The Lost Asgardian (Loki)

Entry 9)Family Reunion

"Monster" by  Imagine Dragons *Runaground version*

AVA

As I opened my eyes, the reality of my surroundings flooded in. I found myself ensconced within the opulent confines of what appeared to be a grand hotel suite, every corner adorned with an aura of luxury and refinement. The room exuded a palpable elegance, its walls and floors adorned with iridescent granite that shimmered in the soft glow of golden sconces.

My gaze swept across the expanse of the room, taking in the majestic four-poster bed draped in cream and gold, its regal presence commanding attention. Golden pillows, in various shapes and sizes, adorned its surface, inviting repose amidst their plush embrace.
In the distance, a fireplace crackled with a warmth. A writing desk was nestled in the far corner. Nearby, shelves brimmed with books, their spines whispering tales of worlds both known and unknown.
Some were cherished old fairytales, alongside true stories that stirred recognition within me. An autobiography of an ancient king of Asgard lay beside a fairy tale featuring a wise old tree stump and a talking river. Another book recounted the timeless tale of Eros and Psyche. I knew these books not only from glimpses in Loki's bedroom but also from the countless times I had read them to his children...

"Ahh..." I murmured, a sharp pain shooting through my skull, causing me to clutch my head. It felt as though someone or something were wielding a relentless cudgel inside my mind. Amidst the agony, flashes of memory flickered—a little boy with jet-black hair and soft blue eyes nestled on my lap. His giggles echoed as I negotiated "just one more chapter" before bedtime, his attempts to extend story time met with playful resistance.

"Why am I remembering this..." I whispered, massaging my temples as the pain gradually ebbed.
"My apologies. Extracting memories is not a pleasant process, mother."
I startled, recognizing the rich, soothing voice. I hadn't noticed Jormungand's presence until he spoke; it seemed he had been observing me for some time. "You caused this..." I breathed, referring to the pain in my head and the memories it stirred.
Jormungand pursed his lips before providing a grave nod. "Twas the only way to allow you to remember your past as Sigyn."

"You have me mistaken for someone else," I muttered, brushing a few strands of hair away from my face. "My name is Ava James, I'm-"
"Of Asgardian decent, long thought to have perished in the bloody aftermath of Ragnorok. I know exactly who you are."
"I'm not Sigyn."

Jormungand chuckled softly, his dark hair swaying as he shook his head. "Of course not. You merely bear a striking resemblance to her, and you possess her voice and spirit."
It was my expression that caused Jormungand's smirk to falter. "My apologies, mother. It was not my intent to belittle you. It's simply amusing that you still don't fully grasp your true heritage."
I snorted in disbelief. "A figure descended from myth by human standards? Reincarnated wife, adoptive mother of three adult children...?"
"Exactly."
"I don't buy it. None of this seems real! Do you have any idea how long I've spent feeling like I'm losing my mind?" I didn't pause for his response, my frustration fueling my words. "Almost my entire life! I grew up dreaming of people, things, and places that, according to books and movies, exist only in the realm of imagination."

"Where do you think those stories came from...?" Jormungand interjected, materializing a few feet away from me. His words left me speechless. "Do you believe humans conjured these myths and legends out of thin air? Do you think everything you've dreamed about regarding Father, myself, Fenrir, and Hel is mere fantasy?"

I couldn't answer him. I couldn't even meet his gaze. The sight of Jormungand's pale, handsome face triggered a flood of memories that shouldn't exist—his first steps in human form, his joy at tasting chicken for the first time, his playful antics as a snake, the tender moments when I rocked him to sleep, and the heartbreaks of his teenage years that I had comforted him through.

My headache intensified as these strange images surged through my mind. I couldn't say how long I sat there, clutching my head as these vivid visions played out in my skull. Tears welled up in my eyes, not from the pain, but from the bittersweet recollection of the sweet little serpent I had known and cherished, and the memories of him growing into a young man. I couldn't comprehend how or if any of this was possible, but one thing was certain: I loved Jormungand as if he were truly my own son.

More memories flooded my mind: Jormungand seeking my advice, confiding in me about his sister's teasing. He was the first child I taught to cook a meal of kale and sausage stew, and the first to develop a deep love for reading and writing. Even when the truth was revealed to the triplets that they were not biologically mine, Jormungand had been the first to defy his father, insisting that blood relations didn't matter. He declared his love for me as his mother, regardless of whether I had given birth to him or not.

"My dear boy..." I whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I wiped away my tears. The flood of memories felt more real with each passing moment, as if they were engrained in my very being, waiting to be rediscovered.
"Welcome home, mother." Jormungand's smile held a tinge of sadness, even heartbreak, reflected in his eyes. "Time is of the essence," he whispered hoarsely, suddenly seizing my wrist, and pulling me close. His voice, though soothing, was urgent, barely above a whisper. "You are currently the most wanted soul by the majority of realms. Father's head is wanted for his crimes against the gods. You are the leverage they want to use against him."
"Why?" My voice trembled with disbelief and fear.
"You are the only woman he has ever truly cared for."

"I don't believe you. I don't..." A sharp pain shot through my head as a new memory intruded, an ugly one. This memory didn't feel like my own; it seemed to belong to Jormungand. He was a young man, no older than twenty-five, tears streaming down his face as he comforted his sobbing sister beside him. Fenrir's anger echoed in the background, but it was Loki who captured Jormungand's attention as he emerged from the shadows. The grand throne room of Asgard provided the backdrop, the setting for their family's turmoil. As Hela collapsed in tears, it was Jormungand's voice that rang out through the room as Loki reached for a bottle of wine and a firestone. "Father! What are you doing!?"