Asgard.
The dwelling place of the illustrious Aesir, renowned across the cosmos, was not particularly vast. Odin had waged war across the Nine Realms, and in the end, only a sliver of land remained. It was a small planetary body, but truth be told, it felt more like a continent drifting through space, roughly the size of the United States. A world with an edge, where endless, surging seas flowed toward the world's end, plunging in torrents into a bottomless abyss.
As the Bifrost's radiance flashed across the boundless starry river, Heimdall turned his golden sword, and the colossal torrent of energy gradually subsided. Within the light, a figure slowly walked out. It was Banter.
Earlier, when Loki had truly awakened his power, Odin had communicated with him through their divine connection, clearly stating he would pass on the throne to him.
"I can't believe that kid is actually going to inherit the throne of Asgard."
Just then, from the rainbow-hued glow, another graceful silhouette clad in silver armor slowly emerged. It was Brunnhilde. Upon learning that Loki was about to ascend as king, she had returned to this long-absent realm from Sakaar. Though she now served a new king and could no longer fight for the Asgardians, Loki was a comrade-in-arms, after all. As one of Sakaar's mightiest warriors, it wasn't strange for her to come with Banter to offer congratulations.
"Loki as king… It just feels a bit off," Banter said with a smile. It just didn't sit quite right. He had a feeling things weren't that simple, because Loki's goal had never been to become king—he just wanted to be acknowledged.
While they were talking, they looked up and saw Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost. The watcher wore golden armor, his face dark, his shining golden pupils vacant yet perceiving all Nine Realms.
"Welcome to Asgard, King of Sakaar."
Heimdall's tone was polite toward Banter. Both he and Odin had witnessed, through their divine powers, Banter transform into a cosmic god. In their eyes, Banter might well be a part of the divine realm, someone recognized by Yggdrasil.
"No welcome for me, Heimdall?" Brunnhilde immediately asked.
Heimdall, an ancient veteran of the palace, had lived far too long and naturally knew this last survivor of the Valkyries.
"The Allfather Odin would be pleased to see you return home."
To that, Brunnhilde only smiled lightly. Asgard had long ceased to be her home; her homeland was now called Sakaar. A man of few words like Heimdall found it hard to handle Brunnhilde, and besides, the annihilation of the Valkyries had indeed been Odin's fault. All this left Heimdall with nothing to say.
Thankfully, Loki arrived.
He rode in a flower-laden chariot, dozens of nymphs clustering around him as they advanced, scattering blossoms from baskets wherever they went. Loki had one foot planted on the front of the chariot, chest puffed out, one hand holding Mjolnir aloft. He was clad in gleaming silver armor, a crimson cape billowing behind him. He looked just like a statue.
As he advanced, he shouted:
"Loki arrives!"
"Your king is here!"
Thor, meanwhile, stood by the roadside, watching Loki with a complicated expression. In his heart, there was unwillingness, yet also happiness for Loki, mingled with the bitterness of seeing Loki brazenly toy with his beloved hammer. Wasn't this just a textbook case of getting cucked?
The Warriors Three and Sif stood beside him, offering comfort. Yet more people were cheering for Loki.
Sensing Banter's arrival, Loki flicked the reins, and the flower chariot immediately turned, heading toward the Bifrost. When the chariot stopped before Banter, Loki looked down at him with an arrogant air.
"You came."
"Feel honored! You are about to witness a legend!" Loki raised his arms dramatically. "But for a mortal like you, merely setting foot in the palace is already the greatest honor!"
Clearly, after a few days of being fawned over, Loki was getting a bit carried away, forgetting who he was—to the point where he actually dared to mess with Banter.
But Banter wasn't about to indulge him.
"Get down! Don't make me smack you at your happiest moment!"
Loki: "…"
You're scarier than my dad!
Hearing those words, Loki shuddered, and his godly air instantly evaporated. He shrank back, nimbly hopping down from the chariot, then coughed awkwardly in front of Banter. Heimdall couldn't bear to watch such spineless behavior. The thought that the future of Asgard would be in the hands of this shameless fellow filled Heimdall with despair. So Heimdall simply closed his eyes.
"Sorry, I got a bit carried away."
"But seriously, today you'll witness the birth of a legend," Loki said, winking at Banter, then invited them aboard the chariot. "My father and mother have been wanting to meet you."
The chariot turned again. This time, Loki flicked the reins, urging the pure white winged horses to gallop through the sky. Their hoofprints left behind arcs of rainbow light, and on either side of those arcs, flowers blossomed in profusion. Their destination was the magnificent palace of the Aesir. The entire palace looked as if forged from a gold-like metal, its towering splendor as elegant as a row of upright organ pipes. As the winds of Asgard swept through, they seemed to play a melodious tune.
When the chariot landed, Banter and Brunnhilde were received with the highest honors of the court. Queen Frigga first approached gracefully with countless maidens, draping Banter in light white gauze, crowning him with a wreath brimming with life and vitality, and blessing him with their magic. She then expressed her gratitude for the care Banter had shown Loki on Sakaar, and then turned to Brunnhilde with compassionate, motherly concern.
Even Brunnhilde held no resentment toward Frigga; the fault had lain with Odin himself. The realm's endless expansion and ceaseless slaughter had long driven Hela mad. And although Odin could have stopped her himself, he had instead sent the Valkyries to die one by one. Looking back now, he had probably already planned to bury that invincible army, along with his own bloody, brutal history and his crazed daughter, then whitewash Asgard and himself into images of peace and benevolence, as if none of it had ever happened.
Brunnhilde had no wish to dredge up the past. She was doing well enough now. When the Sky Workers Union had first been founded, she'd said she'd just drink from then on and mind nothing else, but in truth, aside from Kayla, no one cared more about the Union's and Sakaar's development than she did. Watching a planet slowly revive from the brink of death was like seeing her own battered heart spring a fountain of life from its wounds.
Next, Banter and Frigga went to meet Odin. The meeting was brief. Odin didn't look particularly well; his aging body and ever-increasing divine power caused him great suffering. Sensing that his time was near, Hela was restlessly battering at her seal. The Allfather was still powerful, but his days were numbered, and he had no energy to spare for anything else.
Afterward, Frigga had the maidens dress Banter in resplendent robes, garments more akin to those of the Vanir, and quite similar to the attire of the old gods that Banter had once transformed into. Then the maidens led Banter and Brunnhilde to the feast hall, where they savored fine wine and delicacies, and watched performances by nymphs and warriors.
As for Loki, he had long since disappeared. After all, he was the star of the day. A king couldn't always dress like a warrior. He had to shed his armor and, like Banter, don magnificent robes, then wear the old crown, and ascend the throne of Asgard to the acclaim of countless voices.
But even seated in the place of honor, Banter still felt that today's coronation wouldn't be so peaceful. Although Brunnhilde was originally from Asgard, there were few faces she recognized now, and even fewer who remembered her. Only occasionally did someone notice the Valkyrie markings on her arm and exclaim in surprise that a Valkyrie was still alive. So before long, she found a spot to drink alone. If there was anything left in Asgard that she still yearned for, it was only these wines aged for a thousand years.
Banter had to wait until he was twenty-one to be of drinking age, though he wasn't really interested in drinking anyway. He'd rather watch the dancing girls. He just couldn't figure out why there were dark-skinned nymphs in the palace. Odin, had even you not escaped the sanction of political correctness?
At the feast, apart from the Aesir and Vanir, inhabitants from the other realms also came to offer congratulations. Banter saw the King of the Dwarves bring a newly crafted crown for the new king. He also noticed that amid the jubilant crowd, one person stood out terribly—ill at ease. The man was tall and burly, but now his shoulders slumped, his eyes vacant, his whole head seeming to shrink into his neck. It was Thor.
After the war, Thor had been brought back to Asgard by Loki. Through Odin's divine power and Frigga's magic, Thor had been brought back to life. The first moment he saw Frigga and Odin, Thor anxiously asked about Loki. Upon learning that not only was Loki fine, but he was about to become king of Asgard, Thor withered like a winter tree stripped of leaves. An endless surge of grievances flooded his heart. Thor, who'd had a golden spoon in his mouth for over a millennium, had never imagined that one day he would truly lose the throne.
But more than that, it was everything he'd experienced on Earth. That's how people are: when alone, Thor could chew up all his suffering and swallow it, as if it were nothing. But the moment he had someone to lean on, someone who cared, a single phrase—'You must have suffered so much'—could shatter his strength like glass. Even as he complained about Odin, he broke down sobbing in Frigga's arms. In the past, Thor wouldn't have shed a tear even if all the blood drained from his body, but now it was different. He was no longer the God of Thunder, just an ordinary man. When his brother was in danger, he couldn't do anything. And his friends, the countless Asgardians… how could he face them? Once he was Odin's son, the God of Thunder, the mightiest warrior in all of Asgard; now, he couldn't even defeat a teenage Asgardian child.
Thor felt he had no face to show anyone. The pitying gazes that fell on him cut like biased blades, stabbing at him. Only then did he realize what Loki had endured for over a thousand years. Thor sat on pins and needles, thinking it might be better to just return to Midgard, to live out his remaining days and die of old age like a mortal. That wouldn't be so bad. Though his heart was bitter as an unripe persimmon, Thor was still happy for Loki. At least, unlike his useless older brother, Loki had truly been acknowledged by Mjolnir, had gained the power of Thor, and become the one who was worthy.
So when Loki, dressed in his dark green robes with golden stripes and arcane patterns, a splendid curved-horn golden crown atop his head, walked the flower-strewn red carpet amidst the blessings of the nymphs, Thor finally gathered his courage. Under the gaze of countless Asgardians, he carried a goblet and stepped before Loki.
In that moment, everyone held their breath, watching the confrontation between the two princes. After all, not everyone wished for Loki to truly become king.
Seeing Thor approach, Loki's expression grew even smugger. He tilted his head up proudly like a goat, the golden crown thrust high, cruelly piercing Thor's self-esteem.
"Congratulations, Loki…" Thor smacked his lips; the words of blessing felt like they were burning his mouth and wouldn't come out.
"Go on."
Loki shifted his stance, ready to savor his victory reward. Compared to the look on Thor's face right now, the throne, the hammer—none of it mattered at all.
Thor stood with his goblet for a long while, the countless gazes around him baking him like flames. He felt his skin scorching, but after a long moment, as if finally letting go, he said:
"Congratulations. You've got what you wanted now."
"Mjolnir chose you. You are worthy to be king of Asgard…"
"Promise me, be a better king, alright?"
After saying this, Thor seemed to have used up all his strength.
But Loki shook his head. "You still don't understand, brother."
"It wasn't Mjolnir that chose me. It was never the hammer that made me king."
Loki recalled everything Banter had said.
"I was once as confused as you, but someone told me, it's just a hammer. I should decide for myself what kind of god I want to be."
"For you, and for all of us."
"And my choice is…"
At that, Loki suddenly smiled. Then, under the gaze of countless eyes, he turned and locked eyes with Banter across the hall. In that instant, seeing Loki's smile, Banter knew exactly what he was up to.
"As expected of the God of Mischief."
Loki winked at him and pressed a finger to his lips. Then, he walked past Thor and came before Odin on the throne. The Allfather, who had been half-leaning, now stood with the support of Gungnir. He stepped before Loki, looking at his son bowing his head, awaiting the bestowal of kingship, his eyes filled with complex pride.
Finally, he spoke.
The Allfather's voice rang out like a great bell, resounding through every corner of Asgard. In an ancient and mysterious ceremony, Odin raised the crown representing power and authority high; under the sun, it gleamed with regal splendor.
"I, Odin Borson, this day pass the throne to my son, Loki Odinson!"
"From this day forth, he is the sovereign of the Nine Realms, the Allfather, the lord of all gods…"
"All shall love him as their own father, serve him as their own lord!"
Loki, solemn-faced, removed the old crown from his head.
"Thank you, Father!"
So Odin personally placed the new king's crown upon Loki's head.
Clang!
In that instant, the golden crown dropped. Loki's figure had long since twisted and vanished. Only the fallen crown rolled across the floor, as if mocking the tragic king.
"I knew it!" Banter doubled over with laughter.
Odin's beard bristled with fury, and he slammed Gungnir against the ground.
"Loki!"
/-\
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