Chapter 12 : THE FIRST CIRCULATION
Dawn in Asgard came in shades of gold and rose.
Loki stood in the training chamber Frigga had specified—a circular room deep in the palace, warded against observation and lined with shelves of magical texts. The air hummed with residual power, centuries of sorcery leaving traces that even his undeveloped senses could detect.
Frigga waited at the center, dressed in practical robes rather than royal finery. Her hair was braided back, her expression focused. She looked less like a queen and more like a professor preparing for a difficult lecture.
"Sit."
He sat, cross-legged on the stone floor. The position felt awkward—Loki's body was designed for graceful lounging, not meditation poses. He adjusted until his back was straight and his hands rested on his knees.
"Close your eyes. Find the center of yourself."
He obeyed, letting his vision fade into darkness. The world narrowed to breath and heartbeat and the cool press of stone beneath him.
"Feel your body. Feel the boundaries of your physical form."
Easy enough. He was acutely aware of his body—always had been since waking in it. The wrongness of borrowed flesh never quite faded.
"Now feel deeper. Past muscle and bone. Into the energy that animates you."
This was harder. He reached inward, searching for something he didn't fully understand. The mana core—the power source that his research suggested should exist—was supposed to be located at the solar plexus. But reaching for it felt like grabbing fog.
"Don't force it." Frigga's voice drifted from somewhere outside his concentration. "Magic isn't conquered. It's invited."
Invited. Right. How do you invite something you can't see?
He tried a different approach. Instead of reaching for the core, he simply... waited. Opened himself to whatever was there. Stopped trying to grasp and simply allowed.
Minutes passed. His legs began to cramp. His back ached from the unfamiliar posture. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air.
Then—something.
A pulse. Faint, irregular, barely perceptible. Like a second heartbeat hidden beneath the first.
"There." Frigga's voice sharpened with approval. "You've found it."
"I feel it." The words came out rough. "It's... cold."
"Your core attunement. We'll discuss that later. For now, try to make it pulse again. Deliberately this time."
He focused on the sensation, trying to recreate whatever he'd done to trigger it. The first attempt failed—nothing happened except increased frustration. The second attempt likewise. The third.
On the fourth try, the pulse answered.
The feeling was indescribable. Energy moved through him—not blood, not breath, something entirely separate from biological function. It flowed from that cold center outward, reaching toward his extremities before dissipating into nothing.
"Your circuits are undeveloped." Frigga had moved closer; he could hear her breathing. "The energy bleeds off before it reaches anywhere useful. That's normal. It takes years to build proper pathways."
Years. I don't have years.
"How do I speed the process?"
"You don't. Rushing magical development leads to permanent damage—scarring of the circuits, limitations that never heal." A pause. "But you can maximize efficiency. Train daily. Push to your limits but never past them. Build foundations instead of reaching for heights."
He opened his eyes. Frigga knelt beside him, her expression a mixture of pride and concern.
"How do you feel?"
"Exhausted." His entire body ached like he'd run a marathon. "That was only minutes."
"Five minutes of conscious circulation. More than most begin with." She helped him to his feet; his legs wobbled but held. "You have natural talent, Loki. I always suspected—but this confirms it."
"Natural talent for what?"
"For cold magic. Ice. Winter." Her eyes held his with uncomfortable intensity. "Your core attunes to frost as easily as Thor's attunes to lightning. I've always wondered why."
Because I'm not Asgardian. Because I'm Frost Giant. Because everything about this body is designed for cold.
"Perhaps I take after a distant ancestor."
"Perhaps." She didn't sound convinced. "We'll explore your attunement more thoroughly in future sessions. For now, rest. Eat. Let your body recover."
The walk back to his chambers took twice as long as it should have. His legs felt like wet rope, his arms like lead weights. The mana circulation had drained him more completely than any physical exertion could.
If five minutes does this, how am I supposed to train for combat? For real magical conflict?
Slowly. Carefully. One session at a time.
A servant brought breakfast—fruit, bread, cold meat, tea that smelled faintly of herbs. He ate mechanically, too tired to taste anything properly, his mind already racing through plans and contingencies.
Odin's Sleep could last weeks. Thor's exile could last longer. I have time to build something—strength, skills, alliances. Time to prepare for the Dark Elves, for Thanos, for everything the timeline says is coming.
But is it enough time?
The thought haunted him as he finished eating, as he changed into fresh clothes, as he forced himself to stand despite his body's protests.
It has to be enough. Because I'm all Asgard has right now.
He walked to the mirror—the same mirror where he'd examined Loki's face on his first morning, the same mirror where he'd tested the blue transformation. His reflection looked back: tired, determined, wearing a mask that was becoming more comfortable with each passing day.
He raised his hand, concentrated.
Blue crept up his fingers. Slower this time, more controlled. He held the transformation for three heartbeats, then released it.
Frost Giant heritage. Cold magic attunement. Maybe that's not a curse. Maybe it's an advantage.
Maybe I can make it into a weapon.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter."
A messenger bowed in the doorway. "Regent, Heimdall requests your presence at the observatory. He says it's urgent—something about your brother."
Loki exhaustion vanished. "What about my brother?"
"He didn't say, my lord. Only that you should come quickly."
He was moving before the messenger finished speaking, fatigue forgotten in the surge of adrenaline. If something had happened to Thor—if the timeline was diverging in ways he hadn't predicted—
The Bifrost bridge stretched ahead, rainbow colors mocking his fear with their peaceful beauty. Heimdall stood at the observatory entrance, golden eyes fixed on something only he could see.
"Gatekeeper. What's happening?"
"Your brother has escaped SHIELD's custody." Heimdall's voice carried no emotion. "He is currently pursuing the hammer on foot, accompanied by the scientist woman and her companions."
Jane Foster. Erik Selvig. Darcy Lewis. The mortals who become Thor's anchor to humanity.
"Is he in danger?"
"Not immediate danger. But the situation is... complicated." Heimdall turned to face him. "Someone else approaches the hammer. Someone with power sufficient to challenge even a mortal Thor."
The Destroyer. In canon, Loki sent it to kill Thor.
But I haven't sent anything.
"Show me."
The image materialized in the observatory air. Thor running across desert sand, mortal and vulnerable. Jane Foster beside him, brilliant and brave and completely unaware of what she'd gotten involved in. And in the distance, a storm gathering that had nothing to do with weather.
"What is that?"
"Unknown." Heimdall's voice tightened. "But it is not of Midgard. And it is heading directly for the hammer."
Loki stared at the approaching darkness and felt his carefully constructed plans beginning to crumble.
Something's coming. Something I didn't cause. Something I can't control.
The timeline isn't following the script anymore.
create the traker file only
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