How The Most Dangerous Thing is To Love.

The voice cut through the silence like a whisper on the wind, distant but clear.

"Hello? Loki, can you hear—"

Sylvie's voice crackled through the communicator, the only tether he had to the outside world. The device had been enchanted, reinforced with his magic, built to withstand the crushing weight of where he now sat. Without it, there would be nothing. No voices. No sound. Just the endless hum of the multiverse stretching and twisting around him.

He shifted, his fingers tightening around the branches of Yggdrasil, the great tree of timelines, the thing he had forged with his own hands. The thing that had imprisoned him.

He was the God of Stories now. The Keeper. The One Who Watches.

That was his glorious purpose, after all.

Yet, there was nothing glorious about it. Not really. It was a throne, but it was also a cage. And he was alone.

"Yes," Loki said, at last, his voice calm but hollow. "I can hear you."

On the other end, he heard a muffled voice, someone speaking hurriedly. He didn't recognize them, and for a moment, he wondered how much had changed since the last time he had spoken to anyone at the TVA.

"This is it!" someone muttered excitedly.

"Careful," another warned. "We need to be sure—"

Loki frowned, his curiosity stirring. There was little to do here but watch the threads of time weave and fray, to study the infinite lives playing out in the strands of the multiverse. And even that, after so long, became monotonous. He had long since lost track of the days—if time even functioned here the way it did in the TVA.

"What is happening?" he asked, his fingers tapping against the bark-like surface of the throne. The sensation was strange, neither rough nor smooth, something beyond his understanding yet something he had grown used to.

"Uh—" Sylvie hesitated, then sighed. "Look, do you remember that little project Casey and Ouroboros were working on? The one they mentioned the last time you spoke to them?"

Loki's grip on the branches tightened. Of course, he remembered.

Ouroboros had said it so casually like it was just another theoretical problem to solve.

"Maybe we can build something to take your place," he had said. Loki had gone still, the words sinking into him like a weight.

He hadn't wanted to believe it. Couldn't let himself hope. Because what would be worse? To believe and be let down—or to never have hope at all?

"Yes," he said, his voice quieter. "I recall. Why?"

Sylvie hesitated again. "Well... they're finishing it."

For a moment, he thought he had misheard her.

Finishing it?

"Explain," he said, slowly, carefully. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

He heard some rustling, and then Ouroboros' voice came through the line, bright and eager as always. "Loki! Oh, great, you're still there! That's good. Well, I mean, I assumed you would be, but you never know! Anyway—yes! The project! We're nearly done!"

Loki exhaled sharply, leaning forward slightly, his heart hammering against his ribs. "You're saying... you actually found a way?"

"Potentially!" Ouroboros said. "It's theoretical, of course. But, uh, mostly in the way that everything is theoretical until it works! Which is how science operates, if you think about it."

Loki closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel the weight of Yggdrasil pressing against him, wrapping around him. He had given his life to hold it together, to keep everything in balance. And now, for the first time since he had taken his seat, there was a chance—

A chance to be free.

"Loki?" Sylvie asked, quieter this time. "What do you think?"

His hands flexed against the throne. He didn't know what he felt. Relief? Fear? Did he even deserve to leave? This had been his choice, after all. His burden. His duty.

But then he thought of the lives unfolding beyond him, the people he had saved—the people he would never meet, never touch, never speak to again. He had given them free will. Give them a chance. And maybe, just maybe, it was time he gave himself one too.

He took a slow breath, steadying himself.

"Tell me everything."

Sylvie had explained to him, every detail of how the device worked. They had been testing it for what felt like an eternity, refining, recalibrating, until, at last, they had a breakthrough.

With Loki's magic woven into the core of the machine, it could function independently, sustaining the delicate balance of the multiverse on its own. The TVA would monitor it, make regular adjustments, and ensure its stability. He wouldn't be completely free—he would still need to return to the throne every few months to give it magic if their calculations were correct—but it was something. A beginning. A breath of something close to freedom.

"Alright," Loki finally said, after a long conversation with Sylvie. He had hesitated, drawn back by caution, by the weight of his responsibility. But she had convinced him—somehow—that this might work. That the device wouldn't collapse under the sheer pressure of the multiverse. "I'll test its capabilities. Bring it in."

A low hum filled the space as the great doors creaked open. The device entered, carried by a machine—some kind of floating platform, a vehicle engineered to withstand the crushing gravity of Yggdrasil's hold. The TVA had been forced to develop new methods of reaching him, of ensuring contact. It was the only way. No mortal, no god, no being could endure this space.

Loki stood as the machine drifted closer, his eyes scanning every inch of the device. It was compact but sturdy, smooth metal fused with interwoven threads of glowing enchantment. He ran his fingers over the surface, searching for flaws, and weaknesses. There were none. It was pristine, impossibly precise.

"Are you certain this will work?" He asked the question one more time, his voice measured, careful. He had been tricked before. He had seen hope turn to dust in his hands.

"Yes!" Sylvie's voice crackled through the communicator, exasperated but firm. "Come on, Loki. Just place it next to the branches and fill it with magic."

He exhaled slowly, hesitating for a fraction longer. Then, with a flick of his fingers, a green light flickered to life in his palm. The air shifted. He pressed his hands to the device and let his magic flow into it.

The machine absorbed it greedily. Power surged through its core, pulsing in rhythmic waves. Loki felt it respond to him, felt the way it held onto his energy, steady and sure. It didn't buckle, didn't strain. It simply took what it needed.

Then, something stirred.

The roots around his throne began to shift, untangling, curling toward the device as if testing it, questioning its presence. Loki tensed. His breath caught.

He fed the machine more magic, faster now, urgency pressing against his ribs. The green light deepened, the device thrumming with energy. It let out a soft beep—confirmation, acknowledgment.

"Good," Sylvie said, her voice softer now. "That's good, Loki. You can stop."

He barely heard her. He was staring at the throne, at the branches of Yggdrasil, at the vast, pulsing weave of time itself.

For the first time since he had taken this burden upon himself, he moved.

He stood.

His fingers slipped from the throne's gnarled surface, his boots stepping away from the place that had bound him, held him, consumed him. He lifted the device, carefully, almost reverently, and placed it where he had once sat. He took a step back. And another. And then—

Nothing happened.

The multiverse did not tremble. The branches did not recoil. The device sat there, nestled in the heart of it all, and the world did not collapse.

Loki's breath shuddered out of him.

His chest ached. His throat felt tight. His vision blurred as something stung at the edges of his eyes.

The branches accepted it. The balance held.

He was free.

Oh, gods. He was free.

He didn’t know what had happened. Or when it had happened. But at some point, he must have lost consciousness.

That was strange.

Loki never slept while sitting on the throne. He had thought he didn’t need to. He was a god, after all. The God of Stories. Time didn’t weigh on him the way it did on others. At least, he had believed so.

And yet—

His body felt heavy, weaker than he remembered as if it were adjusting to something unfamiliar. The absence of pressure. He had spent so long holding the multiverse together that he had forgotten what it felt like to be free of its crushing weight.

A voice murmured nearby. "He's waking up. Alert Ms. Sylvie!"

Loki's mind struggled to catch up. Where was he?

The surface beneath him was soft. Too soft. His fingers curled slightly, brushing against something he hadn’t touched in what felt like an eternity—sheets. A bed.

He was in a bed.

Huh.

Then it all came back. The device. Standing up. And then—

Void.

His eyes snapped open, adjusting to the warm, artificial glow of the TVA’s medical wing. Without thinking, he tried to sit up, instincts kicking in, demanding answers.

"Sir—! You cannot sit up yet!" A voice, sharp but not unkind, snapped him out of his daze.

Loki turned his head, meeting the concerned gaze of a TVA nurse. He exhaled slowly, trying to clench his hand into a fist.

He couldn’t. His fingers twitched but refused to obey. His body was weak. Useless. It had been so long since he had felt anything beyond the constant strain of holding everything together that he hardly recognized himself.

"Have things worked out?" The words came out rougher than he intended, but they were the only ones that mattered.

The nurse's expression softened into something reassuring—something warm. It had been so long since someone had looked at him like that.

"Yes, Director Loki. The device is functioning perfectly. There's no need to worry. Everything is stable."

Loki let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His shoulders sagged slightly, tension bleeding away, but he wasn’t sure how to process the relief that washed over him.

It worked. The multiverse was safe. The world hadn’t ended in his absence.

Director Loki.

The title struck him as odd. He frowned slightly, rolling it over in his mind.

Since when was he a director?

He supposed it made sense. He had saved the TVA. Saved everything. Perhaps, for once, he truly had earned something.

Loki swallowed and let his head rest against the pillows. A slow exhale left him. For the first time in far too long, he felt weightless—no burden pressing upon his shoulders, no threads of time twisting in his grasp. He was free.

And yet, the absence of strain felt almost unnatural.

"You look wretched."

The voice was familiar—too familiar. A sharp edge of amusement, laced with something else. Something unspoken.

Loki let his eyes drift to the side, a smirk ghosting over his lips. "Ever the poet, Sylvie."

She smirked back, settling into the chair beside him with a casual air that did nothing to mask the tension in her shoulders.

Silence stretched between them—not uncomfortable, but charged, filled with all the words neither had yet spoken.

"So… how are you?" she asked at last.

Loki blinked slowly. When had he closed his eyes? He must be more exhausted than he realized.

"Better than in that place, if that is your inquiry," he murmured, voice hoarse yet certain.

Sylvie’s gaze lowered, fingers curling against the worn fabric of her coat. Guilt flickered across her face, though he did not know why. The choices had been his own. The burden, his alone to bear.

He sighed, voice firmer now. "Do not look at me so. I do not regret it. And I would—will—do it again, should the need arise."

Her eyes met his then, sharp, searching. Seeking something. Doubt, hesitation—any sign that he might wish to take it back.

She found none.

A quiet laugh slipped from her lips, soft and breathless. "Yeah. I know."

A pause, and then she huffed, shaking her head. "It is rather tragic, though. You insufferable, dramatic piece of—" She stopped herself, smiling at him as if she still couldn't quite believe he was truly here.

Loki chuckled, low and warm, the sound unfamiliar even to himself.

And for the first time in a long, long while, he let himself savor it.

They talked for a long while.

Sylvie filled him in on everything that had happened in his absence—the TVA, the timelines, the people left behind. It was strange, listening to stories of a world he had saved but not been a part of. Stranger still to sit there, in that quiet space, untethered from the weight of infinity.

And in return, Loki told her of what he had seen. The multiverse had been his domain, and in holding it together, he had glimpsed things no mortal—or god—was ever meant to see.

He had learned more than he ever could in a natural lifespan.

Magic—more than he could ever fully comprehend.

Time—like no one else before him.

The way it breathed, the way it fractured, the way it stitched itself back together in ways even He Who Remains had failed to predict.

And now, he was here. A god, but no longer a king. No longer a prisoner, either.

It was for the better anyway, he did not wish to become a king, not anymore. 

He let the silence settle, weighing his next words. Then, finally, he asked,

"Where is Mobius?"

He tried to sound casual, but the question held weight. Mobius, his friend. The one who had helped him become—well, whoever he was now. A better man, perhaps. Or at least a man he could live with. His friend—maybe even his best friend.

Sylvie’s expression shifted something knowing flickering in her eyes. "I haven’t told him you’re free from that damned place," she admitted, voice laced with amusement. "He’s moping somewhere in the main timeline."

Loki blinked, then smiled. A real, genuine smile. He could surprise Mobius. The thought sent an unexpected warmth through him. It felt almost like his old self—the one who thrived on mischief, on unexpected entrances and grand reveals—the one he wanted to be again, in some way.

"The main timeline?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. He was testing her knowledge, as much out of habit as curiosity.

Sylvie shrugged, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah, it’s the root of all… branches?"

Her voice tilted at the end, more question than statement.

Loki gave a slow, approving nod. "Yes," he said simply. "And I’m glad to hear it’s still intact—like the rest of the timelines."

His voice was steady, but the relief beneath it was real.

The multiverse still stood. Time had not unraveled in his absence.

And somewhere, out there, Mobius was waiting.

Of course, Loki did not want to keep his friend waiting. 

"Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone

Engage with the pain as a motive

Today of all days

See

How the most dangerous thing is to love." -Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths