I stormsvarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene
"It's weird Loki isn't here, is it?" Sylvie mused, her presence alongside Mobius bearing an air of discomfort.
Indeed, peculiar it is, Mobius ruminated. Beyond the realm of mere peculiarity, it ventured into the realms of the inexplicable – the analyst seemingly bereft of Loki in a manner that defied comprehension. For an eternity it seemed, Mobius had immersed himself in the study of the gods' way of life. He fancied himself acquainted with the very core of Loki's being. Yet, the capricious trickster god, with an impulsive decision, left Mobius confounded, a revelation so irrational that Mobius scarcely dared to fathom its origins. Amidst their endeavors to mend the loom, the god, with an aura of sudden revelation, assumed a role as though he had always known his predetermined course. It served as a stark realization for Mobius – a sobering acknowledgment that perhaps he held a shallower understanding of Loki than he had presumed.
"Yeah," the analyst responded, an interlude of contemplative silence engulfing them. Further words remained unspoken, and Sylvie, in haste, opted for departure. It left Mobius pondering whether she comprehended the weighty verity – that for Sylvie to wield free will, Loki must relinquish his own. Such reflections spurred inquiries into the depth of Sylvie's affection for the trickster god.
Mobius lingered in the shadows, an eternal spectator of his own existence. The temptation to seamlessly integrate into the timeline, to embrace the role of father to Don's children, proved an elusive fantasy. This life, though ostensibly his, felt like an ill-fitted garment, leaving Mobius in a state of disquiet. Perhaps, he mused, time is what I need. As an analyst, he relished observing from a distance, yet this circumstance demanded more.
But why did it feel so amiss? He was Don, unequivocally himself. Yet, the resonance of authenticity remained elusive.
Walking away became the only recourse. Nearly two months had transpired since Mobius relinquished the life he was meant to lead, opting instead to forge a new path from remnants and fragments. In these months, he endeavored to acclimate, striving to comprehend the intricacies of Don's existence before assuming his mantle.
Yet, an unshakable disquiet persisted. Despite earnest attempts to move forward, Mobius found the passage of time an arduous companion. The corridors of his mind echoed with the memories of the TVA, of Loki. As he grappled with the relentless march of days, Mobius, in desperate pursuit of feeling, embraced coping mechanisms tinged with complication. Seeking solace in pain, an odd yearning for the ache of remembrance consumed him. Was it amiss to desire someone so fervently that the sting of longing became a bittersweet salve for the soul?
In the tapestry of his existence, most days melted into indistinct blotches of darkness. The moments slipped through his grasp like ephemeral shadows, leaving behind an amnesic void. The struggle to recollect actions from yesteryears or mere minutes ago became a futile exercise. Trying seemed irrelevant. If the TVA and this current existence were not his purpose, then what, he pondered, was?
Seated on the frigid tiles of his bathroom floor, a chilling self-interrogation ensued. The once-vibrant memories of Loki became elusive, an enigma that he sought to unravel in a disconcerting manner. A perverse satisfaction flickered in his eyes as the crimson droplets traced a macabre dance down his arm.
A wry chuckle escaped his parched lips, swiftly eclipsed by the release of a pent-up sob, gut-wrenching and long overdue. The scars that adorned him, once a mystery, now bore the indelible signature of his own inflictions. The TVA, with its sterile corridors, had masked the true origins of those well-crafted scars.
Stuck in a malevolent loop, Mobius found himself in a desolate familiarity, precisely where he was meant to be, feeling what he was meant to feel – echoes of a past that refused to release its grip.
Eventually, the cold bathroom floor relinquished its claim on him. A sense of hopelessness, a stark contrast to the newfound essence of hope, enveloped him. In a moment of resignation, Mobius rose, leaving behind the frigid tiles for the sanctuary of his closet. Fingers traversed the fabric of his old TVA suit, pockets harboring fragments of a life he had abandoned. The TVA, a place of both camaraderie and torment, beckoned to him, an unexplored realm since his departure. Fearful yet compelled, he conceded that a journey back might hold the key to unriddling the complexities of his fractured existence. Perhaps, in reuniting with old allies, he could navigate the labyrinth of emotions that entwined him.
After retrieving his tempad, Mobius adorned himself in an attempt to reclaim a semblance of former elegance. The past two months had allowed his hair to grow untamed, a deliberate choice, a tribute to Loki's penchant for disrupting order with unruly locks. A smile crept across Mobius' face as he reminisced about the mischievous deity's antics.
Dressed and ready, Mobius entered the coordinates of the TVA into his tempad, crossing the threshold of the time door without a second thought. The once bustling halls appeared less populated than in his recollection. Familiar faces were scarce, and the absence of recognition lingered as he wandered through the corridors.
Deciding to indulge in a piece of pie for sentimental reasons, Mobius found himself on a collision course with forgetfulness. A chance encounter with another person disrupted his path, resulting in a regrettable pie-related mishap. "Oh, damn my pie," Mobius exclaimed, peering at the smeared remains on the floor.
"Mobius? Why are you back here?" inquired a voice he knew well, the owner attempting to salvage their now-pie-adorned attire. "Huh, Sylvie?" Mobius responded, bewildered by her unexpected presence. Lost in his own thoughts, he failed to register Sylvie's attempts to draw his attention.
"Damnit, Mobius, have you aged so much that you're having trouble understanding me now? And thanks for ruining my favorite sweater. Really appreciate the get-together present," she quipped with sarcasm.
Caught off guard, Mobius stammered, "Why are you here?" The question hung in the air, echoing his bewilderment. Sylvie's presence in the TVA seemed incongruous, a puzzle piece that didn't fit the narrative of her departure.
"..I had a dream – or a message. I'm trying to figure out what it meant. That's why I am back at this cursed place," the god declared, a bitter edge to her words. "However, it's none of your business, really. Go enjoy the pie," she added, poised to depart. Before she could make her exit, Mobius reached out and grasped her arm.
"Let's talk," he insisted. Sylvie, though perplexed, acquiesced. In no hurry, she saw no harm in catching up with an old adversary. "Alright," she agreed, taking hold of Mobius' arm and leading him along. Their destination remained unknown to him, and he made no effort to unravel the mystery until a faint green glow caught his attention.
"You want to talk... here?" Mobius questioned, eyeing a vast window. The blinds were drawn for safety, yet a subtle emerald luminescence filtered through. This was where he last saw Loki, where he lost his friend.
Seated in front of the window, Sylvie and Mobius fell into a contemplative silence. Neither knew how to broach the conversation.
“I stormsvarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene,” Sylvie began to sing suddenly. “Over isbreen tar jeg meg frem,” she continued.
“In eplehagen står møyen den vene,” Mobius unexpectedly muttered, surprising both himself and Sylvie. They exchanged puzzled glances before speaking up.
"I've been dreaming about this song for some reason. It never leaves me alone. It suddenly starts without context – and I don't even know what it means or why it won't... leave me alone," Mobius confessed, his fists clenched.
"Loki sang it to me once. That's how I know it. It kind of fits this situation... but I don't know why I thought it's a good time to sing it now," Sylvie admitted.
“It's unfair that he had to make this choice, but it was his to make... and I will live my life being thankful to Loki. Don't waste yours; Loki wouldn't have wanted you to suffer, Mobius,” Sylvie conveyed, standing up. She smiled at Mobius one last time before departing to continue her own journey. Mobius found himself immobilized, unable to rise or move.
Sylvie's words lingered in the air. Loki's sacrifice, a choice Mobius had witnessed, weighed heavily on his heart. She was right – Loki wouldn't have wanted him to languish in sorrow. But Mobius couldn't envision a life without him.
“og synger 'når kommer du hjem?” suddenly echoed through the room. Without warning, the blinds activated, unveiling the intricate tapestry of timelines, each branch forming a breathtaking Tree. Mobius stared in awe, tears streaming down his face. On unsteady legs, he rose and approached the window, yearning for proximity.
“Men trærne danser og fossene stanser, når hun synger, hun synger 'kom hjem'”
Mobius comprehended the finality of this moment. He wouldn't see Loki again. It was goodbye, an acknowledgment etched into the haunting melody. It marked the last occasion he would hear this tune. It was time to go home, time to move forward, to endeavor to live the life Loki had made possible, even in its difficulty. Mobius took one last, lingering look before turning away, walking into the
encroaching darkness.
“When she sings, she sings 'come home.'”