Chapter 26 : THE LESSONS BEGIN
The education began at dawn.
Loki had barely finished his morning training session—twenty-five minutes of circulation now, the improvement coming faster as his circuits adapted—when a servant arrived with a schedule that filled every waking hour.
Political briefings. Military assessments. Diplomatic history. Economic analysis.
Odin isn't wasting time.
The first day blurred into the second. The second into the third. Senior advisors paraded through various chambers, each delivering lectures on aspects of rulership that the original Loki had never bothered to learn.
"The Nine Realms exist in a complex web of obligations," Lord Frey explained, his voice carrying the particular boredom of someone who'd given this speech a thousand times. "Alfheim maintains our trade in light-crystals in exchange for military protection. Vanaheim provides agricultural surplus—their climate produces yields Asgard cannot match. Nidavellir crafts our finest weapons, but the dwarves are neutral and will sell to anyone with sufficient payment."
Loki made notes—mental notes, cataloging information against the meta-knowledge he already possessed. Most of what he heard confirmed what he expected. Some details were new. All of it was useful.
"And Svartalfheim?" he asked.
Lord Frey's expression flickered. "Dead. The Dark Elves were exterminated in the war with Bor, five thousand years past. Their realm is a wasteland—ash and darkness, monuments to a civilization that no longer exists."
Not exterminated. Sleeping. Waiting for the Aether to wake them.
"The records mention survivors. Ships that escaped the final battle."
"Rumors only. We've patrolled Svartalfheim's approaches for millennia. If any Dark Elves survived, they've hidden themselves beyond our ability to find." Frey's tone suggested the matter was closed. "Now, regarding Jotunheim's current political structure..."
The military briefings were more interesting.
General Váli—still grudging, still suspicious, but following orders to educate the new advisor—spread tactical maps across a planning table and walked Loki through Asgard's defensive capabilities.
"The Einherjar number thirty thousand active warriors, with twice that in reserve. Our fleet comprises four hundred warships, each capable of independent realm-crossing. The Bifrost provides rapid deployment to any of the Nine Realms." Váli tapped a point on the map. "Our primary vulnerabilities are here, here, and here—approach vectors that bypass the Bifrost and require conventional transit to intercept."
"What about threats from beyond the Nine Realms?"
Váli's jaw tightened. "Those are... theoretical."
"Theoretical?"
"The All-Father maintains certain... contingencies. But nothing beyond the Nine has seriously threatened Asgard in recorded history."
Thanos hasn't seriously threatened you yet. The key word is 'yet.'
Loki pressed for more information, but Váli's knowledge ended at the boundaries of conventional military planning. The cosmic-level threats required different sources.
The archives provided what the briefings couldn't.
He returned to Odin's private collection whenever his schedule allowed—evenings, mainly, when the tutors released him and the palace quieted for the night. The scrolls he'd found during the regency were just the beginning. Deeper in the collection, hidden behind layers of protective enchantments, lay records of conflicts that spanned galaxies.
"The Mad Titan moves through the cosmos like a plague. Where he walks, populations fall by half—precise, calculated, indifferent to pleas or bargains. His army, the Chitauri, number in the millions. His generals, the Black Order, are each capable of devastating worlds alone."
The scroll was ancient—written in a script that predated modern Asgardian. Someone had added annotations in Odin's handwriting: "Avoid direct conflict. Threat level beyond current military capability. If he comes for the Tesseract, we cannot stop him through force."
The Tesseract. The Space Stone. Currently on Earth, in SHIELD's custody.
And in the original timeline, I'm the one who leads his invasion force.
Another scroll detailed the Collector—a being older than most civilizations, who hoarded artifacts of power throughout the cosmos. "Dangerous not through malice but through obsession. His collection includes items that could unmake reality if combined."
Another mentioned the Celestials—beings of such scale that planets were toys to them. "Do not attract their attention. Asgard is beneath their notice. Keep it that way."
The universe expanded with each reading. Bigger, darker, more dangerous than any movie had suggested. And somewhere in that darkness, Thanos was gathering his forces, planning his conquest, moving toward a goal that would halve all life if he succeeded.
Two years until Frigga dies. Maybe seven until Thanos succeeds.
I need to be ready.
Training continued alongside the education.
He stole hours where he could—dawn before the briefings, midnight after the archives. His mana core approached Phase 2 with each session. The circuits that had bled half his energy now wasted only thirty-five percent. His multitasking improved until he could maintain a simple illusion while walking, talking, reading—the magical equivalent of breathing and walking at the same time.
The ice attunement deepened. He could feel cold now in ways he hadn't before—the temperature of a room, the chill of shadows, the faint frost that lingered in the palace's lowest levels. His heritage wasn't a curse. It was a resource.
Progress. Slow, painful, but real.
A sneeze interrupted his archive study.
The dust of centuries had accumulated on scrolls that no one had touched since Odin first stored them. Loki eyes watered, his nose burned, and the sneeze that emerged echoed through the silent chamber like a thunderclap.
Three tutors turned to stare. Their expressions suggested that Asgardian princes did not sneeze—or if they did, they had the decency to do it privately.
"Allergies," Loki muttered, waving them off. "The archives are... dusty."
"Perhaps the prince would prefer summarized reports?"
"The prince would prefer to read the originals." He returned to his scroll, ignoring their continued stares. Let them think I'm eccentric. Better that than them knowing what I'm really looking for.
Days blended together. Learn in the morning. Brief in the afternoon. Train at night. Each cycle brought new knowledge, new capability, new weight on shoulders that had barely started adjusting to their burden.
By the end of the first week, he could feel the difference.
Not just in his mana core or his political understanding—in himself. He was becoming something new. Not quite the Loki who'd died in a car crash. Not quite the Loki who'd been replaced. Something in between. Something that might actually survive what was coming.
Frigga found him in the archives one evening, surrounded by scrolls and nursing a cup of cold tea.
"You're pushing yourself too hard."
"I'm pushing myself appropriately for someone who knows what's coming."
She settled into the chair beside him, her expression mixing concern with something that might have been pride. "And what is coming?"
Everything. Invasion. Death. The destruction of everything we're building.
"Threats I want to be ready for."
"Odin speaks highly of your progress. He says you're learning faster than any advisor he's trained."
"I have motivation."
"What motivation?"
Saving you. Stopping Thanos. Making sure this borrowed life means something.
"Protecting the people I care about."
Frigga's hand found his, squeezed gently. "That's the answer of a good man. Not the answer of the son I raised."
"Perhaps that's because—"
"Because you've changed. Yes. I know." She smiled, and the expression carried warmth that eased something tight in his chest. "I'm not complaining, Loki. I'm grateful. Whatever happened to make you this way, I'm grateful for it every day."
I died. I was replaced by a stranger. The son you raised is gone forever.
But if my presence makes you smile like that, maybe it was worth it.
"Thank you, Mother."
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