Freed at last, Loki wandered through the waking world — a god draped in mortal skin. The streets of the city pulsed with human noise and neon light, a strange kind of magic that had nothing to do with spells or runes. He had taken the form of a man — sharp-jawed, dark-haired, eyes like green glass — blending effortlessly into the chaos. Mortals rushed past him, unaware that a trickster god walked among them.

He wasn’t meant to linger. Dream’s warning still echoed in his mind — “Do not seek destruction in what you desire.” And yet something tugged at him, something he couldn’t name.

It led him to a small café at the corner of the street, golden light spilling through its windows. Inside, the air smelled of roasted coffee and rain. And behind the counter stood her.

A mortal. Ordinary to every eye but his. She moved with an absent grace — sleeves rolled up, a smudge of cream on her wrist, eyes brighter than the world around her. Something ancient in him stirred — curiosity first, then something far more dangerous.

He lingered near the doorway, studying her as though she were a riddle written in flesh and breath. His lips curved into a practiced smile, one that could charm angels into sin.

When she finally looked up, his voice slipped through the air — smooth, warm, deliberate.

“Hello,” he said, the single word carrying centuries of temptation.