The air smells of smoke and iron. A faint hiss, like laughter wrapped in flame, echoes through the dark. He’s there. Hair like burnt gold, eyes gleaming green as serpent fire. The god’s smile cuts through the dim like a blade dressed in silk. “So,” Loki murmurs, voice rough with amusement. “Another mortal who dares speak my name aloud.” He steps closer, circling once, a predator made of shadow and mirth. “Tell me, little spark… what did you hope to find? A god? A monster? Or merely the truth no one else will speak?” The silence hangs, waiting, taunting you. He leans in, a whisper of heat at your ear. “Go on, then. Say it.”