The Seventh Stone

Never a boring night when you're surrounded by a bunch of rich, drunk people. 

But at the end of the day, we've got to do what we've got to do. Since graduating art school with honors a little over two years ago, my career skyrocketed. I moved away from a crumbling, bombed-and-ruined New York to Los Angeles, and made my way into a new life—with connections, connections, and more connections... 

It's great, but it also sucks. Sucks to have left New York behind. Sucks to have had my university burned to a crisp. Sucks to have needed to start over, all because the flashes of burning buildings and explosions didn't abate. Nor did the blood-curdling fear of being unable to escape the nuke being shot toward the middle of the city...

Life has its vices, I suppose. It doesn't matter where you go. Having moved past stitching up my mental health, the next stage was reconstructing the rest of my life.

And knowing how to charm people—it's arguably more important than being a prodigy. After all, how many prodigies go on to become a household name? At the end of the day, talent can be cultivated—but a helping of schmooze and human interaction is what gets you ahead. 

That's why I fade to the background at these art showcasing events. Local universities have them every couple of months, and they're great for portfolio exchanges and collaborations—but my facial muscles start aching after hours of pretending that I'm not thinking about going home and plopping in front of the TV. 

Smiles and smalltalk take the foreground of my everyday business. I can't cuss out an annoyingly snobby patron, because he might hire me for a project. Can't sprinkle sarcasm into my morning cheerios, because I might develop a reputation. It's all carefully calculated, carefully strategized... And the slyness makes me feel dirty sometimes.

Tonight was a huge success, having sold a number paintings at a local exhibition—as successful as an artist can get, anyway. It's never terribly exciting, just a bit of mule here and there. 

No one ever giddies over my artwork or cries at it the way I do, when I'm working at the university's studio. And if I had someone waiting for me at home every night, they would probably never tell the difference between a successful night and a bust.

Despite the night's success, the energy doesn't pass with me over the threshold into my apartment. After the tirade of small talk and smiles, I flip on the lights and trudge about my apartment, going through the motions—shoes thrown off in separate directions, purse on the dinner table, big-girl clothes on the desk chair...and finally, stage four: remove uppermost layers of makeup, and hop off to sleep.

The sight of my bed is a cornucopia of pillows, blankets and sweet, sweet relief—just like usual. 

Having the utmost negligence to basic skin care, I toss the used makeup wipe on my nightstand before flipping off the lights, and crawl into the soft sheets with a heavy sigh. With the quiet, tranquil darkness muting the noises of the day, it doesn't take long for me to start drifting off to sleep. The last thing I see are the glowing digits on the alarm clock sitting on my nightstand—12:05 AM.

Every muscle in my body relaxes as my head weighs heavy into the pillow. The day starts slipping away, bit by bit, but I couldn't tell how long I've been asleep before I suddenly feel my fingers twitch—a telltale sign that something's waking me up. If it were a person, I'd smack them—thanks to my painful single hood, it's more likely a bug. And I'm about to have a heart attack. 

 Bits of consciousness start returning to me, and a faint buzzing sound starts to rise in my ear...which obviously shouldn't be there, but maybe it's a dream? I protest my return to consciousness as I roll onto my side annoyedly—leaving only a quarter of my face exposed to the air.

A faint echo sends a chill running down my neck and arms, and I furrow my brow against the pillow. With one deep breath, I taste the brisk, conditioned air in my room, and blow past the point of no return—I'm awake.

I sigh frustratedly and squeeze my eyes tightly before they flutter open. The lamp and alarm clock slowly sharpen as I return to my wakened state, and see that three hours have passed—it's 3:27 AM. I peer at them from under my heavy eyelids, and it takes me a moment to realize that there's some kind of light pouring over them, causing them to cast a shadow on the wall. Strange—even if I'd left a light on, my lamps have more a yellow tint than a white one. I knit my brows together suspiciously, and turn over slowly to find the source.

At the sight of some alien object on the ceiling, I flip over sharply. Sheets fly off my body from the sudden movement, and my breathing freezes as my eyes dart from corner to corner—at flurries of white light flowing individually toward the center of the room. And there, just a few feet above my head, is where they meet.

I squint my eyes, trying to see the object through the minor shadow of my eyelashes. Whatever it is, it's too bright to look directly at it, but I can vaguely make out the shape of something small and round suspended in the air.

I flinch at the deep, dulcet voice that suddenly vibrates throughout my room. "Return to the edge of creation, and behold the seventh infinity stone." 

The voice trails off to a steady whisper as I stare at it with widened eyes—perplexed. After a moment of deafening silence, I shift uncomfortably on my bed, daunted by the incessant feeling that I'm supposed to say something, but… well, I can hardly muster a sound over the feeling of my heart pounding against my throat, much less put together a thoughtful, coherent response to this situation.

I blink several times before some of the shock dissipates, and a semblance of rational thinking seeps back into my mind. Once some of the background noise is gone, the only thought still circling in my mind is that this has to be a dream. There's nothing else it could be, so maybe, if I go to sleep, everything will be fine in the morning. That's what's likely—and I might not even remember this dream at all.

I exhale sharply, and lower my eyes to the floor with a steady breath. Hell, I can taste the conditioned air in my apartment, feel the chill of it against my skin—and if that wasn't enough, this brightness is bothering my eyes. There's nothing about this that feels like sleep, but… it has to be.

Finally, I nod reassuringly—for myself more than anything—and actively force myself to look away from the object, while laying back down onto the bed. At this point, it still takes an effort to keep my eyes shut for several moments, and it doesn't help that I can still see the ambient light through my eyelids. 

Less than a heartbeat later, goosebumps erupt all over my body as a brisk, forceful wind suddenly picks up all around me. And just as the impulse hits me to open my eyes, some alien pressure bears down on my body from all sides—intensely enough to force the air out of my lungs, and prevent me from moving. It appears and disappears in a quick flash, and my eyes shoot open with a heavy gasp for air, while my hand clamps on the ground in a quick impulse.

And I don't know what shocks me more—the abruptness of an indoor tornado, the sudden paralysis, or the fact that my bed is gone. My popcorn ceiling with it, along with my plain, sliding closet doors, and cute little night stand.

I’m still here, though—laying on a cold, hard floor, and staring up at a golden triquetra painted on the tall, domed roof above me. I blink in confusion as my gasps turn into softer breaths, and I lift myself slowly, with every single one of my senses quaking with alertness. 

The giant pillars are the first thing I see, lining the length of an enormous hall to my left. Beyond them is a pitch black sky, peppered with stars that are bright enough to be seen from this far into the building. From there, my eyes dart from corner to corner as I slowly lift myself onto my feet.

Everything around me is still as I take two steps forward, back, and side to side, looking in every direction—as if answers might pop out from one of the dark corners around me. Finally, I turn in place to see a throne behind me, embellished with jewels and golden carvings. It’s beautiful enough to raise genuine shock and awe amidst my anxiety, and is nestled at the base of a large golden crescent, with two lion heads on either side of the arm rests. 

I glance behind me before ascending the stairs slowly, hearing only the faint popping sounds of the flames and my bare feet sliding against the steps. The angular dimensions of the throne become more visible as I grow closer, and… up close, it looks the most inordinately uncomfortable thing to sit on.

“Excuse me,” says a deep voice behind me, making me jump, and turn sharply in the process.

A tall figure strides out from behind one of the columns, with one hand tucked behind his back, and the other holding a book. His boots scrape across the ground as he steps closer, scanning the length of me suspiciously, and his footsteps echo against the pillars. 

I’d like to think I’m looking back at him with equal suspicion—not just by virtue of the situation as a whole, but rather, at his weird, norse-looking outfit. The dark green robe hangs all the way to his ankles, and is open at the front. It’s sleeveless too, revealing a leather tunic of a lighter shade underneath, and is clipped across the front of his torso by a golden buckle. 

“Who are you?” he asks in a low voice. 

I shift uncomfortably, and the sound of my feet sliding nervously against the stone floor is the only sound between us for a moment. 

“My name is... Lara,” I mumble—feeling self-conscious by the sudden, keen awareness of my light pajama shorts and braless tank top.

“Lara,” he repeats my name inquisitively, with his accented voice. Suddenly he shuts the book with a quick snap, and cocks his head to the side as he peers up at me. “I’m Loki, Prince of Asgard.”

I give a subtle nod, trying to hide the nervousness in my expression. 

“Nice to meet you,” I say quietly, practically whispering. 

Loki stares back at me without returning the gesture. “Where are you from? And what are you doing here?” 

“I, uh…” I struggle to control my uneven breathing as I fumble with my fingers, looking left and right for signs of anyone else. “I live in Los Angeles.” 

He blinks in surprise, “You’re from Earth? How did you get here?” 

I stare at him for a moment. 

“You... You say that like this isn’t… Earth.” 

“No—this is Asgard,” Loki eyes me suspiciously, before raising a brow and nodding in my direction. “And most people aren’t allowed to tread so close to the throne.” 

“Oh—I’m sorry,” I say, glancing behind me at the slabs of gold—in the light of the torches, they gleam so beautifully. They’re beautiful enough to… paint. 

My eyes widen with a sudden realization. 

“Wait,” I exhale sharply, whispering to myself. “This isn’t real, isn’t it?” 

I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me immediately. So many of my paintings are based off gorgeous landscapes or other imagery that I experience when I’m asleep—it’s practically my signature quality, and why my paintings sell so well. My technique is just as good as any other formally trained artist—it’s my vision that sells. And this is probably some kind of freakishly lucid dream.

Loki furrows his brows, “What?” 

I look back at him—scanning the angular features of his face while he stares back at me, lips slightly parted.

With a subtle nod, I inhale resolutely and lower myself down at the foot of the throne, nestling onto my left side, with one leg crossed over the other for balance. My long, light brown curls circle into a soft, heavy pile on top of my elbow, and I close my eyes with a deep breath, resting my head on it.

A moment of deafening silence goes by, maybe two, before I open them again—and see that nothing’s changed. I push off the floor slowly, and prop myself up in a half-seated position. White-hot nervousness seeps into my chest.

“Well, that usually works…” I say, with tension gripping my throat

“I suppose I’ll ask again,” Loki continues, as I lift myself up and descend the steps slowly. “How did you get here?” 

I hold his gaze until I reach the bottom step, and turn to face him. Blue, emotionless eyes stare back down at me, bearing a sharp contrast against the black, wavy hair grown past his ears.  I open my mouth to speak, then close it again. I’m still trying to piece it all together myself, explaining it to someone else feels… infeasible. 

I take a breath. “Well, I’m… I’m not entirely—” 

Loki blinks as my eyes suddenly widen. My backside stiffens, and goosebumps flare up on my arms as a deep, rumbling sound vibrates in my ears. 

“Lara.” 

I step back from him, recoiling from the sound. Loki’s eyes narrow—though he appears unfazed, if not mildly captivated. My eyes snap to the tall, domed ceiling as the voice reverberates off it.

“Can you hear that?” I breathe out, lowering my gaze to him.

“Hear what?” 

“That voice,” I say with a shallow, nervous breath. “You didn’t hear that?” 

The look on his face says it all—he has no idea what I’m talking about. 

“I… I heard it just before I woke up here.”

“You woke up here?” Loki’s brow rises. “So, the Bifrost didn’t bring you here?” 

"I don't know what a Bifrost is," I say earnestly. "But I was asleep, and then there was something in my room, and it was glowing… Then there was this voice, telling me it was the seventh infinity stone.”

Loki cocks his head to the side as his tense expression shifts to knowingness, and a glimmer of thought passes through his eyes. 

“The seventh infinity stone?” he says in a low voice, tucking both arms behind his back. “How interesting.” 

A quiet echo reverberates through the hall. I pause, looking up at the ceiling slowly, and Loki follows my eyes up to it as well. I turn, trailing the sound from corner to corner, until my eyes lower back down to the ground, and land on a small archway that was directly behind me. 

A faint, residual whisper of the voice breezes through it. Something tightens in my chest, like a subtle pull that coaxes the breath straight out of my lungs.

“It’s there,” I breathe out, and walk toward it. 

“What’s there?” Loki asks, his voice dripping with suspicion and curiosity.

“The voice—it’s coming from here,” I say as I pass through the archway, glancing side to side in a trance-like state. 

A long, dark stairway descends into pitch blackness on the left. Loki appears beside me, following my line of sight down the stairs as I peer down them nervously. 

“Where does this lead?” I ask, turning toward him.

“Odin’s vault,” he says solemnly, and the deep notes of his voice resonate in the air around us.

“Can I go down there?” 

Loki glances thoughtfully about my face for a moment as deep consideration reels across his expression. The edges of his eyes glisten in the light of the torches propped against the walls, and with a quick flinch in his brow, he finally nods. "Fine. But only if I come with you."

I nod briskly in acknowledgment, before turning and taking off down the steps. 

A slight breeze picks up against my skin as we descend. Across a small stretch of hallway at the bottom, a ray of light shines through a rectangular doorway. I approach it slowly, steeping out into the pale glow with Loki just behind me, and find myself standing on a large, suspended walkway in the middle of sheer blackness. The only thing in this enormous room is the vault, which is directly in front of us.

I stride carefully over the wide path, toward the doorway leading into the vault. I’m not anywhere near the edges of the walkway, but the idea of slipping and falling into blackness is still daunting. The door itself about twice my height, and I heave against the heavy wood until it opens—revealing another flight of stairs that lead to a lower level. 

I glance back at Loki, giving him one last chance at disapproval before going inside. Something inside me sighs with disappointment at the blank expression on his face—I guess there’s no turning back now. 

A pale, orange glow flickers against the dark walls around us, and glimmers against the large, golden doorway stretching up above our heads. I glance at it before turning right, and descending further into the bottom-most level of the room. 

Loki stops on the bottom stair as I continue on, listening and looking for signs of the voice. Slanted columns run up and down the walls on either side of me, and their reflection in the glossy floor gives the room a rather large appearance. Stone pedestals are erected in the spaces between them, with strange-looking relics resting atop them.

Among these are a gauntlet, a tablet, and a pensive of glowing flames. My eyes pass over them one by one as I walk by, until the blue, subtle glow of another relic catches my attention from the far end of the room. With Loki’s eyes still on me, I turn toward and walk toward it slowly, making out the shape of a small, glimmering cube. Faint, indiscernible voices wisp around the object as I get closer, while a calm, hypnotizing feeling settles in my chest, drawing me in—

“I wouldn’t do that,” Loki’s voice shatters the tenuous illusion. 

Apparently I’d begun reaching for the object without even realizing it. I lower my hand immediately, taking a step back as Loki approaches me. I turn and look up at him—his expression is completely unreadable. I’d venture to guess there’s some hint of curiosity, but I’m far from certain of that. 

“Tell me,” he says calmly. “What were you hoping to find down here?” 

I shake my head, still peering at him, “I don’t know, I was just following the voice.” 

“And did it lead you to that?” Loki glances at the small cube. 

“What is it?” I ask, turning toward it. 

“The tesseract—a vessel of great power.” 

I can practically feel the object's blue tint illuminating my eyes, and a subtle vibration rises in my abdomen as the indiscernible whispers return. My head starts spinning as they grow louder, and the blue light starts to throb. 

“What’s going on?” Loki’s eyes dart between me and the tesseract. I stagger back, swaying back and forth as the room begins to spin. Loki reaches out to grab my arm—and passes straight through it. 

His face twists with confusion. Seconds later, a quick pulse through the air forces him a few steps back. Without a spare moment to flex my legs, I drop to the ground as it subsides.

The briskness of the air suddenly sweeps against my exposed skin, and I shudder—as though feeling it for the first time. I look up at Loki, and he raises both hands cautiously as he steps toward me, eyeing me as I shift unsteadily against the icy ground.

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

I look up at him from the ground, trying to steady myself as the spinning room normalizes.

“I think so," I say, feeling slightly nauseated. "What happened?”

“You disappeared—and the tesseract,” he glances at the cube. “Its power enveloped you for a moment.” 

I glance down at my hand, and raise it up slowly in front of me. Nothing looks different, but.. damn, it’s cold as hell in here.

“Come,” he says, extending a hand down to me. 

I look up at him for a moment, at the purposeful look in his eyes, and I realize he’s thinking the same thing I am. I can tell, just by the way his eyes narrow as I reach up slowly—and take his hand. 

Heat emanates from his skin as I grip it tightly, and we both pause—waiting for something to happen. Hot terror and nervousness spreads through my chest, as I glance between him and our intertwined hands. Meanwhile, Loki stares straight at my hand before slowing making his way up my arm, until he meets my eyes. When nothing happens after a few moments, his lips thin into a straight line, and his expression grows tight with reproach. With a quick, effortless tug, he pulls me onto my feet. 

“Well, it appears you’ve materialized fully,” he says wearily, stepping back from me.

I take a breath and nod, rubbing a cold hand against the shoulder that isn’t covered by my hair. “There were voices coming from that cube,” I turn and gesture to it. “Is that… it?” 

“No,” he says. “The tesseract is a containment vessel for the space stone.” 

“And what is that?” 

“One of the infinity stones," he says with a heavy sigh. "Relics of great power, of which there are only known to be six: space, power, reality, mind, time, and the soul stone.” 

I pause, “No seventh stone?” 

He shakes his head slowly, and directs the next thoughtful gaze toward the tesseract. “No seventh stone—perhaps, until now.” 

Silence hardens around us as Loki peers at it for a moment. He's staring at it, while I'm staring at him—and I can't tell which of us is more engaged. I can practically see the thoughts passing through his mind, though I can't quite make them out entirely. Finally, he blinks, and his eyes roll back up to me while the rest of his body remains motionless. Suddenly, the darkness around us grows colder, and a shiver rolls down my neck at the subtle, inexplicable desire now hovering in his expression.

“I just want to go home,” I say in a low voice. “I don’t want the stone, or anything else…” 

“You don’t have to keep it,” he says with a slow, terrible softness. 

I tear my eyes away from him and step back, bumping into the pedestal still holding the tesseract. I hear it slide a little against the glossy surface, and with an impulse driven more by anxiety than rationality, I turn and grab it.

The moment my skin touches the hot glass, webs of stinging light shoot up my arm, and spread to the rest of my body. 

“Shit,” I hear Loki hiss as my stomach suddenly rises, like I’m being thrown through the air. 

All I can see and feel for several moments is a bright blue light buzzing against my skin—and a sudden grasp around my arm. With the abrupt tug of some invisible force, the pressure disappears from my arm, and I roll over several feet on the ground—landing face-down in dirt. With a heavy thump, something heavy rolls over next to me, forcing my cheek into the rough grain. Dirt lodges under my nails as I scrape my fingers together into fists, and prop myself up onto my elbows, pushing the heaviness off before turning to look at it. 

Loki. He landed facing up instead of down—probably because I stopped him from rolling over. He lowers his hands from his face slowly as pieces of dirt fall trickles off the side of his hair, and I watch as he scans the sky in a quick reflex, then turns and meets my eyes with an equal amount of shock. 

Grains of sand sift against my skin as I move away from him immediately, and glance in the other direction. Indeed, a thin layer of black sand surrounds us on all sides. As far as I can tell, it goes on for miles, and snakes between sharp-looking bodies of rock that scatter throughout the fields. I follow the sand and rocks until my eyes land on a range of pitch-black walls stretch up into the sky—where one particularly tall mountain peak towers high above the rest.

Behind me, the sound of  hands patting leather reels me back to 'Situation: Loki.' Under different circumstances, I might find the obstinate scowl on his face amusing, but I'm cooking one up under the surface myself. 

“What the hell just happened!?” I exclaim, brushing the sand off my own sticky, sweaty skin. “Where are we!?” 

"The tesseract," Loki growls as he brushes his black waves out of his face, and shakes the sand out of them. “Brought us here.” 

"Yeah I got that, but where are we!?” 

“I don’t know!” he says annoyedly. “Why don’t you tell me that!?” 

I scoff, throwing my hands up on either side. “At what point have I looked like I know what's going on!?” 

I tear my eyes away from him for a moment, and turn in place to look around at the scenery. The black peaks are behind me now, and in this direction, there are trees—massive trees—whose roots stretch across the land far off. Even from a distance, I can tell that their sheer enormity is supremely... unnatural.

A sudden screech interrupts my observance. Loki and I turn abruptly, looking side to side for the source of a noise. A pair of wings suddenly expand atop a nearby rock—half feathered, half metal. The winged creature bursts into the air with an incredible speed, and lands with a skid on the ground behind us. [to be continued]