The Seventh Stone

Everything seems to go back to normal in the days that follow the celebration. Save for Loki’s proposal lingering in my mind: to live in Asgard, ‘for the time being.’ I’d begun thinking about it almost immediately—as soon as brain activity resumed normally, and I got a bit of much-needed sleep. 

The days have otherwise gone by much as they did before, and Loki hasn’t pressed me once for answers—which I appreciate. It’s given me the time to consider things carefully: in what capacity would I devote some uncertain amount of time, to live somewhere as far and unfamiliar as Asgard? What further implications would it have on my life in Midgard? And arguably the most important question—what would I do with the stone? 

These are the things I’ve thought about—even now, leaning against one of the wooden stands as Loki bargains with the shopkeeper, over the chain of a small necklace I’d passingly remarked was beautiful. I don’t even really want to know where he obtained the money to pay for it, so instead, I simply choose to let my mind stray a bit from the scene.

“Well done,” I hear Loki say friendlily to the young shopkeeper, before pivoting toward me with a long, golden chain and green pendant resting between his fingers. 

I drop my gaze down from the treetops—toward him.  “Hm? Oh-” I reach out to take the delicate necklace from him, tilting my head with a smile. “Thank you.” 

The chain is just long enough to get around my head without unhooking it, and it rests lightly against my chest. 

“Looks even better on the lady,” the shopkeeper grins with satisfaction. 

I nod graciously. “That’s very kind—thank you.” 

“I don’t think it’s the necklace that looks lovely,” Loki grins.  

I step toward him, rising up onto the balls of my feet briefly to peck him on the cheek before continuing our stroll down the path. He turns with me, but we both halt sharply at the sound of desperate, pattering footsteps behind us—and the sound of someone calling my name.

Half the marketplace turns with us, and stares at the sight of Yerul appearing from around the corner. “Lara—Loki,” he says breathlessly, sliding to a stop in front of us. “It’s Olen—he’s…. They brought him in to the hospital.” 

My eyes widen. “Hospital!?” I exclaim. “What happened?” 

Yerul shakes his head. “We don’t know—he’s not conscious, there’s… There’s something wrong with him.” 

Loki and I exchange glances.

“Okay,” I nod. “Let’s go.” 

***

Yerul wasn’t lying. 

Wherever Olen’s been, and whatever he’s been up to, something really got under his skin—literally. In fact, the longer we stay in this room, along with the King and Queen, the harder it is to look at him. So I do it in bursts—looking toward the bed, and away from it. 

Tears stream down Valaryn’s cheeks as she peers down at him. 

“I don’t understand—what is this?” she looks back at Weylan, who turns and wraps his arms around her—still peering worriedly down at his son.

My eyes trail back toward Olen—toward the sight of his dazed eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and blackened veins bulging from his skin.

They’d patched up the wounds before we got here, but we’d been told upon our arrival that he’d been cut to ribbons as well…

I swallow hard, and inhale sharply. “Maybe…” I mumble, pausing to reconsider my thoughts. Seconds too late, as every pair of eyes in the room turns toward me sharply—like they’d been waiting for me to say something. “Maybe I can find out what happened to him.”  

“How?” Valaryn pleads, and the sound of her desperation reinforces me slightly. 

“The god stone,” I reveal it in my hand. I’ve had to get creative on ways to carry it, but it’s always on me one way or another. “I can use it to see what happened to him.” 

She pauses for a moment, staring at me contemplatively, before nodding briskly and laying her head back against Weylan’s shoulder. 

“Do you know if he’s safe to touch?” I ask.

“Yes,” the King replies, shaking his head. “Whatever this is… There’s barely any trace of it on the surface.” 

I nod. “Alright.” 

Suppose I’ll have to look at him… My shoulders sink in dread as I step toward the bed, bending slightly to press three fingers onto his covered shoulder. With a gentle pulse of energy from the stone, a familiar sound begins to hum in my ears. I shut my eyes, letting it flow through me before opening them again. I turn my head in my weightless form, peering out into a field of floating bodies of mass—intertwined by black strings. 

This is…. The dark dimension?Was Olen in the dark dimension? 

And what the hell was he doing here? The question resonates in my mind as the picture spins around me, like a tape of film responding to the movements of a steering wheel. 

A chasm appears next. More specifically, a wide series of fissures encircling a raised plateau, with a single, throbbing ball of black energy—alone amidst the cornucopia of white strings. 

Dread and desperation course through my veins as I peer at it. It rises in my chest—almost as strongly as if it were my own. With a burst of movement and flurries of smoke that stretch across the chasm, an army spanning as far as the eye can see appears throughout the fields. 

The fields… 

The black sand fields. 

The vision ends as my fingers suddenly burn hot, and I jump away from the bed—bumping against Loki’s frontside as he catches me. I hear Valaryn crying out in the corner, but my eyes are fixated on Olen—on the streams of black smoke seeping from his body. 

“What is that?” Loki growls. 

Dull, hot nervousness stretches throughout my chest as I remember the black cloud I’d encountered in the dark dimension. 

I part my lips reluctantly as I step toward it slowly. “Seron,” I murmur gutturally. 

He was inside Olen’s body? Was Seron using him to cross into this world somehow? It would make sense—he wasn’t really ‘here’ the last time I encountered him. It was more of an echo of his form—remnants of his power that managed to percolate into this realm. Just like my ethereal body, when I travel between the realms.

A low, vibrating rumble sounds from the mass, as it explodes through the room and out the door. I take off after it into the hallway.  

“SERON!” I scream as it barrels past the hospital staff and equipment, knocking some over. It halts abruptly—floating in place for a moment, before dissipating into thin air. 

“That was Seron!?” Loki exclaims. 

I nod, snapping toward him. “And he’s not alone—at least, he won’t be for long,” I stride past Loki, back into the hospital room. “Weylan-” I pause, seeing him and Valaryn at Olen’s side. Valaryn sobs into his shoulder as the doctor fumbles around with his arm. Shit. 

“Is he…?”  

Weylan merely glances at me briefly. I look up at Loki to my side, while he peers ahead intently—along with Yerul, slightly more shocked, standing further to his right.

“He’s alive,” the doctor proclaims, and a sigh of relief breaks out through the room—save for me and Loki. 

“Can someone please tell me what’s happening!?” the Queen exclaims, looking between myself and the doctor. 

“He was in the dark dimension,” I mumble disappointedly, peering at his near-lifeless body. “I believe he returned to Seron—and… I suppose things didn’t work out the way he’d planned,” I turn my head toward Loki, addressing him—since he knew of my suspicions toward Olen. “I suppose that’s where he’d gone. What he’s been doing all this time.” 

“The dark dimension?” Weylan mutters. “How could he have ended up there?” 

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head as I look back at him. “That’s not all I saw, though—is there a chasm somewhere near here? A circular chasm, somewhere in the black sand fields?” 

He lowers his chin. “Yes. The Grey Cliffs—why do you ask?” 

“Grey Cliffs,” I repeat, sighing heavily. “That mass you saw? That was Seron—I’ve seen him once like that before, in the dark dimension. I sense desperation—he knows we’re winning, and I think he used Olen’s body to manifest in this world. That’s why he’s headed to the Grey Cliffs. I think he means to bring his army here,” I pause. “Right now.” 

Silence permeates the space, and I exhale nervously as everyone in the room turns toward me slowly. My voice drops low. “And we better be ready when he does.” 

***

“That incomparable dullard,” Loki scowls as he straightens his armor in the neighboring section of the armory—which is dark and considerably stale, having been built underneath the tree. “Can’t say he didn’t have it coming, really.” 

“I don’t disagree,” I mumble nervously from another section of the room, otherwise quietly assembling the armor that’d been given to me. 

For a moment, I look up into the mirror and peer at the dark, navy colored suit, noting the silver embellishments that stretch across the front—which are vaguely reminiscent of the silver stiles from the throne room. A symbol of the crown, maybe? It reminds me more of the god stone’s strings. 

The fabric is sturdy and flexible, but not enough to conceal the feeling of my heart beating wildly as I clamp more armor over my chest. I assume this particular piece was made especially for me, since the suit only extends down my left arm—while the other is clad in additional cuffs, bearing the same intricate metal design that can be found across my pauldrons and knee caps. 

Loki’s fumbling suddenly pauses. “Are you alright back there?” 

I shake my head silently. “Yeah—I’m fine,” I lie, locking the final pauldron in place. A long, grey cape tumbles down from it, down the left side of my back, as I step out from around the corner—briefly noticing the green accents on Loki’s otherwise black and silver armor, which crosses over itself down the length of his torso. The only similarity between us is the design on his metal pauldrons—even his cloak is a deep green shade. 

I glance at a pair of long, silver daggers hanging on the wall behind him as I approach. “It’s just,” I murmur doubtfully, as anxiety buzzes in my chest. “I don’t know if I can do this…” 

“What do you mean?” he asks flatly—as though he already knows the answer, but still wants to hear my thoughts.

I pause for a moment, scoffing as I gesture at the armor. “I’m an artist,” I croak, feeling a sudden wetness tinge my eyes. It’s a sharp realization—that the weight of my conviction is meaningless, that this new reality has decided another fate for me. “At least I was,” I add, turning away from his solemn expression to lean against a crate. 

“I’d say you’ve managed to hold your own in a fight,” he says, stepping toward me. 

I shake my head. “That was different. You didn’t see the vision—it’s war out there,” I gesture toward the walls. “And we’re about to march right into it, today, and I—I haven’t even had the time to process all of this… Even if I survive,” I pause, holding Loki’s sullen gaze. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do afterwards. With the stone. I can’t just leave it here.” 

“That’s part of the reason I wanted you to come back to Asgard. We could keep it safe there—together. You’ll protect the stone,” he says softly. “And I’ll protect you.” 

Warmth swells in my chest as I peer up at him doubtfully. “But then everyone will know that it exists,” I say quietly. “There are good reasons for it to have stayed hidden.”

Loki looks away darkly, pivoting slightly against the stone floor. I tilt my head suspiciously. “What?”

“There’s only one thing that worries me on that note—one being,” he says. 

“Who?” I ask impatiently. 

“Thanos,” Loki looks back at me—and coldness settles in my chest at the as the hint of some dark memory dances across his eyes. “He’s the one that sent me to Earth, furnished me with an army—he’d organized the initiative, and burdened me with it.” 

I pause. “Not just you…” I mumble, and shake my head briskly. “But that’s not what this is about—who is this person?” 

“He’s not a person,” Loki continues. “He’s a titan—the Mad Titan. He’s sought after the infinity stones for the longest time. I don’t know many he’s managed to obtain.” 

I lower my gaze, considering the implication—that the end is further from sight than I thought it was. All this time, we’ve been putting out this fire, while another’s been growing in the far distance. 

“But he doesn’t know about the god stone?” I ask, looking back up at him. 

“I don’t think so,” Loki shakes his head, and his voice drops to a quiet tone. “I suppose bringing it to Asgard may not serve the purpose of concealing it, but… we’ll find a way,” he steps toward me. “You can’t possibly be thinking of staying here?” 

I sigh, letting my head roll downward to my hands. “No, I’m not.”

He pauses. “Well… Tell me what you are thinking, then.”  

I look up at him, and shake my head slowly. “Nothing we haven’t already discussed.”

Loki grins. “I believe we’ve been through this before—I’m sure you have something interesting to say.”  

I pause for a moment, looking down at my lap as I run one thumb over the other.

“I understand the seriousness of what’s happening,” I pause. “And that it matters in ways beyond the scope of me and my life, but… the only thing I keep thinking about right now is how different I thought it would be,” I shrug, raising my eyes slightly. “I thought someday, that I’d have kids, that I’d grow old with someone. Maybe buy a house somewhere in the mountains and go there during the winter… And I’ve just deviated so far from that, about as far as anyone could imagine—more probably, I don’t know who could ever conceive of this,” I gesture around us. “As being in the realm of possibilities.”

“And I just don’t understand,” I shake my head. “I had a good life. And with everything that’s happened—I barely even feel human anymore. I’ve killed people. And I don’t understand why-” I pause, wincing at my own selfish thoughts. “Why it had to be me.” 

Loki presses his lips together thoughtfully, and tilts his head. I look down at the stone floors, seeing him approach me from the corner of my eye, and sigh as he lowers himself down beside me on the crate—the exceptionally sturdy crate. 

“The last time I asked myself such questions, I chose to let the answers destroy my life,” he says quietly, and I look up at him—remembering my own words to him in the hospital. Loki nods in my direction. “As you said.”

“And while you may feel chosen for this… ‘Glorious purpose,’” he grins. “You’re the one that’s been given a choice. And whatever you decide, I will adhere to it. We can take the tesseract now, and leave. I’ve no qualms with that. But I’ve known the other side of that decision, and I wouldn’t choose to navigate anyone toward such regret—much less the woman I love.” 

A glimmer of relief twinges in my chest, and I smile warmly at him. "You regret what you did?"

He blinks, and nods his head solemnly. "I do," he says, glancing at the wall behind me thoughtfully for a moment. "When I think about the fact that you might've been there, in New York, and not outside the city... I realize that it was sheer chance that secured your life—our meeting. And when I consider the idea of someone hurting you, as I would have that day," his throat bobs. "I begin to feel the rage once more."

Tension ripples through his jaw, as his gaze drops to the ground.

“Well,” I murmur quietly. “It’s not like I would go and attack New York.” 

A faint chuckle relieves the tightness in his eyes. “No—but you would be leaving many to die in your absence.”

I pause, exhaling lightly through my nostrils. “And if we stay—you think we can save them all?” 

Loki nods. “Well I truly believe that you can end this. You were made for it, after all. But apart from that,” he leans toward me. “I also know you—and I adore the fire that makes you who you are. If you fight, there’s no doubt in my mind that you will win.” 

I look down at his hands resting intertwined between his knees, and reach toward them with my own cold hand. I grin for a moment, holding his proud, resolute gaze, as the warmth of his palm encloses my fingers. 

He believes that enough to stay. Believes in me—enough to follow and accept me through whatever decision I make. Any reasoning of whether it’s founded or unfounded makes no difference to me—in this desolate situation, his love and belief has made room for the courage I needed to simply try. 

“I love you,” I whisper. 

A subtle grin flickers in the corner of his mouth as he tightens his grip. “I know,” he says in a deep tone.

I glance at the door—which we’d left slightly open across the room. “They’re probably wondering where we are.”

After a moment, he nods. “Rightly so—we’ve got quite the road ahead of us.” 

“Weylan said it’s only a day’s ride from here,” I say, looking back at him.

“He did,” Loki pauses, rolling his eyes downward—and his voice suddenly rises with amusement. “But you fail to realize how heavy those boots are going to be on top of one of those creatures,” he says, gesturing to the outrageously large greaves covering my grey boots. “If you think I’ll help carry you if yours gives out, you’re severely mistaken.” 

I look down at the boots and laugh, as Loki bends down to unclip them from my shins. “You foiled my plans!” 

“I doubt you’d be needing these anyway,” he says, absently tossing the greaves aside and squeezing the boots between his fingers. “These are rather substantial. Any more, and the weight will slow you down.” 

“Well if you’re not concerned, then I won’t be either,” I grin and stand, as Loki follows suit. 

I watch as he turns and picks some knives off the wall, and pivot suddenly toward the two long, silver daggers hanging behind me. Can’t walk into a fight without a weapon, after all. 

“Right,” I say, unhooking them from the heavy, metal chains. “I almost forgot.” 

Loki waits as I slip them into my boots, scanning the length of me as I straighten back up. “Not sure I’ll have much use for them,” I say. “But good to have them, I think.” 

A grin tugs on the corner of his mouth, as his contemplative eyes jump around the corners of my face. “One last thing…” he says. 

“What is it?” 

I watch as he raises a hand, turning it slowly in the air—producing a silver band with bright, blue jewels in the center, and a pair of horns twisting up and over it. “Let’s add a bit of Asgard to that armor, shall we?” he says, approaching me slowly. 

I peer down at it for a moment, remembering the golden horns I’d seen in my vision of him. “Think it’s more ‘you’ than Asgard, isn’t it?”  

“Perhaps,” he says tonelessly, fitting it against my forehead. I move my head side to side once it’s on—the movement is easy, and it’s much lighter than I thought it’d be. 

I look up at Loki, and smirk inwardly at the contentment sprawled across his expression. “Where’s yours?” I ask. 

“Right here,” he says matter-of-factly, waving his hand once more. Another, golden band appears in his hand, and I notice immediately that it’s not the same pair of horns I’d seen in my vision—it’s not much of a helmet at all. Apart from that, it’s just like mine. A pair of matching crowns, almost—matching tiaras. 

I chuckle lightly at the thought. “Well, all we’re missing is a pair of matching friendship bracelets.” 

Loki pauses—crinkling a brow. “Beg pardon?” he says sarcastically.  

The reaction sparks a laugh—for the first time in a while—and I shrug flirtatiously. “Pardonnez-moi,” I say, knowing he probably won’t fully understand the French expression.  Still smiling, Loki narrows his eyes as I turn to walk toward the door. 

“Je te pardonne,” he says with a perfect accent, as his boots pick up behind me. My lips part surprisedly as I stop, letting him pass by with a satisfied expression. He turns, striding backward toward the door while facing me, with his hands spread in front of him. “You didn’t really think English was the only Midgardian language I deigned to learn, did you?” 

I grin slightly. “Apparently not.” 

Loki turns back to the door, and in the last seconds of his pivot, I see his smile fade. My shoulders sink as I begin stalking toward it as well, realizing that this silly conversation was intentional—he was probably trying to cheer me up. And now I wonder whether he feels the same fear I do—creeping slowly back up with every step I take away from these past few moments of safety. 

***

I hadn’t expected our army to be so formidable—not after the attack that devastated us a few weeks ago. There wasn’t much of an immediate response back then, so I had no inkling of the hidden force behind our walls. It was remarkable to watch the soldiers march out from further inland, and even more so to watch them meld into a massive force across the black sand fields. 

Some are walking, while others are riding—atop the ‘creatures’ that Loki had mentioned. One of which has very successfully been carrying me since the outskirts of the city, and likely will have done so with or without my greaves. The thing itself is vaguely reminiscent of a horse—except that horses don’t have metal bodies, glowing eyes, and mechanical footrests that control its speed and hidden artillery.

It doesn’t seem to tire, even as we approach the mountains where I found the stone—in the second half of the day. The Grey Cliffs are just beyond them, and the mountains themselves are hardly an easy obstacle for us to snake through—with the King, Yerul, Loki and myself at the front of the narrow lines. After another two or three more hours, a series of large, grey cliffs finally begin to appear just beyond the dark walls of the last two peaks. 

Weylan stops—halting the soldiers behind him as he turns toward me. 

I glance him and nod knowingly, before riding ahead silently to look—creeping stealthily up to the edge of the cliff, under the light of the setting sun. There are spaceships overhead as well—hidden by a cloaking mechanism—and I wonder whether they see the army of disfigured, humanoid creatures stretching far across the distance. Even from up here, I can see their talons and thin, grey skin that ripples against every muscle and vein. 

Terror slowly weighs on every inch of my body, even more so as my eyes trail slowly up to the sky. Color drains completely from my face at the sight of multitudes of twisting black masses—folding and turning over themselves around Seron’s fleet.

Loki rides up beside me quietly, peering down at the army over the edge, before following my eyes up to the sky. 

“What is it?” he asks. “What’s up there?” 

“Seron didn’t just bring an army,” I mutter quietly through narrowed lips. “He brought creatures from the dark dimension.” 

[to be continued]