier with these... Guardians of the Galaxy?" Thor finally voiced his deepest, most painful fear. "What if he finds that he feels more accepted and understood among them than he ever could with us?"

Odin and Frigga exchanged heavy, pained glances. This terrible question had tormented them since the very first day.

"Then we must accept his choice and be truly glad that he has found a family who loves and accepts him as he is," Odin finally said, though every word was incredibly difficult for him. "Loki's happiness and well-being must be more important than our selfish desires."

"But that doesn't mean we'll ever stop hoping for his return," Frigga quickly added. "When he spoke to you in Midgard, there was a longing in his voice. A deep longing for a home he vaguely but painfully remembers. For a family he feels in his heart, but can't yet recall."

Thor nodded slowly, remembering that touching moment on the helicarrier when Loki had hesitantly, as if trying to pronounce a long-forgotten word, called him brother.

"I'm just afraid the longer he puts off calling, the harder it will be," Thor finally admitted, drumming his fingers nervously on the wooden surface of the table.

"But I fear the opposite," Frigga countered quietly, gazing out the window where the golden towers of Asgard shone. "That if we start rushing him or pressuring him in any way, he'll feel the pressure and distance himself from us even more than he already is."

With the youngest son's vexing topic temporarily exhausted, a heavy, oppressive silence fell over the majestic library. Beyond the tall stained-glass windows, Asgard continued its normal, measured life: citizens busily strolled along the cobbled streets, guards in shining armor patrolled the city walls, and children played carefree in the blooming gardens and squares. But for the royal family, time seemed frozen in agonizing anticipation, each minute dragging on like an hour.

Frigga silently placed the empty cups and plates containing the remains of an untouched breakfast on the silver tray, her usually graceful movements now slow, thoughtful, and filled with inner tension. Odin formally returned to studying the ancient tomes, but Thor clearly saw that his father wasn't actually reading—he was simply staring blankly at the rune-covered pages, lost in heavy thoughts about his son and the cosmic threat.

"Father," Thor finally spoke, deciding to put his personal worries aside, "let's return to the Thanos problem. I still don't understand how exactly he could have acted while in the Void. You said Grandfather Bor created a theoretically perfect, impenetrable prison."

One sighed heavily and resolutely closed the thick book he had been trying unsuccessfully to read.

"This is what worries me most, what haunts me most," he admitted. "According to all our theoretical knowledge and practical calculations, the Void should have completely and permanently isolated any prisoner from the rest of the universe, making any interaction with the outside world impossible."

"But Thanos somehow managed to find Loki," Frigga remarked grimly, returning to the table and sitting next to her husband. "Picked him up after he fell from the Bifrost. How is that even physically possible?"

One opened another book, even older and tattered, covered in runes so archaic that even Thor, with his extensive education, could barely read them.

"From what Loki told me, Thanos possessed the Mind Stone for some indefinite period of time," Odin said slowly, studying the complex circuitry. "Theoretically, it could have given him the ability to significantly expand his mental capabilities far beyond the Void, to penetrate ordinary dimensions with his consciousness."

"But how could a captive Titan have an Infinity Stone in the first place?" Thor asked logically. "If he really is trapped in some dimension?"

"Exactly!" Odin nodded grimly, his single eye blazing with concern. "That means one of two very unpleasant things. Either Thanos had powerful allies who somehow managed to get the Stone to him..."

“Or perhaps the confinement was never as perfect and reliable as we naively believed,” Frigga finished gloomily.

One of them leafed through several worn pages, looking for the necessary schematic diagram of the Void.

"There's another, more terrifying possibility," he said slowly. "What if Thanos spent all those long millennia of captivity not in passive inaction, but in active... development? Developing his powers?"

"What do you mean, height?" Frigga leaned closer, her face pale with anticipation.

"The Void is a unique place between dimensions, where time flows according to entirely different laws than in our reality," Odin explained, gesturing to a complex diagram. "Thousands of years of absolute isolation and focus could have greatly enhanced his natural mental abilities. Some particularly powerful beings actually become even stronger in confinement, especially if they are obsessed with a single, all-consuming idea."

Thor felt an icy chill spread across his chest. "Are you saying that all these centuries of complete isolation haven't made him weaker, but only more dangerous and powerful?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Odin confirmed. "And what's worse, he could theoretically use his enhanced abilities to gather armies and allies from the Void without even leaving his prison."

“How?” Frigg asked quickly, alarmed.

"Through complex telepathic connections with receptive beings in other dimensions and on distant planets," Odin pointed to a particularly complex diagram depicting mental connections between worlds. "If his psychic abilities truly were significantly enhanced during his imprisonment, he could theoretically have built a vast network of devoted followers, fanatical cultists, without physically leaving the Void."

"Then why isn't he taking more active and decisive action right now?" Thor asked, trying to find a reason for optimism.

"Because he's lost direct access to the Mind Stone," Odin replied, closing the book. "Loki made it clear that Thanos is once again without the Infinity Stones. This means his current ability to influence the outside world is once again severely limited, at least temporarily."

“How temporary?” Thor insisted.

One studied ancient records for a long time, comparing information from different sources.

"From everything I've been able to find in these texts, we have time to prepare," he finally said. "Maybe two years, three, four at most, until Thanos finds an alternative way to obtain new Infinity Stones or develops a fundamentally different method of overcoming the Void's magical barriers."

“And then what?” Frigga asked quietly, almost in a whisper.

"Then he will be unleashed with all the monstrous power he has accumulated over long millennia, and likely with an army of fanatically devoted followers," Odin replied grimly. "And then the entire galaxy will face a threat of proportions the likes of which it has never seen in its history."

Thor stood up abruptly from the table and began to walk nervously around the library between the tall shelves.

"Then we must begin active preparations immediately," he declared decisively. "Warn all friendly worlds of the impending danger, strengthen old military alliances, and create new ones..."

"And more importantly, find a way to permanently seal the Void or somehow destroy Thanos while he's still imprisoned," Odin added.

“Is that even theoretically possible?” Frigg asked hopefully.

One hesitated for a long time, thinking about his answer.

"Theoretically... yes, it's possible," he finally said cautiously. "But such an operation would require colossal sacrifices and incredible resources. And we run a serious risk of accidentally releasing Thanos prematurely, which would be even worse."

They fell into a heavy silence, each of them trying to comprehend the monstrous scale of the threat looming over the entire universe.

"What if we're completely wrong in our assumptions?" Thor suddenly asked, stopping by the window. "What if Thanos has long since found a way to free himself completely, but is simply patiently waiting for the right moment to attack?"

"Then we can only hope that Loki and his Guardians of the Galaxy can warn us in time of the impending disaster," Odin replied. "They are much closer to the center of cosmic events and have a better chance of tracking Thanos's actions than we do here in Asgard."

The following days flowed at a measured pace, intensely studying ancient texts in search of clues and answers to the ever-present questions. Thor, like clockwork, checked his communicator every morning, but the small device remained stubbornly silent. He tried his best not to show his parents his growing disappointment and anxiety, but Odin and Frigga clearly saw how their eldest son grew increasingly tense and withdrawn with each passing day.

This evening, for the first time in many weeks of intensive research, the entire royal family gathered in the small dining room for a traditional family dinner—an event that has become rare in recent times. Usually, each of them was too engrossed in studying ancient manuscripts and searching for answers to waste precious time on formal receptions.

The atmosphere around the exquisitely laid table was tense, despite attempts to maintain normal conversation. Servants silently served the dishes, but all three had meager appetites.

"Today, I managed to find detailed records of Grandfather Bor's final days in the archives," Odin said, absentmindedly cutting into a piece of roast meat. "It turns out that shortly before his tragic death, he was indeed actively planning to significantly strengthen Thanos's magical imprisonment, making it completely impenetrable."

"Planned?" Frigga asked quickly, putting down her fork. "Does that mean he didn't have time to carry out his plan?"

"Unfortunately, no. The armies of the Dark Elves attacked Asgard long before Grandfather could fully complete the complex magical ritual to strengthen the prison."

Thor once again mechanically, almost unconsciously, reached for his inside pocket, where the silent communicator lay.

At that very moment, the device emitted a quiet but distinct signal.

All three froze instantly, as if struck by lightning, staring at Thor with wide eyes. The air in the room was tense.

“This…” Thor began, his voice shaking.

“Answer immediately,” Frigga said quickly, almost in a whisper.

Thor, his hands noticeably shaking, took out his communicator and carefully activated the device, afraid to believe that what was happening was real.

“Thor?” Loki’s voice sounded surprisingly confident, calm, without the previous oppressive wariness and doubts.

Thor felt his heart leap out of his chest with happiness and relief.

"Are you... are you ready to go home? To Asgard? To us?" he asked, barely daring to hope for a positive answer.

A brief but pregnant pause. Thor could almost feel Loki gathering the courage to answer.

"Yes," Loki said, and there was no hesitation or doubt in his voice. "Yes, I am ready to see Asgard. Ready to see... family."

Frigga covered her mouth with both hands, trying to hold back sobs of joy, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. Odin placed a strong hand on her shoulder, his own eyes suspiciously glistening with moisture.

"We'll be waiting for you, little brother," Thor said, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "When can you come to us?"

"Tomorrow, if that's okay with you," Loki replied without hesitation. "I... I've been meditating a lot these past weeks and have managed to recover many important memories from our past lives. And I've finally realized that some things in life can't be put off forever."

"Come, please, come quickly," Thor's voice trembled with excitement. "We've been waiting for this moment for so long."

"Then I'll see you soon. And, Thor..." Another short, pregnant pause. "Thank you. For your patience. For your understanding. For your time."

The connection was quietly broken, and the royal family was left in silence, filled with happiness and anticipation.

Their youngest son was returning home.

Chapter Text

Loki slowly switched off his communicator and placed it on the table next to his bed. The device went dark, cutting off the connection with Asgard and leaving him alone with his storm of emotions. The familiar silence reigned in the cabin, broken only by the soft hum of the ship's engines—a sound that had become a lullaby for him over months of traveling with the Guardians.

He sat on the edge of his bunk, his cybernetic hand resting on his knee, slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers—a habit developed under stress. His organic eye was focused on the stars outside the porthole, but his cybernetic eye displayed data on his heart rate, blood pressure, and adrenaline levels. All were elevated.

“Tomorrow, ” he thought, “ tomorrow I will see them again.”

A familiar sound drifted through the wall: Peter humming another Terran song accompanied by some instruments, and Rocket loudly cursing in an unfamiliar language, interrupted by the metallic clang of falling parts. The sounds of everyday life among the Guardians, which had become synonymous with safety and acceptance for him. His heart sank at the thought that tomorrow he might leave them.

The conversation with Thor went better than he expected. His brother's voice was filled with genuine joy, without a hint of judgment or disappointment. But fear still gnawed at him: what if his childhood memories were too idealized? What if reality couldn't compare to the images he'd meditated on?

Loki ran a hand over his face, instinctively tracing the familiar roughness of the fine scars—the marks of torture in the Sanctuary, which even Asgard's regeneration couldn't completely hide. Thanos had left his mark not only on his body, but on his soul. It had taken two years to remake him, turning him from a trickster prince into a weapon. Would his family be able to accept what he had become?

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Loki magically scanned the energy signature—it was Gamora; her presence was always felt as a warm, protective aura, with subtle hints of the tension that never completely left those who survived Thanos's reign.

The cabin door hissed softly as it opened, and the older sister peered inside. She moved with her usual caution—years of living under Thanos's control had taught them all to respect personal space and notice the slightest changes in each other's moods.

“Can I come in?” she asked in a hoarse voice, with her usual caution.

“Of course,” he replied, but his voice sounded more tense than he intended.

The cabin door hissed softly as it opened, and his older sister peered in. She moved with her usual caution—years of living under Thanos's control had taught them all to respect personal space and notice the slightest changes in each other's moods. Gamora's green eyes instantly assessed his posture, his facial expression, the tension in his shoulders.

"I noticed the light," she said, noticing the tension in his posture. "And I thought this conversation might be... difficult."

“Actually, I’d prefer not to be alone right now,” he nodded, making room on the bunk.

Gamora entered and closed the door behind her, her green eyes searching her younger brother's face. She knew him well enough to read even the most carefully concealed emotions. Two years at Thanos's side had taught them all to recognize danger in the smallest details and protect each other from it.

"So what?" she asked, sitting down next to him. "Did you contact him?"

"Yes," Loki nodded, his voice even, but Gamora could hear the underlying excitement. "They want me home. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Gamora raised an eyebrow. "You made a quick decision. Or is this an attempt to end the fear before it changes its mind?"

Loki chuckled, his older sister knew him too well.

"Meditation helped," he explained. "I realized that procrastination only makes the fear worse. It's better to face the past. And also... I started remembering more. Not just fragments, but entire scenes."

He paused, collecting his thoughts.

"I was meditating this morning and remembered Thor teaching me swordsmanship. I was about five hundred years old, a stubborn child who considered physical training beneath him." Loki smiled, and Gamora saw something new in it—the warmth of true memories, free from the pain of the Sanctuary. "He was incredibly patient. He showed me the same move a hundred times until I mastered it. And when I started to defeat him, he wasn't angry, but happy for me. As if my success was more important than his own pride."

Gamora studied his profile, illuminated by the starlight from the porthole. Something she hadn't noticed before appeared on his face: peace. Not complete, but the beginning of self-acceptance.

“And how do you feel now when memories come back to you?”

Loki paused, choosing his words. Familiar heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway—Drax, likely heading to his quarters after another training session; his gait was recognizable even through the metal bulkheads.

"Like a man about to encounter ghosts," he finally said. "Part of me is excited—I want to see places I only remember in fragments. I want to understand who I was before... all this. I want to feel like the prince my parents loved."

He touched his cybernetic hand, his fingers sliding over the smooth metal.

"But another part of me is afraid. What if I don't fit in? What if the Loki they remember and love is too different from who I've become? What if they see me as nothing more than a monster created by Thanos?"

"What else?" Gamora nudged him gently. She knew her little brother always kept his deepest fears to himself, hiding them behind layers of sarcasm and feigned indifference.

Loki ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed his inner turmoil.

"And another part of you refuses to leave," he admitted quietly, a rare vulnerability laced in his voice. "You became my family when I was nothing. A broken cyborg with no memories, who didn't even know his true name. You took me in and helped me become whole. What if, when I return to Asgard, I lose that? What if I have to choose between two families?"

Gamora placed her hand on his shoulder—a gesture that had previously required a colossal effort of will. Thanos disapproved of tenderness between his children, considering it weakness.

"Listen to me carefully, brother," she said seriously, turning to face him. "The Guardians are not a temporary family. We are a family forever. It doesn't matter how many other families you have, how many houses, how many names, how many memories you restore."

Her voice softened, revealing a rare vulnerability.

"When I was running from Thanos, I thought I'd always be alone. That monsters like us didn't deserve love, that we were too broken to be accepted. Then I met idiots like Peter and Rocket, and I realized: family isn't blood, it's not kinship, it's not even shared memories. It's a choice. It's the decision to stay together when everything else goes wrong. It's the willingness to fight for each other."

"What if I have to choose?" Loki asked, and for the first time in a long time, there was a childish sense of loss in his voice, an echo of the boy he had once been.

"Then you'll choose with your heart," she replied simply. "But remember: a real family never forces you to choose between love and love. If your parents truly love you, they'll understand that the Guardians are now a part of your life, too. That we helped you become who you are. And if not…"

She shrugged with the practicality that came with years of surviving in the harshest conditions.

"Then the answer is obvious. You will remain where you are loved, completely, and not just in the part that is convenient for others."

Familiar sounds drifted through the main compartment—Rocket and Peter's loud argument, drowned out by Drax's deep commentary. The sounds of home.

"Come on," Gamora suggested, standing and offering him her hand. "We need to tell the others before Rocket decides to 'improve' something vital. And we need to make sure Drax isn't trying to use explosives as a spice for dinner."

Loki laughed, the first genuine laugh he had heard all day, and the sound echoed throughout the small cabin.

"It only happened once."

"Once isn't enough," Gamora replied, heading for the door. "And considering you're leaving tomorrow, maybe we should make sure the ship stays in one piece until you return."

Loki stood, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. Talking to Gamora always helped him better understand his own feelings—she had a rare gift for seeing the essence of things without being distracted by superficial details.

When Loki and Gamora entered the common area, they were greeted by a familiar scene of controlled chaos. Rocket stood on a table, waving a component the size of his head, his fur standing on end with indignation. Peter, clutching a manual that clearly didn't fit the device they were trying to repair, looked both confused and stubborn.

"I'm telling you for the LAST TIME—that's the wrong wire!" Rocket yelled, his voice rising to a pitch he only heard in moments of extreme irritation. "The red wire NEVER connects to the blue block! That's basic engineering principle!"

"Why not?" Peter objected, stubbornly pointing his finger at the diagram covered in incomprehensible symbols. "Look, it says... well, I don't know what it says, but it makes sense!"

"These are instructions from ANOTHER ship!" Rocket tossed the part onto the table, where it clanged against other machinery, creating a cascade of metallic sounds. "From a Ravenger-77 class ship, which, by the way, EXPLODED three years ago!"

“How do you know?” Peter frowned, studying the instructions more closely.

"Because I BLOWN IT UP!" the Rocket roared so loudly that metal flakes rained out of the vents. "For a two-credit debt and for insulting my tail!"

Drax sat in his favorite corner, methodically sharpening his knives and watching the argument with the air of a man watching a boring show.

"Their fights are becoming predictable," he remarked, running the blade across the whetstone. "Always the same pattern: Quill breaks something, Rocket yells and threatens to blow up half the galaxy, then they fix it and pretend they never fought. Like an old married couple."

"I am Groot," the tree giant agreed, swaying its branches. Thanks to Loki's regular magical nourishment over the past few weeks, it had grown considerably and now occupied a significant portion of the common space, its roots neatly intertwined with the ship's support beams.

"What did he say?" Nebula asked, looking up from another device she was disassembling with surgical precision.

"This Peter is too stubborn to admit his incompetence in alien technology," Loki translated with a slight smile.

"Hey!" Peter said, turning to them, offended. "I'm not incompetent! I'm just... adjusting to new standards!"

"'New technical standards'?" Rocket snorted, his mustache twitching with suppressed laughter. "That technology is older than your planet! Your civilization was still living in caves when these schemes were already considered classics!"

"Then why don't they have proper instructions in plain language?"

"They HAVE instructions!" Rocket pointed his paw at a row of symbols etched into the device's casing in thin, graceful lines. "Here they are! In the standard trade language of the seven galaxies!"

Peter squinted, studying the symbols from different angles, tilting his head left and right.

"It looks like... abstract art. Or ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. Or the drawings of a five-year-old."

"WARNING: DO NOT TOUCH WITHOUT PROTECTIVE GLOVES!" Rocket waved his paws so vigorously that he almost fell off the table.

"How was I supposed to know?" Peter spread his arms out to the sides, feigning innocence.

"BECAUSE YOUR FINGERS ARE SMOKING!"

Peter looked at his hands and indeed saw thin wisps of smoke rising from his fingertips, and his skin had taken on a suspicious reddish tint.

"Hmm. Now I understand the tingling sensation," he remarked philosophically, quickly shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

Loki shook his head, but his smile widened. These people were his chaotic, noisy, completely unpredictable family. Each with their own quirks, traumas, and oddities, but they were all willing to die for each other without a moment's hesitation. The thought that he might not see them tomorrow brought an unexpected pain.

"I have news," he announced, his voice cutting through the usual hum of arguments and mechanical sounds.

The argument died down instantly. Even Drax stopped sharpening his knives. Everyone turned to Loki, their expressions ranging from curiosity to poorly concealed anxiety. Tension hung in the air—over the months of living together, they had learned to discern the nuances in each other's voices.

"I've contacted Thor," Loki continued, straightening up and adopting a more formal demeanor. "I plan to leave for Asgard tomorrow."

Silence fell. Even the background hum of the engines seemed louder than usual. Rocket slowly placed the part he'd been fiddling with on the table, and Peter tossed the instructions aside.

And then Peter was the first to find his voice: “This... wow. Tomorrow? Really? This is great, bro. Really great. Are you... are you ready? To meet them?”

"Be prepared to meet a family you only remember in fragments," Loki replied with dry irony.

"For how long?" Nebula asked quickly, her voice hoarse with barely concealed anxiety. She lowered the device she'd been working on, its cybernetic components humming quietly with excitement.

"I don't know," Loki admitted honestly, and it was this uncertainty that frightened him most of all. "Maybe a few days. Maybe weeks. Maybe longer. It depends on how the meeting goes and... how I feel there. Whether I can be part of that life again."

Drax put down his knife and whetstone, rose from his seat, and looked at Loki with a piercing gaze—the gaze of a man who knew the pain of loss and the value of family ties.

"You're afraid," he said with his characteristic directness, but there was no condemnation in his voice, only understanding.

"Yes," Loki confirmed without hesitation, his honesty sounding almost like a challenge. "I'm afraid. I'm terrified of the thought that they might not accept me. Or that I might not accept them."

"Fear is good," Drax nodded. "It means you care. Only cowards aren't afraid of what really matters."

Rocket leaped off the table with characteristic agility and approached, his usual aggression and sarcasm replaced by a rare seriousness.

"Listen, if those Asgardian princes treat you badly, just let them know," he said in an unusually gentle voice. "We'll come and explain everything to them. In plain language."

"Explosives," Drax added approvingly. "Explosives are the universal language."

"I am Groot!" the tree giant declared decisively, rustling his branches menacingly.

"Groot says he's also willing to protect his family at any cost," Loki translated, feeling a warmth in his chest from their unconditional support. "And that he can grow very large if he needs to impress the Asgardians."

Peter laughed, and the sound relieved some of the tension that had built up.

"I can just imagine your brother's face if we landed on Asgard with a skyscraper-sized Groot, a Rocket with enough weapons to power half the galaxy, and a knife-wielding Drax."

"And I," Nebula added with a predatory smile, "I can be very persuasive when it comes to matters of family loyalty."

Gamora walked up to Loki and hugged him tightly, a rare gesture of public affection for her.

"We'll miss you, little brother. But I'm glad you decided to take this step. It's the right decision."

"And remember," Peter added, stepping closer, his voice serious, "no matter what happens in Asgard, no matter how long you stay there, you always have a home here. We do. We are the Guardians. We never abandon our own. Never. Even if the entire cosmos rises up against us."

Nebula stood and walked awkwardly toward Loki. She still had trouble showing emotion—a legacy of Thanos's upbringing—but she hugged her brother tightly for a moment.

"Don't let them change you," she whispered in his ear, so quietly the others couldn't hear. "You're perfect just the way you are. With all the scars, with all the metal parts, with all the memories and gaps. Perfect. And if they don't understand that, then the problem is them, not you."

Loki felt a lump rise in his throat. These people had accepted him for his broken self—a frightened, amnesiac cyborg with no memory of his past. They had seen his nightmares, his fits of rage, his moments of utter despair. And yet they still called him family.

Drax put down his knife and whetstone, rose from his seat, and looked at Loki with a piercing gaze—the gaze of a man who knew the pain of loss and the value of family ties.

"You're afraid," he said with his characteristic directness, but there was no condemnation in his voice, only understanding.

"Yes," Loki confirmed without hesitation, his honesty sounding almost like a challenge. "I'm afraid. I'm terrified of the thought that they might not accept me. Or that I might not accept them."

"Fear is good," Drax nodded. "It means you care. Only cowards aren't afraid of what really matters."

Rocket leaped off the table with characteristic agility and approached, his usual aggression and sarcasm replaced by a rare seriousness.

"Listen, if those Asgardian princes treat you badly, just let them know," he said in an unusually gentle voice. "We'll come and explain everything to them. In plain language."

"Explosives," Drax added approvingly. "Explosives are the universal language."

"I am Groot!" the tree giant declared decisively, rustling its branches menacingly.

"Groot says he's also willing to protect his family at any cost," Loki translated, feeling a warmth in his chest from their unconditional support. "And that he can grow very large if he needs to impress the Asgardians."

Peter laughed, and the sound relieved some of the tension that had built up.

"I can just imagine your brother's face if we landed on Asgard with a skyscraper-sized Groot, a Rocket with enough weapons to power half the galaxy, and a knife-wielding Drax."

"And I," Nebula added with a predatory smile, "I can be very persuasive when it comes to matters of family loyalty."

Gamora walked up to Loki and hugged him tightly, a rare gesture of public affection for her.

"We'll miss you, little brother. But I'm glad you decided to take this step. It's the right decision."

"And remember," Peter added, stepping closer, his voice serious, "no matter what happens in Asgard, no matter how long you stay there, you always have a home here. We do. We are the Guardians. We never abandon our own. Never. Even if the entire cosmos rises up against us."

Nebula stood and walked awkwardly toward Loki. She still had trouble showing emotion—a legacy of Thanos's upbringing—but she hugged her brother tightly for a moment.

"Don't let them change you," she whispered in his ear, so quietly the others couldn't hear. "You're perfect just the way you are. With all the scars, with all the metal parts, with all the memories and gaps. Perfect. And if they don't understand that, then the problem is them, not you."

Loki felt a lump rise in his throat. These people had accepted him for his broken self—a frightened, amnesiac cyborg with no memory of his past. They had seen his nightmares, his fits of rage, his moments of utter despair. And yet they still called him family.

"Thank you," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "For everything. For taking a broken fugitive and making him part of something greater."

"Hey," Peter put a hand on his shoulder, his voice warming, "we're all broken here to some degree or another. That's what family is all about—helping each other stick together. And picking each other up when we fall apart again."

"Except me," Drax remarked solemnly. "I've never been broken."

"Drax, you are literally obsessed with revenge and incapable of understanding metaphors, sarcasm, or social innuendo," Nebula said with a smirk.

"It's not a brokenness. It's a character trait," the warrior replied calmly, crossing his arms. "I'm simply more straightforward than you."

"And modest," Rocket added sarcastically.

"Exactly! Thanks for noticing."

Everyone laughed and the tension in the air dissipated like smoke.

"Okay," said Rocket, rubbing his paws and returning to practical matters, "how do you plan to get there? It'll take weeks on a ship, even with the best quantum engines we have."

Loki gazed thoughtfully out of one of the portholes, where faint lines could be discerned among the stars—ancient paths between worlds, cosmic currents visible only to those who knew how to look and possessed magical abilities.

"Teleport," he answered simply. "Through the roots of Yggdrasil."

"Is it safe?" Gamora asked, her brows furrowed in concern. "After everything that's happened to you, after all the changes in your magic..."

Loki nodded, his cybernetic eye glowing brighter for a moment as it processed the recovered memories and analyzed the current state of the magical pathways in his body.

"Even safer than before," he explained with growing confidence. "Thanos's time... it changed my magic. The paradox is that, in trying to break me, he actually destroyed many of the internal barriers that limited my potential. Made it stronger, deeper, more intuitive."

Loki raised his right hand, and green sparks danced around it—brighter and more stable than ever before. The energy pulsed in time with his heart, responding to his emotions and creating complex patterns in the air. The magic no longer required conscious control—it became part of him, like breathing.

"In my meditations, I've regained many memories of how I used to travel between worlds," he continued, observing the play of light. "Before my captivity, I needed hours of preparation, complex rituals, and a tremendous amount of strength. Now..."

He clenched his fist, and the magic concentrated into a dense clot of pure energy, pulsating like a small star.

"Now I feel the cosmic currents as a physical sensation. It's as if Thanos, in trying to erase my memory and rewrite my personality, accidentally removed the mental barriers that had limited my magical potential my entire life. Perhaps this is the only good thing he's ever done for me."

"Really?" Peter leaned closer, mesmerized by the play of light around Loki's hand. "So, this space madman accidentally made you stronger with magic?"

"Not by chance," Loki corrected, dispersing the energy. "He wanted to create the ultimate weapon. And to do that, he needed perfect magic, free from doubt and moral hesitation. The problem was, he didn't understand the true nature of power—it grows not from submission and fear, but from self-acceptance and harmony with one's nature."

"Typical of my father," Nebula chuckled bitterly, "always thought he was smarter than everyone in the universe, and ended up causing his own problems."

"The journey through the roots of the Tree will take a few hours instead of weeks by ship," Loki continued, extinguishing the last sparks of magic. "And I will be able to appear precisely at Heimdall's observatory without attracting unnecessary attention."

Peter whistled, clearly impressed by the possibilities of magic.

"Dude, have you really leveled up that much?"

"You had to survive in the Sanctuary somehow, Petunia," Loki chuckled.

"Then when are you leaving?" Nebula asked, returning once again to the practical details of their departure.

Loki glanced at the clock on the wall, a simple, Earth-type device with a round face that Peter had stubbornly refused to replace with anything more advanced, claiming it reminded him of home.

"Tomorrow morning. I want to think it all over again, collect my thoughts. And..." he glanced at his comrades, "spend one last evening with my family before meeting another family."

"And tonight we're throwing a farewell party!" Peter announced with sudden enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up. "With music, dancing, and food that won't try to kill us or mutate us!"

"Your food is ALWAYS trying to kill us or mutate us," Rocket remarked with his characteristic cynicism.

"It adds spice to life!" Peter countered. "Where's the fun without the risk of dying from dinner?"

"In normal civilizations," Gamora replied dryly.

The next morning

Loki stood in the main compartment of the ship, clad in his finest black armor with green accents. The guards had gathered to see him off, their faces reflecting a mixture of pride, anxiety, and poorly concealed sadness.

Last night's party was a huge success—even Drax danced to Peter's Earth-based music, though his movements were more reminiscent of martial arts moves to the rhythm. Rocket tried to teach everyone some complicated card game, which ended with accusations of cheating and cards flying all over the compartment. Nebula even smiled a few times—a phenomenon so rare that Peter tried to photograph it with his ancient Earth camera.

Now, in the morning light of the ship's artificial lighting, separation seemed real and inevitable.

"Ready?" Gamora asked, handing him a small communicator—a more advanced model than the standard Guardian devices. "This is in case you need to contact. Or just want to talk. Works across multiple galaxies."

"Thank you," Loki accepted the device and tucked it into a hidden pocket of his armor. "And thank you for always knowing the right words."

"And remember," Rocket added, "if anything goes wrong, if these princes turn out to be brazen bullies, we can always stage a 'rescue operation.' With spectacular explosions, chases, and all that."

"I will remember that offer," Loki promised, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.

“I am Groot,” the tree giant said gravely, leaning toward Loki so that his branches almost touched the god’s shoulders.

"Groot wishes you luck and asks you not to forget us," Loki translated, his voice shaking slightly. "And he also says that we will always be family, no matter where we are."

Drax came up and suddenly hugged Loki - tightly, like a brother, almost breaking his ribs.

"You're a good warrior," he said, his words simple but sincere. "And a good brother. Your Asgardian family should understand that. If they don't, they're going to have problems with their eyes."

"No matter what happens, brother, you will always be a Guardian," Peter said, walking up to Loki and clapping him on the shoulder. "That's forever. And if your memories ever fade again, we will remind you of them."

Loki nodded, not trusting his voice. He stepped back, raised his hands, and green magic began to envelop his body in a bright, pulsating light. The air around him shimmered, the temperature rose, and faint lines of light appeared in space—cosmic pathways, ancient routes between worlds, leading to distant Asgard.

In the flow of growing energy, Loki sensed the ancient pathways between worlds, the pulsation of the cosmic web that connected everything in the universe. It was like inhaling pure light, like touching the very fabric of reality.

"See you later, idiots," he said with a warm smile that lit up his entire face. "Try not to blow up the ship without me."

“No promises!” Peter shouted, raising his hand in a farewell gesture.

The green energy flared brighter, enveloping Loki in a ring of light. Reality around him began to blur, the boundaries of space distorted, and he vanished, leaving behind only a faint glow of magic and the scent of ozone.

It was time to meet the family that had given him life, a name, and a home—even if he himself had not been born on their golden land under their shining stars.

In Asgard

Thor woke long before dawn, though he'd slept only an hour. He tossed and turned all night, replaying his conversation with Loki over and over in his head, analyzing every intonation, every meaningful pause. His brother's voice sounded more confident, more decisive than it had in Midgard—but what lay behind this newfound confidence? Was it a genuine readiness to meet him, or simply years of rigorous training in concealing true emotions behind a mask of cold calm?

Rising from his bed, Thor approached the tall arched window of his chambers, adorned with stained-glass images of lightning and storm clouds. Beyond the thick glass, Asgard lay spread out in the pre-dawn haze—the golden spires of palaces reaching skyward, graceful bridges between floating islands, like works of art suspended in mid-air, gardens where the first birds were already beginning to sing their morning trills. Everything appeared peaceful, calm, and majestic, but within the prince, a veritable storm of anxiety and anticipation raged.

Today, he reminded himself, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. He could show up at any moment. My little brother, the one I thought was dead for a year.

Thor dressed with particular, almost painful care, changing several times and looking at himself in the mirror with dissatisfaction. Not too formal—lest he alarm his brother with cold ceremonies and court etiquette—but not too casual either—after all, this was the prodigal prince's homecoming, an event of historic proportions. He finally settled on a dark blue tunic with fine silver embroidery along the edges and black leather breeches—clothes he vaguely remembered from childhood that Loki had prized for their elegant simplicity.

His hands trembled treacherously as he fastened the wide leather belt with its silver buckle. A year ago, he'd believed Loki dead, and grief had nearly driven him mad, turning him into a dark shadow of his former self. Two weeks ago, he'd learned his brother was alive, but he'd become a stranger, a cold cyborg who looked at him like a barely familiar stranger from a foggy past. And today...

Today, Loki promised to return home. But what will it be like? Will he recognize his home in the golden halls of his childhood? Will his heart warm at the sight of familiar faces? And, most importantly, will he want to stay here in Asgard, or will this meeting be just a brief episode before his new departure for the stars?

The same atmosphere of nervous anticipation reigned in the parents' chambers. When Thor knocked on the door, he was met by Odin and Frigga, already fully dressed. The All-Father wore a less formal version of the royal regalia—golden armor without ceremonial embellishments and a simple dark red cloak. Frigga chose a sky-blue dress—the very one in which, she remembered, Loki always said she looked most beautiful.

“You weren’t sleeping either,” Odin stated, noticing the dark shadows under his eldest son’s eyes and his clearly worried expression.

"So are you," Thor replied, glancing at his parents. "Mom, you were going through your jewelry an hour ago. I could hear the jingle of bracelets and necklaces even through the walls."

Frigga smiled guiltily, her cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment.

"I wanted it to look... right," she admitted. "Not too grand, so as not to overwhelm, not too simple, so as not to devalue the significance of the moment. So that he wouldn't feel like a stranger in his own home."

"He is no stranger," Odin said firmly, and Gungnir struck the marble floor softly in time with his words. "No matter what has happened over the years, no matter what has changed him, no matter what scars life has left on him—he is our son. Blood of blood, spirit of spirit."

But Thor still sensed the same underlying uncertainty in the Allfather's voice, the same doubts that had plagued him. The words sounded convincing, but behind them lay fear: what if his youngest son had changed so much that he would be unrecognizable?

When they arrived at the Rainbow Bridge, dawn was just beginning to paint the Asgardian sky golden. Heimdall stood at his post on the edge of the cliff, but instead of his usual static, almost meditative pose, he nervously fingered the hilt of Hofund, his golden eyes restlessly scanning the horizon. Even the all-seeing guardian, accustomed to the mysteries of the cosmos, seemed agitated.

“Do you see him?” Thor asked immediately, unable to hide his impatience.

"Fragments," Heimdall replied, irritation evident in his voice, quite unusual for the usually calm guardian. "His magic is creating strange, incomprehensible interference. It's as if he's shrouded in a thick fog that dissipates and thickens in ways I don't understand."

"Interference?" Odin asked, raising a single eyebrow in surprise. "That has never happened before. Loki has always been transparent to your sight."

"Much has changed in this difficult year," Heimdall replied grimly, gripping the hilt of his sword. "Prince Loki... he is no longer the same. His magical essence has become... deeper. More layered. More difficult to perceive."

Frigga nervously tugged at the folds of her dress, her motherly heart clenched with anxiety.

"Did he even say how he was going to get here?" she asked Thor in a trembling voice, but he shook his head.

Heimdall frowned thoughtfully, his golden eyes shining briefly as he tried to penetrate the magical veils.

"I can't quite figure out how he travels with all this interference," he said slowly. "But I can guess he's using the roots of Yggdrasil. The ancient pathways between worlds."

"What? He remembers how to do this?" Frigga's voice grew increasingly panicked. "Loki required days of meticulous preparation for long journeys. Rituals, artifacts, precise astronomical calculations, magic circles. Traveling from the edge of the galaxy to Asgard... it must require an incredible expenditure of energy, enough to kill an unprepared mage."

"I don't know how he does it, but he moves confidently and quickly," Heimdall remarked, a note of concern in his voice. "Too confidently for someone who has to travel such distances."

They stood in tense silence, each lost in their own troubling thoughts and worst-case scenarios. Thor tried to recall how Loki had traveled between worlds before—always with great effort, rituals, spells, sometimes even losing consciousness from complete magical exhaustion after particularly long journeys. And now…

"Perhaps he will need help?" Frigga suddenly became worried again, grabbing her husband by the sleeve. "What if he overestimated his strength? What if he got lost somewhere between worlds, lost in the endless corridors of space and time?"

Odin placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, though Thor could see that his father was experiencing the same fears, the same doubts.

"Heimdall would have told me if anything had gone wrong," said the Allfather, reassuring himself more than his wife.

"Yes, of course," the guard confirmed, though there was an unusual tremor in his voice. "Although, I must admit, this magical interference does make observation quite difficult..."

Suddenly, Heimdall straightened as if struck by lightning. His golden eyes flashed with a blinding light, and his massive body tensed like a string.

"It's coming," he announced, his usually calm voice laced with surprise, admiration, and deep concern. "But this... my gods, this is impossible. This can't be."

"What? What's going on?" Thor asked anxiously, his heart pounding.

"The energy I sense... Prince Loki doesn't travel through artifacts or complex ritual spells," Heimdall's voice was full of amazement. "He simply... glides through the cosmic currents as if they were his own. As if he himself had become part of the cosmic magic."

Odin's eyes widened in surprise and his face turned waxy white.

"Ordered? Heimdall, are you absolutely certain of what you see?"

"Absolutely certain," the guard confirmed, his voice filled with awe. "Furthermore, he moves with incredible, inhuman speed. A journey that would take even the most experienced and powerful Asgardian mage hours, he covers in minutes."

Frigg squeezed her husband's hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"One, what does this mean? What happened to our boy?"

The Allfather was silent for several long seconds, feverishly going through his memory of ancient knowledge, millennia-old knowledge of magic, interdimensional travel, and the possible consequences of magical trauma.

“Or Loki somehow gained access to artifacts of incredible, cosmic power...” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“Both?” Thor asked insistently.

"Or perhaps the years spent with Thanos have altered his magical abilities far beyond our wildest or most frightening conjectures," Odin concluded, his voice trembling. A faint green light flickered in the air before them—at first barely noticeable sparks, dancing like fireflies in the summer twilight. But instead of the slow, gradual intensification characteristic of ordinary, familiar teleportation, the light grew rapidly, almost aggressively, forming complex, intertwining patterns of pure energy.

The sparks coalesced into a rapidly expanding portal of cosmic energy, but it was more than just a portal—it was a veritable rift in the very fabric of reality, surrounded by ancient runes that pulsed with their own inner light, creating hypnotic patterns.

"How does he know these runes?" Odin whispered in amazement, recognizing the symbols used only by the greatest mages of Asgard in their most complex spells. "I don't recall teaching him these... and I don't think I could reproduce them with such precision myself."

"Perhaps he learned it somewhere over the years?" Thor suggested hesitantly, but the explanation seemed unconvincing.

The portal expanded to the size of a man, and the magical energy around it became so dense and palpable that the air literally sparkled and crackled with tension. From the depths of the portal came a sound—not the usual roar or rumble, but a melody, a cosmic symphony of movement between worlds, the music of the spheres, audible only to a select few.

“He’s here,” Frigga whispered, instinctively taking a step forward, feeling her mother’s heart reach out to her son.

The portal expanded to its maximum size, and a tall figure emerged from it.

Loki.

Thor barely suppressed a sigh of shock. His brother had changed even more in these weeks. In the weeks since their meeting on Midgard, his brother had changed even more, and the changes were astounding. Not just externally—though that was noticeable—but on some deeper, more fundamental level. He looked… whole. Complete. As if he had finally pieced himself together from all his disparate parts and accepted each of them.

The black tactical armor with green accents clung to him like a second skin, accentuating his muscular build. Every detail was meticulously considered, from the high boots to the runic-patterned shoulder pads. The cybernetic details no longer looked out of place—they blended seamlessly into the overall look, complementing rather than disrupting the harmony of the whole.

But most of all, Loki's face had changed. His sharp features became even sharper, his cheekbones more prominent. His posture radiated the confidence of a battle-hardened warrior who had learned his true strength through pain and trials. But his eyes—both the organic emerald and the shimmering cybernetic—no longer held the empty, detached politeness Thor had seen on Midgard.

The portal behind Loki began to slowly shrink, the energy dissipating in intricate spirals, but Loki seemed oblivious. His gaze immediately fell on the ruined section of the Rainbow Bridge—that cursed spot where, a year ago, he had released Gungnir and plummeted into the abyss of space.

Thor saw his brother's face twitch, as if in sudden pain. The cybernetic eye flared brighter, no doubt processing the memory that had suddenly surfaced in all its painful, inescapable vividness. Thor himself always experienced the same torment when looking at the ruined bridge and the gaping abyss beyond—a reminder of the worst day of his life.

Loki closed his eyes, fighting the images that came flooding back.

His father screams, "No!" His own fingers slowly loosen around Gungnir's shaft. The sensation of falling into an endless, cold void between worlds...

But Loki quickly regained his composure, employing mental control techniques honed over months of meditation. He mentally put aside the painful memory, focusing on the present, far more important moment.

The portal vanished completely, leaving them in the relative silence of Asgard's early morning. Only the soft singing of exotic birds in the royal gardens and the distant hum of the waking city broke the solemn stillness of the moment.

For several long, almost endless seconds, no one moved. The family looked at Loki, holding their breath, and he peered into their faces—each afraid to ruin the fragility of this historic moment with a careless movement or a poorly chosen word.

Loki was the first to break the silence. Slowly, with the grace of a dancer, he dropped to one knee before his parents. The movement was precise, measured, flawlessly executed—but it betrayed a deep emotional caution.

"All-Father," he said in a level, formal, but not cold voice. "All-Mother."

Then his gaze moved to Thor, and a subtle but undeniable warmth appeared in it.

"Brother".

The last word didn't carry the same agonizing uncertainty as on Midgard. It conveyed a cautious but sincere affection.

Odin and Frigga exchanged quick, hopeful glances. Relief mingled with shock at what they saw. Their son had returned, but he was certainly not the naive, sometimes frivolous youth they remembered. Before them stood a young man, a seasoned warrior, a man who had endured trials the scale of which they could only imagine.

Odin was the first to collect his thoughts, summoning all his thousand-year-old skills of royal composure.

"Rise, Loki," he said, his usually commanding voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "You are home. In your home. There is no room for formality between father and son."

Loki rose smoothly, and Thor could see him even better. The scars on his face had faded—time, and perhaps magic, had apparently taken their toll. But the cybernetic parts stood out brightly in the Asgardian morning light. His left hand moved with mechanical precision, yet naturally. His cybernetic eye flickered, constantly scanning his surroundings—a habit ingrained by years of danger.

Frigga stepped forward slowly, almost reverently, her maternal instincts warring fiercely with royal dignity and etiquette. She stopped directly in front of her son, and Thor watched with avidity, with aching tenderness, as her gaze studied every feature of his changed face, every new scar, every wrinkle that had appeared over the years of separation.

“May I?” she asked quietly, almost in a whisper, carefully raising her trembling hand.

Loki nodded without hesitation, and Frigga gently touched his cheek, as if she were holding something incredibly precious and yet fragile. Her fingers gently traced the line of the small scar near his temple, then gently, with motherly care, touched the edge of the cybernetic plates visible beneath his skin.

"My dear boy," she whispered, and her voice carried all the pain her mother had accumulated over that painful year. "What they did to you... what you endured..."

"What was necessary for survival," Loki replied simply, not pulling away from her maternal touch. There was no bitterness or self-pity in his voice—just a statement of fact. "But I survived, Mother. I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm whole again."

The word "mother" sounded so natural, as if nothing had changed during that terrible year of separation. Frigga closed her eyes, greedily absorbing the sound she craved every second of every endless day.

“Yes,” she whispered, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. “You’re here. You’re really here, next to us.”

Odin approached slowly, his single piercing eye studying his youngest son. In his long life, the Allfather had seen many warriors return from brutal wars changed beyond recognition, but this case was truly special.

"You look... stronger," he said carefully, choosing his words carefully. "Not just physically. Internally. Spiritually."

"Trials harden," Loki replied, without a trace of bitterness or self-pity. "They break some completely, while others become stronger than steel."

"And you?".

Loki smiled faintly, the first real, living smile he had seen since his arrival.

"I've learned to be both when needed."

Thor stood to the side the entire time, hesitating to approach. An irrational fear gripped his throat with iron fingers. What if, despite the apparent progress in his memory, Loki still saw him as only a vaguely familiar face from a half-forgotten, foggy past?

Loki turned to him, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts and the emotional tension in his older brother. Their eyes met—blue and green, full of unspoken questions, hopes, and fears.

"Thor," Loki said, and there was no hint of formality or detachment in his voice. Only a cautious but genuine warmth. "You look worried. What is troubling you?"

"I was afraid," Thor admitted frankly, deciding it was best to tell the new Loki the truth, without diplomatic evasions. "I was afraid you'd change your mind at the last moment. That you'd decide your place was among the Guardians, not here in Asgard."

A subtle but recognizable boyish grin appeared on Loki's face—the same one Thor remembered from childhood, whenever his younger brother was planning another joke or prank.

"The Guardians understand I have unfinished business here," he explained with his characteristic cautious diplomacy. "A past to piece together and understand. And a family to... reconnect with, to find a new understanding."

He took a step closer to his brother, and Thor noticed that his movements no longer had the wariness that had been there in Midgard.

“Moreover, they know that I have an older brother who, in their exact words, is ‘too stubborn to give up.’”

Thor felt something warm and joyful spreading in his chest, melting the ice of fear and uncertainty.

"They're absolutely right," he confirmed, smiling even more. "Especially when it comes to family. I don't give up when it comes to the people I love."

"Family," Loki repeated thoughtfully. "I wonder how that word can mean so many different things at once."

Thor couldn't bear it anymore. All those weeks of agonizing anticipation, fear, hope, sleepless nights—it all came together in one spontaneous movement. He stepped forward and hugged Loki tightly, ignoring the way his little brother instinctively froze in surprise.

"I missed you so much," he whispered into his brother's shoulder, his voice trembling with emotion. "I was so afraid I'd never see you again. That I'd lost forever the most precious person in all the nine worlds."

Loki froze for a moment—physical contact was still difficult after years of complete isolation and mistrust. But then his arms—both warm organic and cold cybernetic—slowly but surely embraced Thor in return. The gesture was genuine, sincere, without any awkwardness or coercion.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long," he said quietly, his voice filled with genuine guilt for the pain he'd caused. "I needed to understand who I am now, to accept myself in all my glory, before trying to reconnect with who I once was."

"You're back," Thor said, pulling back to look his brother in the eyes—both eyes unable to distinguish life from cybernetic. "That's all that matters. You've truly come home to us."

There were tears in Loki's eyes - both of them.

“Yes,” he nodded, his voice quieter, more intimate. “I’m home. Finally, truly home.”

Heimdall, who had been tactfully silent all this time, allowing the family to reunite in these precious first moments, finally decided to speak:

"Welcome home, Prince Loki," he said with genuine warmth in his voice. "The Rainbow Bridge and the observatory have missed your footsteps and laughter."

Loki turned to the ancient guardian and bowed slightly, respectfully, with a small but sincere smile on his face.

"Thank you, Heimdall. It's good to see your unchanged face again amid all the changes."

But only when the first, most powerful emotions of the meeting had somewhat subsided, Heimdall finally decided to express what had been bothering him since the portal appeared.

"Prince Loki," he said very carefully, choosing each word carefully, "forgive my abruptness, but how did you... how did you manage to cover such a huge distance with practically no visible effort and without experiencing fatigue?"

Loki turned to him in surprise, genuinely confused by the problem.

"Effortless? Is that something special or unusual?"

A heavy, tense silence hung in the air. Frigga and her husband exchanged worried, astonished glances, and Thor felt a chill of unease run down his spine.

One approached slowly, his experienced gaze, trained over millennia, analyzing every detail of the teleportation ritual.

"Loki," he said with extreme caution, "the portal stabilization runes you used to open the dimensional gates... where did you learn them?"

"Runes?" Loki turned in surprise to the spot where the portal had glowed and vanished just moments before. "I was simply... doing what felt natural and right. Is using runes something special?"

"My son," Odin said slowly, his voice hoarse with poorly concealed shock, "these runes… they are the most ancient magic of Asgard, mixed with something else I cannot fully discern. Spells and symbols that require decades of theoretical study and practical training…"

"And which you used as instinctively as if you were breathing," Heimdall finished, his usually calm voice filled with awe and deep concern.

Loki frowned, as if he was genuinely trying to figure out what exactly the problem was and why everyone was so worried.

"I've been intensively recovering my memories through meditative techniques for the past few weeks," he explained in a calm, thoughtful tone. "So much has surfaced from the depths of my memory—spells, magical techniques, ancient knowledge that had apparently been buried deep beneath layers of trauma. I thought this was a completely normal part of the healing process."

"Alright?" Odin repeated, his single eye filled with horror. "Loki, the journey you just made from the edge of the galaxy would have exhausted even the most powerful and experienced mage in Asgard. Most sorcerers wouldn't have survived such a journey. And you look as if it was just a light morning stroll through the palace gardens."

Loki looked thoughtfully at his father, and then at his hands, as if seeing them in a new light.

"Perhaps it's because Thanos was actively trying to enhance my magical abilities, creating the perfect weapon?" he surmised with the scientific detachment that always helped him analyze complex problems. "Or perhaps the psychological trauma somehow unlocked magical potential that had previously been locked away or suppressed."

He shrugged with a casualness that only added to his parents' growing anxiety.

"Honestly, I'm just glad I can do this. It makes intergalactic travel a lot easier and makes me more useful to the Guardians."

Frigga stepped forward quickly, her maternal instincts completely overriding royal protocol and diplomatic etiquette.

"Are you... are you feeling well physically?" she asked with ill-concealed concern. "No pain, weakness, dizziness, or any strange sensations?"

"Excellent," Loki assured her sincerely, his smile warm and reassuring. "Moreover, I feel... whole. Harmonious." For the first time in years, everything within me—magical, physical, emotional—is working in unison."

But Thor noticed his father and Heimdall exchange extremely worried glances over Loki's head. Such a sudden, unprecedented surge of magical ability was not just unusual—it posed a potential danger to the wielder and those around him.

"Perhaps," Heimdall suggested with extreme caution, "we should conduct... a thorough magical diagnosis. To ensure that these radical changes do not carry hidden negative consequences for your health and stability."

Loki's expression instantly became wary, and his posture took on a familiar defensive stance.

"Diagnostics? Do you seriously think there's something wrong with me?"

"No, dear, of course not," Frigga hastily assured him, holding out her hands to him in a soothing gesture. "It's just... such sudden changes in magical abilities are sometimes associated with..."

"Madness?" Loki interrupted coldly, his voice taking on an icy edge. "Possession? The influence of dark, forbidden forces?"

An awkward, tense silence hung in the air. Thor realized they were treading on very thin ice: one careless step, one wrong word, and the fragile trust Loki had placed in them could be shattered forever.

"We're just worried," Thor said, approaching his brother cautiously. "A year ago, you could barely teleport even to neighboring worlds, and it took incredible effort. And today, you've flown halfway across the known galaxy as if nothing had happened. It's… unexpected and a little frightening."

Loki studied the faces of his family: Frigga's sincere maternal concern, Odin's cautious paternal worry, Thor's brotherly concern. Streams of data flickered in his cybernetic eye: analysis of microexpressions, heart rate, chemical stress markers.

“You’re afraid of me,” he stated without the slightest accusation in his voice, simply as an objective fact.

"We're afraid FOR you," Frigga quickly corrected, her voice trembling with emotion. "Magic is an incredibly powerful force, but it can also be destructive if not properly controlled or if it exceeds the wielder's capabilities."

Loki nodded slowly, rationally understanding their logic and motives, though emotionally it still hurt him.

He looked at the destroyed part of the Rainbow Bridge, a symbol of his past inability to control the situation and his emotions.

"We really do have a lot to discuss," he finally said. "About the past, present, and future. And I'd rather discuss it as a family, not as suspicious allies studying a potential threat."

One stepped resolutely toward his youngest son and placed his hand on his shoulder, a gesture of both protection and acceptance.

"I agree, my son," he said with genuine warmth. "But know and remember: no matter what the diagnostics show, no matter what you remember from the past, no matter what changes have occurred in your abilities—you remain our beloved son. Our family. Nothing will change that."

"I sincerely hope so," Loki replied quietly, a cautious note of hope in his voice. "Because the journey home was too long and painful to be lost again due to fears and misunderstandings."

And for the first time in a long, painful year, the majestic Rainbow Bridge observatory was once again filled with the sounds of genuine family happiness and relief.

But everyone understood that this was only the very beginning of a long journey towards complete reunification and mutual understanding.

"Perhaps we should ride?" Odin suggested as they walked away from the bridge. "The journey is long, and we have much to discuss along the way."

Heimdall gestured to the grooms—two young Asgardians in simple leather robes—who materialized as if out of thin air. They moved with the distinctive combination of deference and efficiency characteristic of upper-class palace servants. A few minutes later, four magnificent Asgardian steeds were brought to the foot of the Rainbow Bridge.

Sleipnir, according to Odin, is a legendary eight-legged stallion whose silver mane flowed even in complete repose, as if imbued with its own magical energy. His every movement was the embodiment of royal strength and grace. For Frigg, they brought a graceful, snow-white mare named Ljösalfgrim, adorned with delicate golden chains in her mane that jingled melodically with every step. Thor received his beloved black stallion, Gullfaxi, whose black coat shimmered with blue, and whose eyes shone with an almost human intelligence.

And for Loki they brought...

"This can't be," he whispered, frozen at the sight of the familiar silhouette, his cybernetic hand involuntarily clenching into a fist with a sudden surge of emotion.

A magnificent black stallion with a long dark mane that seemed to shimmer with emerald sparks in the soft morning light of Asgard. Tall, of noble blood, with a muscular yet elegant build. His large brown eyes shone with vivid recognition, and his muzzle was adorned with a distinctive white star on his forehead.

"Eiriksvinn," said Loki, his voice shaking with the sudden rush of childhood memories, memories, memories.

The horse whinnied softly—quietly but melodically, as if greeting an old friend—and took a few steps toward him, burying its long muzzle in the outstretched organic hand. The animal was completely unfazed when Loki gently stroked its neck with his cybernetic hand, the metal fingers gliding over the smooth skin with the same gentleness as real ones.

Memories came flooding back in an unstoppable stream.

As a child, he'd ridden this same horse through the forest paths of Asgard. His first riding lessons were with his father. Unsure attempts to control the reins, fear and delight mingled in equal parts. Long, solitary rides when he needed to ponder a complex magical task...

"We tended him every day," Frigga said quietly, watching the touching reunion. "We fed him, washed him, walked him. The grooms said he often glanced at the road, as if he were waiting for someone. In case you came back."

Loki ran both hands over the familiar neck. Eiriksvinn didn't flinch from the metallic touch, only snorted softly and turned his head slightly to better observe the changes in his master. There was no fear or embarrassment in the horse's large brown eyes—only acceptance and joy at the meeting.

“Thank you,” Loki said, and those simple words were so full of sincere gratitude for the preserved connection with the past that a lump of affection rose in the others’ throats.

He slid easily into the saddle, and it was immediately obvious: some skills are truly unforgettable, even after years of separation and radical changes in body and mind. His posture was impeccable: his back straight, his hands gripping the reins confidently and gently, his body instinctively moving in perfect rhythm with the animal's movements.

But most striking was the astonishing combination of natural grace and constant combat readiness. Loki sat seemingly relaxed, yet every line of his body spoke of his readiness to instantly react to any threat. His eyes methodically scanned the surroundings, automatically noting every movement in the crowd, every shadow between buildings, every potential escape route.

It was the pose of a man who had lived too long in a world where relaxation could mean death.

As the small cavalcade moved along the main paved road to the central palace, a real unrest began among the peaceful inhabitants of Asgard.

The merchants setting out their colorful stalls with their morning wares froze at the sight of the royal family, but their gaze was invariably drawn, as if by a magnet, to the fourth horseman. Women with baskets of fruit and bread stood frozen in the middle of the road, clutching their chests in amazement. The men removed their hats and bowed, but could not tear their eyes away from the incredible spectacle.

Prince Loki. Alive. Well. But... incredibly, radically changed.

Children playing in the alleys ran out onto the main road, hearing the distinctive clatter of horseshoes on the cobblestones. But upon seeing the procession, they froze, eyes wide with amazement, and then rushed toward their parents, tugging at their dresses and tunics and pointing their fingers at the horsemen.

The golden-armored guards patrolling the streets stopped and stood at attention, greeting the royal family. But their usually inscrutable faces expressed poorly concealed shock and confusion. Several times, Thor saw the guards exchange glances, as if silently asking, "Do you see it too?"

"Prince Loki! My gods, Prince Loki has returned!" someone from the crowd shouted, and the cry spread through the street like a forest fire in dry weather.

Other voices took up the words:

"He's alive!"

"Look, he's changed!"

"What happened to his hand?"

"My gods, what happened to him?"

Loki carried himself with impeccable royal dignity, occasionally nodding to the particularly bold citizens who dared to wave to him. But Thor, who knew his brother better than most, noticed the slight tension in Loki's shoulders, the slight clench of his jaw. So much attention, so many intense, searching glances—after so many years spent in complete isolation...

“Maybe we should hurry?” Thor suggested quietly, leaning toward his brother.

"No," Loki replied, straightening in the saddle. "Let them see. Let them get used to it gradually. It's bound to happen sooner or later, so it's best to do it on my terms."

Frigga looked at her youngest son with maternal pride. Her son hadn't just returned home—he had returned strong, confident, ready to face any challenge head-on.

But as they approached the central palace, the crowds of onlookers grew larger and denser. News of the young prince's incredible return spread throughout the city far faster than their horses could move. People literally ran out of their houses and shops, abandoned their unfinished business, and lined the road in tight rows, as if at a royal parade or a festive procession.

And everyone watched. With undisguised curiosity, they gazed at the scars that crisscrossed the prince's face like thin silver lines. At the cybernetic details glinting in the sun. At his changed posture, more mature and stern. At his gaze, far more attentive and wary than the look of that carefree youth they remembered.

The eyes of some townspeople shone with genuine curiosity and joy at his return. In others, there was deep sympathy for the obvious suffering the prince had endured. Still others, a poorly concealed fear of the unknown, of changes that seemed too radical.

"They are afraid," Loki stated calmly, not turning to face his family, but knowing they could hear his every word.

"They just need time to adjust," Frigga replied quietly, trying to infuse her voice with as much maternal support as possible. "You have truly changed a lot, my dear. But change isn't always a bad thing." "I understand," Loki nodded, his voice free of bitterness or resentment. "But I wonder if they'll be able to accept these changes. Or will I forever remain a stranger to them in my own home?"

Eiriksvinn, as if sensing his master's mood, flattened his ears slightly and snorted in solidarity. Loki stroked his neck soothingly.

When they finally arrived at the palace's majestic main gates—massive golden doors adorned with runes of protection and strength—a ceremonious procession of courtiers, servants, and guards awaited them. Word of their approach had apparently preceded the procession, and the entire court had gathered to greet the returning prince.

Loki dismounted with the same ease and grace with which he had mounted his horse. Despite the cybernetic enhancements, his movements were fluid. He carefully handed the reins to the young groom—a man of about twenty who gazed at the prince with ill-concealed awe—and tenderly stroked Eiriksvinn's neck as he said goodbye.

"Thanks for the wonderful ride, old friend," he whispered to the horse, so quietly that only his closest friends could hear. "We'll definitely ride again soon. We have a lot of catching up to do."

Eiriksvinn whinnied softly in response and nuzzled his master's shoulder, as if understanding every word and expressing his joy at the reunion.

One led them up the wide white marble steps of the palace, adorned with golden railings, but before entering the main doors, he turned to his youngest son.

"Are you ready to enter the throne room?" he asked, his voice a mixture of warning and encouragement. "We are sure to have some very interesting and perhaps difficult conversations there."

Loki slowly raised his gaze to the familiar golden columns supporting the majestic portico, to the massive double doors of dark wood adorned with ancient runes of strength, protection, and wisdom. A year ago, he had left this palace in a state of rage, despair, and a complete misunderstanding of his place in the world. Today, he returned... as what? Still a son and a prince? A stranger who happened to bear a familiar face? Or someone entirely new—a hybrid of past and present?

"More than ready," he replied firmly, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin with the same regal dignity that was in his blood. "It's time to finally find out if I can rightfully call this place home again."