The wooden floors creaked under his feet, each step echoing through the empty rooms. He walked slowly, letting his fingers brush against the sun-warmed pine planks, stopping by the windows and gazing at the landscape outside for long stretches of time. The garden was beautiful. The apples were almost ripe, the grass had not been mowed for a while, yet the garden didn’t seem neglected—it was pleasant to look at.
Several floorboards in the living room needed replacing. Mobius had already changed the lock on the door and fixed the leaking faucet in the bathroom, but there was still plenty to do. He knew for sure that the wiring needed checking, and that was something he could hardly handle on his own. The kitchen windowsill was clearly home to a whole family of wood borers. Besides, the hallway walls could use a fresh coat of paint.
Mobius felt that all this work would bring him joy. He wasn’t actively thinking about all the little things that needed fixing - he just automatically took note of them for the future.
His mind was empty. Standing at the very beginning of a long journey, Mobius didn’t even try to imagine whether he would succeed in what he dreamed of. Thoughts like that were only discouraging. He knew one thing for sure: Loki would have liked this house. The old apple trees in the garden and the intertwining vines would have reminded the trickster of his childhood.
Mobius realized he had fallen in love with this place at first sight. And so, he bought it, agreeing to a price twice its actual value. Money didn’t matter. This was a house where he wanted to live - a house that was meant to become home for Loki.
Thoughts of Loki no longer brought pain. Mobius was finally busy with something, he had found hope, and that helped him. His plan was shaky at best and somewhat naïve, but now, Mobius had a goal, and he was determined to focus on it.
He walked through every room and returned to the upstairs bedroom where he had started his tour of the property. It was the coziest room in the house. Mobius smiled at his thoughts. He imagined a quiet autumn evening, the curtains swaying in the wind. Loki would sit on the wide windowsill, one leg dangling into the garden, watching the sunset…
Mobius shook his head, forbidding himself from thinking about the trickster.
Here and now, he had a lot of work to do, and he had no intention of putting it off.
In the corner of the bedroom stood a small desk, near which Mobius had dropped his bag. He didn’t have many belongings, but the most valuable of them was the laptop that O.B. had given him. Mobius knew he had a huge amount of work ahead.
Myths and legends had never interested Agent Mobius. However, when he first realized that the branching timelines now resembled a vast tree, something about it seemed familiar. From O.B.’s perspective, it was merely an interesting physical phenomenon. But a certain thought wouldn’t leave Mobius alone…
A long time ago, he had read a myth about the World Tree. And about a god trapped within that tree. Mobius felt that such coincidences didn’t happen by chance. He didn’t remember the details of the myth, nor even the language in which it had been written. But Mobius wanted to find it…
He glanced out the window. The day was warm and sunny, perfect for working in the garden. For the first time in a long while, he felt capable of being interested in something again.
Humans are strange creatures. The tiniest glimmer of hope is enough to awaken them from numbness.
Mobius picked up the laptop and stood for a moment, fighting the temptation to dive back into reading files. Then, he resolutely placed the laptop in the middle of the desk, grabbed his bag, and searched for old jeans and a T-shirt. He was determined. This house needed repairs, and if he truly wanted to make this place livable, he had to get to work. He had to step away from his research, even just for a little while, and live an ordinary life.
Five minutes later, he was outside, carrying a toolbox. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t think about myths and research until he had replaced the rotten boards on the porch.
He jogged over to the old pickup truck parked by the gate, grabbed the boards he had bought the day before, and hauled them into the yard. The work brought him genuine pleasure. His hands seemed to instinctively know how to handle the tools, though, of course, he remembered nothing of his past life.
Pine shavings fell to the ground as he planed the boards, wiping his face with his sleeve, smiling involuntarily as he imagined bringing Loki here someday and proudly saying that he had done it all himself.
Maybe Loki really could see him now? Mobius lifted his head and looked up into the cloudless sky.
Loki was out there somewhere.
It was strange—he knew for certain that his friends at the TVA could, if they wished, see what he was doing, and that had never bothered him.
But the thought that Loki might be watching somehow felt different.
Loki had sacrificed everything to give Mobius this chance at a normal life. Yet until recently, Mobius had constantly felt guilty. He couldn’t move on, couldn’t push forward—everything had been a struggle.
Now, everything was different.
He set aside another board and only then noticed the flashing screen of his TemPad. He had missed a call from O.B. and was about to call back when he saw a message.
"Hey, Mobius! I’m sending you a few more folders with files. I hope you find what you’re looking for. As you requested, I’ve gathered all known mythology from the timelines you worked with over the past two hundred years."
Mobius’s heart pounded faster. If O.B. said he had gathered everything, then it was true.
That meant the answer was in one of these documents.
Yesterday, when he had only part of the files, he had felt calmer. But now he knew: if he didn’t find what he needed, if the information turned out to be useless, he would be stuck in a dead end again.
He didn’t want to think about that.
But if that myth truly existed, it was now inside his laptop.
Mobius noticed that his fingers were trembling. He tried to steady himself.
Even if this turned out to be a dead end, he would find another way.
He wasn’t going to give up.
Never.
Mobius realized that he could no longer focus on his work. He returned to the house, grabbed his laptop, and opened the folder with the files…
He only meant to take a quick look, to skim through the new documents.
Who was he kidding?
He read one file, which turned out to be a dull legend about some fertility goddess. Then another. And another…
Five hours later, he was still sitting there, methodically opening folder after folder.
His eyes ached from the strain, but he ignored it. He read myths and legends in different languages, occasionally pausing to take notes. Many of these stories seemed familiar, which wasn’t surprising—mythologies from different times and cultures often intertwined, borrowing from one another.
Mobius squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to refocus. He knew that only proper sleep would help, but what did it matter?
Loki was out there, completely alone. There was no place for rest or sleep where he was…
Those thoughts worked better than any coffee.
He went back to reading.
Working at the TVA had taught Mobius how to focus on one task, how to be patient and persistent. The sky outside was starting to brighten, but he paid no attention. With each file he reviewed, his anxiety grew.
It had to be here—he was certain.
Mobius opened another document and quickly skimmed through the first few lines, automatically picking out key words while skipping the general descriptions.
The text felt vaguely familiar, but that wasn’t surprising. He had worked with these documents before. He started reading more carefully.
His heart stopped for a moment.
"...and the World Tree devoured the soul, but not the heart of the God of Stories…"
Mobius sat frozen.
This was the myth he had been searching for.
Forcing himself to stay calm, he focused and started reading, afraid to miss a single word.
"At the point where times intersect, where there is neither end nor beginning, shines the World Tree, whose branches are woven from light and life. And in those branches sits a throne, occupied by the God of Stories.
The god did not come there by choice, yet in his hands, he holds worlds.
In the beginning, there were only branches and emptiness—and the evil that reached for the branches, cutting them at its whim. The God of Stories took the branches into his hands and freed the tree, allowing it to shine.
He declared what he was meant to be, and so it was.
And the World Tree devoured the soul, but not the heart of the God of Stories.
He watches the world where there is no place for him, and the world rests in his palms.
And he will only be able to leave if he passes the branches to an equal—someone willing to share his fate and take his place.
The god waits for eternity, but no one dares claim his throne, for the branches will bind the one who holds them, the one they accept.
No mortal knows the path to this throne, though the path is simple and close.
To find the way to the end of time, one must see the god’s thoughts and open their heart.
And by reaching not for the place, but for the soul, the traveler will find the throne and claim their right, slipping through time as the god once did…"
Mobius read the myth twice.
Then a third time.
At first, he wasn’t sure he had understood it correctly. So, he reread each line, carefully, thoughtfully.
Now he knew that an escape existed.
Mobius glanced around the room with a heavy heart. The myth had given him the answer he needed. Now, he understood the price he would have to pay.
Well… He had lived a good life.
Mobius read the myth a fourth time, committing it to memory.
There was no doubt—Loki could only be freed if someone took his place.
At first glance, the text contained no direct instructions, no clear steps to follow. Then again, he hadn’t expected this to be easy. But somehow, Mobius felt that he already knew the answer.
Of course, he needed to discuss this with O.B., to think through his next move.
And he needed to keep working on the house.
That was even clearer now.
Mobius thought about how bright his dreams for the future had seemed. He had imagined freeing Loki, bringing him here, making this place their home.
Well, the plan remained the same—except that Loki would have to live here without him.
Mobius stood up.
He was full of resolve.
Let this dream become reality, he thought.
There would be a cozy bedroom and a kitchen where even someone as lazy as Loki could cook. A beautiful library filled with books and scrolls from Asgard and other worlds Loki found fascinating. A place where Loki could live, visit the TVA whenever he wanted, invite guests.
B-15 and Sylvie, Casey and O.B., Kid Loki and the Alligator.
Mobius didn’t check the time. He had forgotten his exhaustion, forgotten how long he had been sitting at the computer.
He wanted to work, to keep his hands busy with real, tangible things.
Now, he wasn’t doing this for himself.
He was doing it for his god.
He didn’t even realize how easily his dream of a home for the two of them had changed - becoming a dream of a happy future for Loki.
Mobius tried not to think about anything else.
He knew Loki would struggle with this.
He knew the god would likely be furious at him for doing this.
But if Mobius understood anything about mythology, this action would be irreversible.
And Loki wouldn’t be able to stop him.
The work was satisfying. It felt right.
He ignored everything around him, turned on some music, and focused entirely on the repairs.
Phrases from the myth surfaced in his mind from time to time.
---
A few weeks later, the house looked much cozier.
Mobius had bought curtains and tablecloths, arranged the furniture.
He had spent a lot of time thinking about the myth, especially about the phrase “slipping through time.”
He was sure it referred to those strange episodes of Loki’s—the ones O.B. had called timeslipping.
O.B. had theories about it, but even he couldn’t fully explain what Loki had been doing.
That evening, Mobius stepped out onto the porch and sat on the steps.
He leaned against the railing and stared at the starry sky.
His mind was empty.
The repairs were almost finished.
Mobius was pleased with his work.
He thought about the millions of years of emptiness that awaited him, but the thought didn’t scare him.
He wanted to do this for Loki.
He wanted to take his place.
“And by reaching not for the place, but for the soul…” Mobius murmured, looking at the stars.
“He declared what he was meant to be, and so it was…”
He closed his eyes.
Of course, Mobius wasn’t sure this would work.
But over the past few days, he had come to a realization.
He remembered every detail of Loki’s time slipping.
He spoke the words of the myth out loud, then added:
"I am ready... I want to go to him. I want to free him."
Mobius clenched his fists, picturing his god.
He wanted to be with Loki.
He wanted it so badly.
The myth said one had to *desire* to share the God of Stories’ fate.
Mobius truly did.
He focused.
He stood up, took a few steps across the sandy path.
"The throne is mine," he shouted.
"I want to take your place. I am the God of Stories!"
In the next moment, terror filled him.
It was pure, unfiltered fear—deep and cold, chilling his soul, all-consuming dread.
But it wasn’t his fear.
Mobius suddenly realized - he was feeling Loki’s fear.
A wave of triumph washed over him: It worked.
But, oh gods, how terrified Loki was!
He was resisting - desperately trying to stop Mobius from doing this, from making this mistake.
"You idiot, Mobius! No, don’t!
Please, you don’t understand what you’re agreeing to!
It’s emptiness, loneliness, despair. It’s forever, Mobius, you’ll be trapped here forever!
No, please…"
Loki’s voice echoed in Mobius’s mind.
His whole body tensed.
The sensation was strange and terrifying.
He remembered what Loki’s time slipping had looked like—
And realized it was happening to him.
Mobius barely had time to gasp, to cry out for his trickster, before the breath was forced from his lungs.
"Loki!"
Sound vanished.
The world collapsed into a single point.
Everything disappeared.
Mobius felt crushing pressure—like he was being squeezed through the smallest point in existence. Then pain. It felt like he was in multiple places at once.
And then - nothing.
The pressure and pain vanished.
Mobius opened his eyes, not knowing what to expect.
His entire body tingled, his vision blurred. He was disoriented, deafened.
Mobius struggled to focus.
The world around him had changed.
It was dark, but not the darkness of emptiness—this darkness was filled with deep, shimmering green light, an otherworldly glow.
Slowly, he raised his hand and examined his fingers.
Only seconds had passed, yet his disorientation was already fading. His senses were returning to him.
Something was wrong.
Of course, the myth had been vague, but Mobius had expected that after the transition, he would take Loki’s place on the throne.
He hadn’t expected to actually *see* Loki.
But the god was here.
That was impossible.
Wrong.
Loki was gripping the branches tightly, and the magic around him seemed almost tangible.
"Loki?" Mobius called out.
"Go away!" Loki’s voice was barely above a whisper—he was using all his strength to fight against something.
Mobius noticed the way Loki’s body jerked slightly, as if some part of him was trying to slip away.
"Leave, Mobius, please!"
Mobius saw the blood on Loki’s hands.
He ran to him without hesitation.
"Loki, you have to let go of the branches… I’m here, I’m with you, everything is going to be fine! Just don’t resist."
Loki looked at him.
Mobius froze, unable to look away from the god’s face.
Tears streamed down Loki’s cheeks.
Mobius could see that Loki was holding on with the last of his strength.
And he realized - Loki would slip away the moment he let go of the branches.
Mobius was certain this was the last time he would ever see his trickster.
"Why?" Loki whispered.
"Because I love you," Mobius answered simply.
"You’re going to live a normal life, Loki. You’re going to be happy. That’s all I want, understand? I want you to be happy, to go home."
Mobius reached for Loki’s hand, gently tracing his fingers before grasping one of the timeline branches.
Light flickered at his fingertips.
Magic filled the space around them, and Mobius had a vague sense that something was changing—within him, within his body.
He was ready for it.
In a few moments, he would cease to be an ordinary man.
Mobius’ mind began to fill with images from thousands of worlds.
But he ignored them.
He only saw Loki.
Golden-green light filled the universe, and Loki gasped—then, finally, he let go of the branches and reached toward Mobius.
Mobius knew they had only seconds.
He leaned forward and kissed the trickster.
The world inside his mind exploded into millions of voices and visions.
Flashes of faces and figures, voices calling out, vast stretches of cosmic emptiness, billions of light-years of nothingness.
The explosions of supernovae. The evolution of millions—billions—of living beings. Wars. Death and birth. Fear and hope.
Children’s laughter. Blood spilled on stone.
Pain, hatred, happiness, love.
Billions of fates, golden threads of stories lived by ordinary mortals.
Mobius felt the weight of the branches and the responsibility for every living creature in every world.
It felt like drowning, like falling into an endless abyss.
Then -
A touch.
"Mobius?"
The man opened his eyes, feeling as if he had surfaced from deep water—able to breathe again.
Loki was holding his hand.
The branches around them were shifting, parting.
Something was happening.
Something Mobius didn’t understand.
He saw familiar shapes—the old apple trees, the wooden porch, the half-open door.
The hammer Mobius had left on the porch was still lying there, forgotten.
Golden sparks flickered along the apple branches, intertwining with the vines, blending into the timelines.
But their glow was different now.
Mobius realized that the crushing weight was gone.
He opened his hand, releasing the branch he had been gripping.
The branches shone with a soft, golden light—no longer cold, no longer empty.
It took only a fraction of a second for him to understand.
Loki embraced him.
"Mobius… How did you do this? I… I don’t understand! This is the house you were building in a timeline, but how is this possible?"
"Who cares *how*?" Mobius replied.
"Damn it, I’m a damn analyst, not a physicist—or a theologian… Loki, love, it’s really you!"
"Mobius, you’re not an analyst. You’re an idiot. You scared me to death—I thought you were going to stay there instead of me. Do you *really* think I would have wanted that?"
Mobius realized that tears were streaming down his face.
"I missed you so much, sweetheart," he whispered.
"Call me an idiot, argue with me, yell at me! I’m just so happy…"
Loki pulled him even closer.
---
**Epilogue**
"From a scientific point of view, none of this is possible," O.B. said.
He stood next to B-15, studying the readings on his monitors.
The woman held a TemPad in her hand.
Only minutes ago, she had been preparing to leave for a routine mission.
But now, her attention was fixed on the screen.
"Explain it to me again," she said. "You were looking up some myths for him?"
"Yes," O.B. replied, shrugging.
"I didn’t think it would actually *work*, but apparently, I was wrong. I detected a massive energy surge in Mobius’ timeline, and now part of that timeline exists outside of time.
I need to check if it’s safe before we go there. There should be an overwhelming amount of temporal radiation, but my instruments aren’t picking up any.
And the branches are now drawing energy from an incredibly powerful source—something I’ve never seen before…"
"Is it Loki?" B-15 asked softly.
"No. Or… not exactly."
O.B. flexed his fingers, trying to find the right words.
"It’s… I’d say it’s an interaction between Loki and Mobius.
I saw energy spikes before the tree changed its form, and I checked the records from Mobius’ timeline.
Mobius wanted to take Loki’s place—he somehow managed to use time slipping, but after that, I lost track of him.
The last thing I heard was him saying the words from the myth.
He declared that he wanted to take Loki’s place."
B-15 rolled her eyes.
"There *must* be another explanation," she said. "We’re talking about *our* Mobius! He doesn’t have magic—he’s just a regular guy."
O.B. nodded thoughtfully.
He looked at the glowing branches of the timelines, at the anomaly in Mobius’ timeline—the one that had opened a pathway to the end of time.
The TVA’s instruments were giving contradictory readings.
This place was no longer the end of time.
It was the *beginning* of all stories in the universe.
The source of life and light.
And although TVA technology couldn’t *see* it, at the heart of the World Tree stood the house Mobius had built.
"He doesn’t have magic," O.B. finally said, touching the monitor.
"He just loves Loki.
I don’t know how this magic works, but from what I can tell, that’s what made it happen.
They did it together.
Maybe they *need* to be there for it to work."
B-15 checked the time, sighed.
She stepped closer to O.B., touching his shoulder.
"Do you think they’re together right now?" she asked.
O.B. smiled.
"Yes. And if our instruments are correct, we’ll be seeing them soon."
"I think they need some time alone before we drop in on them."
"If I understand anything about them," O.B. said, "then even all the time in the universe wouldn’t be enough for them to talk and argue to their hearts’ content."
****
There are countless legends and myths across the universe, and not even the TVA knows how many truly exist.
Many of them are false, and many hold only a fragment of truth.
But there is one legend that people *want* to believe in.
Somewhere, at the border between worlds, there is a garden.
Heavy apple tree branches drop ripe fruit into the thick grass, and the vines intertwine with the threads of the timelines.
From there, one can travel to any place in existence.
Deep within the garden stands a house—a simple Midgardian cottage.
In the evenings, two men sit on the porch, sipping coffee and talking about everything in the world.
They argue and joke, laughing at each other’s wit.
They are not gods in the usual sense of the word.
They are simply *themselves*.
They say that when the God of Stories laughs at his beloved’s jokes, flowers bloom on the branches of the timelines…
But that, of course, is probably just a silly legend.