Chapter 1 - A Warning Within The Rain

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There's a certain healing found in raindrops. In the kind that lazily fall upon the place beneath, gently kissing the Earth and cleansing her wounds. 


But these raindrops aren't lazy. Or gentle.


They slice at your skin, burning your cheeks and chest. They bring with them tidings of danger as the winds whisper "caution" between their howls.


Your heart pounds and your breath catches, as if snagged upon the warning being delivered by the storm. Your eyes flit quickly between the two Gods who circle each other slowly. Neither is willing to attack first, nor willing to trust the other won't. Loki bears a silver dagger, conjured in a haze of green. Thor keeps a tight grip on Mjolnir - his knuckles white.


Suddenly, Thor's voice breaks through the empty white noise of the rain as it falls upon the parking lot, drowning out the drum of the crashing waves on the beach's distant shoreline. 


"I don't want to fight you, brother. But I must have an answer. Will you help me?"


You wince as he grows in volume and step back, instinctively placing a protective hand on the wet hood of your shabby brown Volvo. Your son is inside. And you'll be damned if you let anything happen to him in your presence.


Your eyes flit back to Loki as he lets out a low scoff in detest. His long raven hair is slicked down by the rain, hanging heavily on his shoulders. And although his Asgardian robes must be growing burdensome under the weight of the layers of wet fabric, he holds his head high and keeps his shoulders thrown back proudly. His nostrils flare slightly and his green eyes narrow as one dark brow arches in equal parts contempt and intrigue.


"After all this time...and you believe we will come when called, scampering to the steps of the palace like dogs trained to their master?" Loki snarls in response. 


"Loki, please, I-"


"Let me tell you something, brother," Loki interrupts with a cold sneer. "Odin is no longer my master. I will not bow to he who has hunted my family out of pure spite. And I will certainly not help him."


You watch as the vein in Loki's forehead throbs. He cocks his head slightly, his jaw tight. Despite these small and nearly imperceptible displays of anger, he keeps a cool and collected demeanor. One that is, perhaps, even tinged by the slightest expression of sickened amusement. His mask.


Loki's mask is dangerous. You know if he keeps it on too long, he will become that which he pretends to be, and a shiver crawls down your spine. You're chilled by the slow emergence of the old Loki you once knew - the angry, sadistic, and suspicious God of Mischief. Your Loki - the passionate lover and innocent prankster - is nowhere to be found. He is gone. Buried somewhere deep inside. 


You have seen this once before - in Galway. The night of the attack. You pray Thor proceeds cautiously.


"You would refuse this olive branch, Loki?" Thor calls out above the rain. 


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