The Phoenix's flattery was awkward, even if it sincerely praised Solomon's past accomplishments. He found it difficult to accept such adulation and deftly changed the topic to inventorying his spell components. The Phoenix, knowing the contents of his dimensional bag inside out, had access to its magical locks.
"One vial of live spiders is missing—only a few spider legs remain," it said. "Though I can't be sure if your pet cat ran off with them. It's been ages since you fed those spiders, and I recall you once stashed them alongside alchemical automaton sketches…"
"So, the missing parchment isn't lost—it's because I forgot to take it from my study?" Solomon inhaled deeply. The faint scent of burnt wood still lingered in the palace air, invading his lungs and mirroring his mood—a burning sensation in his chest.
"Correct." The Phoenix nodded lightly. "And don't worry about those witches' attitudes. For someone of your status, acquiring a few concubines would be effortless, even if the two witches and the Queen of Sheba…"
"Phoenix…"
"Yes, My Lord?" It tilted its head, long feathers swaying gently.
"Shut up. Especially when the witches are around."
"But they're not here, My Lord." The Phoenix grumbled softly, concerned for its master's mental state.
"Even so."
Sif entered Solomon's room carrying a large tray of fruit and meat. Thoughtfully, she had realized there was no feast following the funeral and assumed the mage must be hungry since he hadn't been seen at the tavern. She was followed by Volstagg and Fandral, though neither seemed their usual boisterous selves.
After Solomon invited them to sit, not even Volstagg reached for the food. They looked like weary stray dogs, their armor still bearing the marks of earlier battles.
"Thor went to the dungeons," Sif said after a moment of silence. "He told Loki about Frigga and asked for his help. Thor hopes you and Loki can set aside your differences from Midgard and work together against the Dark Elves. He wanted to speak to you himself, but he couldn't leave just now…"
"Stop dithering and agree already," Volstagg interrupted, earning collective glares from everyone present. Scratching his bushy red beard, he scattered dried blood from Dark Elf soldiers across the freshly cleaned floor. "Avenging the queen is what matters most. If you've got issues with Loki, settle them after the war. If it comes to it, you can kill him one-on-one afterward. I won't tell anyone. If the Allfather asks, I'll say Loki fell to the Dark Elves. How about it? Help us out, and I, Volstagg, owe you a favor. You can name your price…"
"Enough, you glutton," Fandral snapped, clamping a hand over Volstagg's mouth before recoiling in disgust. He wiped his hand on his tunic—Volstagg's beard seemed to harbor everything, from Dark Elf blood to… was that butter?
Lying to the Allfather would be treason, but knowing Volstagg's reckless nature, he might actually do it to repay a debt. Fandral interrupted before the promises spiraled further. Allowing tensions between Asgard and Kamar-Taj to escalate was the last thing he wanted—at least, not yet.
"I agree," Solomon said flatly. "Loki has paid his dues. Asgard need only issue a formal declaration—proof of his lifelong imprisonment. Sif, you're close to Heimdall. Ask him to draft an official statement. After the war, Loki must return to his cell, so I can report back to Kamar-Taj."
"I will," Sif nodded. "If not for the Dark Elves' attack, this matter would've been resolved sooner. Now, let's talk about the Aether. Aside from the Allfather, no one knows more about it than you. We didn't want to disturb his grief, so we came to you."
"Very well," Solomon said, slipping into lecture mode. "The Aether's properties as the fifth extraneous element…"
"Doesn't this sadden you, Loki?" Thor stood outside the dungeon's barrier, his tone heavy and subdued. Though the body had been removed, the metallic scent of blood lingered. Loki, his only audience, maintained an air of indifference.
"She was your mother, too," Thor continued, glancing at Loki's turned back. "If you want to say something, let the guards know. We're family, after all."
"Perhaps," Loki replied, his voice cold and detached. When he finally turned, the light in the cell illuminated his face, revealing a shadow like a thin, pale veil. "You can leave now. The future king of Asgard has no business with a mere prisoner."
"Loki!" Thor's shout cracked like thunder. "She was your mother! Do you feel nothing for her?"
"And if I do?" Loki's soft laughter pierced the air, a sound Thor recognized from his brother's many pranks—mocking and grating. Loki approached the barrier with his hands clasped behind his back. Thor could now see the faint tear tracks glistening on his face, contrasting with his mocking smile.
"What can I do from here, dear brother? You know well—I'm just a prisoner."
"You can avenge her."
"Me?" Loki chuckled as if Thor had told a ridiculous joke. He struck the barrier, breaking into hysterical laughter that turned into coughs. "What am I to do? Curse the Dark Elves from my cell? I've never learned curses, you know. Perhaps you'd like to teach me…"
"No, Loki." Thor's expression hardened. "You'll avenge her as a warrior. As Frigga's son."
"What?"
"This."
Thor smashed Mjölnir against the barrier, shattering the energy field with terrifying force. Loki's eyes widened in disbelief. Before he could react, Thor reached through and grabbed his hand.
The illusion faded, revealing the real Loki slumped in a corner, disheveled and defeated.
"Well, isn't this a mess?" Loki muttered with a bitter smile. "Satisfied? The alarm's already gone off. What's your plan now? Drag me out of here?"
"At least your blood isn't cold," Thor replied, hauling Loki to his feet. "I'll plead your case to the Allfather. You'll kneel—just this once. You're Frigga's son, and you have the right to vengeance. Loki, let's take blood for blood from the Dark Elves!"
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