Chapter 3 : THE GOLDEN MOMENT
The throne room had been built to intimidate.
Pillars thick as ancient trees rose toward a ceiling lost in golden shadow. Banners hung from every surface—the royal crest, Thor's hammer, symbols of Asgard's eternal might. Thousands of warriors stood in ranks, their armor gleaming, their faces turned toward the empty throne at the room's far end.
Ethan—Loki—took his place among the royal family and tried not to hyperventilate.
Frigga stood serene beside Odin's throne. The All-Father himself sat with the stillness of a statue, Gungnir clutched in one hand, his single eye fixed on the great doors. Sif and the Warriors Three occupied positions of honor nearby, their expressions a mix of anticipation and poorly concealed excitement.
They love him, Loki's memories supplied with familiar bitterness. Everyone loves him.
The great doors swung open.
Thor walked in like he owned the universe.
Red cape streaming behind him. Mjolnir spinning in lazy circles at his side. Blonde hair artfully tousled. That grin—that insufferable, golden grin—spreading wider with every step as the crowd erupted into cheers.
He stopped to pose. Actually posed, arms spread wide, drinking in the adoration like wine. A woman threw flowers. He caught them and winked at her.
Jesus Christ.
The academic in him observed with detached fascination. This was the Thor from the first movie's opening—arrogant beyond measure, utterly convinced of his own rightness. The Thor who would invade Jotunheim on a whim and nearly restart an ancient war.
The pragmatist in him calculated angles. This Thor could be manipulated easily. His ego was a handle anyone could grab.
The person underneath—the fragment of Loki that remained—felt something unexpected.
Pity.
Thor's confidence was a shell. Beneath the bravado lay a man who'd never failed at anything, never been challenged, never had to confront the limits of his own power. When that shell cracked—and it would, it had to—the person underneath might be worth knowing.
Or he might shatter completely. Let's hope for the former.
The thunder god reached the throne's steps and knelt with theatrical grace. The crowd fell silent.
Odin rose.
The All-Father commanded attention without effort. Something in his presence—magic, authority, sheer presence accumulated over millennia—made the air itself feel heavier. His voice echoed through the vast chamber.
"Thor Odinson, my heir, my firstborn..."
The ceremony proceeded. Oaths of kingship. Promises of protection. The formal transfer of power that would make Thor king of Asgard and all the Nine Realms.
Loki watched Thor's face. The prince practically vibrated with excitement, barely managing to keep still for the required responses. His hand kept twitching toward Mjolnir.
He thinks this is the beginning. The coronation of the golden son. Happily ever after.
He has no idea what's coming.
The certainty crystallized in his chest. The Frost Giants were coming. In the original timeline, Loki had arranged it—a secret pathway through Asgard's defenses, a humiliation designed to delay Thor's ascension.
But this Loki hadn't done that. This Loki had woken up three hours ago and barely remembered how to tie his own boots.
So either the invasion wasn't happening...
"Do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?"
"I swear."
...or someone else had arranged it.
Odin paused. His hand tightened on Gungnir. The easy rhythm of the ceremony stuttered.
Something's wrong.
The All-Father's eye had gone distant, focused on something only he could perceive. Heimdall's sight, perhaps—the connection to the guardian who watched everything.
"Frost Giants," Odin said.
The word landed like a bomb.
Thor lunged to his feet, Mjolnir already crackling with lightning. "Father—"
"The vault. They're in the vault."
Chaos erupted. Guards sprinted for the doors. Nobles screamed and scattered. Sif and the Warriors Three drew weapons, forming around Thor like a practiced unit.
Loki stood frozen.
I didn't do this.
The thought echoed over and over, drowning out the shouts and running feet. The invasion had happened. Just like in the movie. Just like it was supposed to.
But I didn't arrange it. I don't even know how.
His fingers dug into the armrest of his ceremonial seat. Gold bit into his skin. The pain grounded him, pulled him out of the spiral.
Think. Analyze. What does this mean?
Option one: someone else had betrayed Asgard. Another traitor, another path through the defenses, a coincidence of cosmic proportions.
Option two: certain events were fixed. Inevitable. Locked into the timeline regardless of what he did or didn't do.
Neither option was comforting.
Thor stormed past him, lightning arcing between his fingers, face twisted with rage. "Brother! Come!"
Loki stood. His legs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. Which, in a sense, they did.
"Coming."
They ran through corridors that blurred into gold streaks. Guards fell in behind them. Thor's cape billowed. Mjolnir hummed with barely contained violence.
The vault doors stood open when they arrived.
Inside was carnage.
Three Frost Giant bodies lay shattered across the floor, their blue skin already graying in death. The Destroyer stood motionless in the center of the chamber, flames still licking from its visor. Whatever had triggered the ancient guardian, it had worked perfectly.
The Casket of Ancient Winters sat untouched on its pedestal.
Thor stalked between the bodies, kicking one with his boot. "Dead. All dead." He spun toward Odin, who'd followed at a more measured pace. "How did they enter? Who betrayed us?"
"That," Odin said slowly, "is the question."
His eye found Loki.
Loki heart stopped.
He knows. He has to know. The original Loki did this, so obviously the new Loki—
But Odin's gaze moved on, sweeping across the assembled guards, the ruined bodies, the undisturbed Casket. Whatever suspicion he harbored, he didn't voice it.
"Double the guard on all vault levels. Heimdall will investigate the breach." Odin's voice carried the finality of absolute authority. "The coronation is postponed."
Thor's fist slammed into a pillar. Cracks spiderwebbed through stone that had stood for ten thousand years. "They invaded our home. On my day. This cannot go unanswered!"
"It will be answered. When we know who to answer."
"The Frost Giants! Laufey's people! Who else would dare—"
"Calm yourself." Odin's voice hardened. "You speak of war against an entire realm. That is not a decision made in anger."
Father and son faced each other across a floor littered with corpses. The tension in the room was a physical thing, pressing against the walls.
Loki stood apart, watching, calculating.
This was the moment. The turning point. In the original story, Loki whispered poison into Thor's ear, goaded him toward Jotunheim, set the banishment in motion.
But Loki's goals had been self-serving. Delay the coronation. Prove Thor unfit. Maybe, eventually, claim the throne for himself.
Loki goals were different.
Thor needs to be banished. That's how he becomes worthy. That's how he becomes the hero who can help me protect this realm.
But do I need to manipulate him? Or will he do it himself?
He watched Thor's face—the rage, the wounded pride, the desperate need to prove himself. A thousand years of being told he was perfect, being groomed for a destiny he'd never questioned.
He'll go. He doesn't need me to push him.
Thor spun on his heel and stormed out without another word. Mjolnir crackled against his thigh.
Odin watched him go. Something flickered across the All-Father's face—weariness, perhaps. The burden of a king who knew his son wasn't ready, had always known, but had hoped anyway.
"Father." The word still felt wrong in his mouth. "Permission to examine the breach?"
Odin's eye fixed on him. "You have thoughts?"
"Questions. The Destroyer eliminated the intruders instantly. Why would Laufey sacrifice warriors for a failed attempt?" He gestured at the bodies, forcing his voice to stay analytical. "Unless the attempt was never meant to succeed."
The original Loki knew that. He designed it that way.
Odin's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. Interest, perhaps. Or suspicion.
"Investigate. Report what you find."
Loki bowed—the formal gesture coming automatically from Loki's muscle memory—and turned to leave.
"Loki."
He stopped.
"Your mother believes something has changed in you." Odin's voice was impossible to read. "I am... watching."
The words hung in the air like a threat and a promise combined.
"Good," Loki said, and surprised himself by meaning it. "Someone should."
He walked out of the vault, past the frozen bodies, past the guards who looked at him with varying degrees of suspicion.
The Casket of Ancient Winters pulsed faintly behind him—a power source tied to his blood, his heritage, the truth about his origins that had broken the original Loki completely.
But he already knew that truth. Had studied it in academic papers, watched it unfold in movies, analyzed its psychological impact for his dissertation.
I'm not Asgardian. I'm Frost Giant. Adopted as a political tool, raised as a backup son, never meant to be king.
The revelation that had destroyed Loki in the original timeline was just... information. Data points in a story he already knew.
He found himself at a junction in the corridors. Left led to Thor's chambers—where the thunder god was undoubtedly planning something stupid. Right led to his own quarters, where he could research, plan, figure out his next move.
From somewhere distant, thunder rumbled.
Timeline's still moving. Thor will go to Jotunheim. Odin will strip his power. The banishment will happen.
The question is: what do I do in the meantime?
He turned left.
If Thor was planning an ill-conceived invasion, someone should at least know about it. Not to stop him—the banishment was necessary—but to prepare for the aftermath.
The hallways echoed with his footsteps. Somewhere ahead, a door slammed with enough force to shake the walls.
Loki walked toward the sound, toward the golden prince who didn't know his world was about to shatter.
Behind him, in the vault, the Casket of Ancient Winters waited.
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