Loki sat under the shade of an old, gnarled oak tree, its great mossy roots curling and tangling beneath him. Strands of old man's beard draped over the branches, swaying gently in the breeze. Sitting cross-legged, Loki was engrossed in a book about Yggdrasil, the World Tree. The sun cast a warm glow on his face as he licked his finger and delicately turned the next page.
He nibbled on a rich piece of chocolate, letting it melt in his mouth. “What blissful delight,” he murmured to himself.
He was supposed to be at warrior training, but he had decided to skip it this time. The last session had ended in disaster when he cast an illusion of a Draugar, scaring his opponent half to death. Instead of admiration, Loki had been met with scorn—and a mouthful of dirt along with a bruised shoulder.
But today would be different. Today would be filled with chocolate and the finest literature in Asgard.
Suddenly, a black figure fell from the sky with a heavy thump. A magpie lay before him, its wing pierced by an arrow. Blood seeped into the dirt, and the poor creature let out a weak, pitiful cry.
“Who did this to you, little one?” Loki murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His irritation at the intrusion was quickly replaced by something far stronger—a simmering anger at the unseen archer, an instinctive protectiveness over the wounded creature.
Loki stared, his peaceful moment shattered. The rich taste of chocolate in his mouth turned to ash. His greenish-blue eyes darted nervously to the bird as he reached out a cautious hand, gently stroking its beak. Setting his book aside, he carefully moved the magpie, his fingers glowing with a soft, emerald light.
His magic, so often used for mischief, now served a different purpose—to heal. As the energy pulsed through the injured wing, Loki’s eyes welled with unshed tears. He gave the magpie another gentle pat on the head and a light scratch beneath its chin.
“Fly,” Loki whispered. “Be safe.”
The next day, as Loki lay in his chambers, a sudden knock sounded against his window. He turned, startled, and saw the magpie perched on the ledge.
It had returned—with a gift.
A beautiful silver spoon rested in its beak, gleaming in the morning light.
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