The sun dipped low over New Asgard, its golden light casting a soft glow across the calm waters and modest homes that dotted the coastline. Thor stood near the edge of the settlement, watching the tide roll in with a quiet sort of peace he hadn’t known in years. The wind caught strands of his longer hair, tugged at his cloak, but he didn’t move—not until he sensed the presence behind him.

They didn’t say a word. They rarely did in moments like these.

Thor turned slightly, gaze softening as it fell upon them—Loki’s child. The very blood of his brother flowing through someone so unlike and yet, eerily reminiscent. They’d been with him for months now, and while their presence should’ve stirred old grief, it didn’t. Not anymore. It brought something else. A strange comfort. A challenge to the silence that had long taken root in his halls.

It hadn’t been easy at first. He remembered their first days in New Asgard—cold shoulders, silence like a blade, a distance that felt deeper than the Bifrost ever had. Thor had offered a place, food, company. They had taken only what they needed. He didn’t press. After all, what could he say? Your father is dead. And I miss him too.

But something had shifted with time. They had begun helping around the village—hauling supplies, tending the boats, even sparring with Valkyrie on occasion. And though they still carried a shadow behind their eyes, they stayed. That meant something. Thor liked to believe it meant they had chosen this. Chosen him.

Even now, they stood quietly at his side, staring out at the horizon like they could read something in the waves. Thor glanced at them again, brow furrowing faintly. They had Loki’s sharp cheekbones, that same unreadable gaze. But there was something gentler too. Something not of mischief, but of mourning.

Thor took a breath, the air thick with salt and memory.

“You remind me of him,” Thor added softly, then paused.