Chapter 636 – "The Feast of Realms"
He didn't need a kitchen. Not really.
Alex stood at the center of the plaza, where a long banquet hearth had been set for performances or rituals. With a flick of his fingers, a field of heat spread across the air—controlled flames conjured from his own mana, dancing in elegant spirals above his open palms. Pots, pans, griddles, and skewers floated around him like an orchestra of culinary instruments.
His hands moved faster than mortal sight could follow. With AGI: 1,126,600, he was a blur of movement—slicing, searing, flipping, stirring. The Asgardians and visiting gods who gathered could only stare, some blinking in disbelief, others simply gaping with open mouths.
He worked with ingredients unique to Asgard:
Thick slabs of golden elk from the forests near Yggdrasil.Crystalline root vegetables that shimmered when peeled.Sky-fruits plucked from trees that grew along the edge of the Bifröst, filled with natural magic.Spices harvested from thundercloud petals and glacier vines.
Using only his own fire magic, Alex cooked each dish with precision—adjusting temperature with a glance, rotating skewers midair without touching them, slow-roasting entire sides of meat while simultaneously kneading bread and steaming root rice.
Steam rose like incense. The air was soon filled with scents never before combined: sharp, wild, and delicate all at once.
Dozens of tables extended into the square. Then hundreds.
By the time the meal was finished, he had prepared enough for the entire city.
And not a single dish was rushed.
Thor, still holding his beer, had gone quiet. He stared at the golden-roasted leg of elk in front of him, glancing back and forth between it and Alex like he was witnessing a miracle in progress.
Dionysus sniffed dramatically and wiped a tear. "I didn't even taste it yet," he whispered, "but I already know I'll weep."
Freyr, sitting beside him, said nothing. He was already halfway through his third bowl of thunder-root stew.
Even Heimdall—always solemn—was quietly chewing with closed eyes.
Freyja stared down at a baked fruit tart that shimmered with sky-fruit glaze. "This would charm even Hel herself," she said. "And she hates dessert."
Nearby, Skuld had her plate, spoon, and an expression of reverent worship. "He's so fast," she whispered to Ciel, "I blinked and there were twenty new dishes."
Ciel, watching the scene unfold with a soft smile, gently held her hands together in her lap. "He's always like that. When he chooses to give something... he gives everything."
As the music resumed and cups were raised, Alex sat back down beside her. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, a small smear of sauce on his wrist.
"You cooked for all of Asgard," Ciel said, amused.
"They looked hungry."
She reached out and gently wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "You're amazing."
He said nothing in return.
But across the plaza, gods who had once only whispered his name were now raising their mugs in unison.
And for this one night… Alex was not the outsider.
He was the honored guest.
The tables stretched across the square were overflowing.
It wasn't just one dish—it was a full celestial banquet, diverse enough to satisfy gods, mortals, and creatures in between.
Steak of Asgardian golden elk, grilled medium-rare with star-root herb butter that melted instantly on the tongue.Crisp salad of frostleaf and sky sprouts, drizzled with thunderberry vinaigrette, refreshing and charged with a slight tingle of mana.Mana-infused cream stew with glacier potatoes, slow-cooked with dragonbone marrow, silky and warming to the soul.Seared river fish caught from Alfheim's upper rivers, served with shadow-rice and a glaze of fermented sunfruit.Flatbread of Yggdrasil grain, topped with roasted thunder mushrooms and moon basil.Cloud-honey fried chicken, coated in a crisp golden batter that crackled lightly with every bite.Bifröst noodles in a light broth flavored with aurora kelp and mana-crystal shavings, each strand glowing faintly in seven colors.Deep-fried giant shrimp with crispy rune-spiced shells and citrus mana dipping sauce.Sky apple tarts, soft and flaky, filled with cinnamon-glazed slices and topped with powdered snow sugar from Niflheim's peaks.Aten rice pudding, subtly sweet and infused with starlight syrup—a gentle, lingering comfort.
Children of gods chased after skewers of flame-grilled meats. Warriors feasted like it was their last day before Ragnarok. Even birds and beasts from divine stables hovered nearby, drawn by the aroma.
Thor ate with tears in his eyes.
Dionysus openly moaned over the shrimp.
Freyja gently protected her salad like a dragon hoarding treasure.
And Skuld was double-fisting two tarts while hiding a third under her cloak.
Ciel sat calmly, her plate untouched for a while, just watching—her heart full.
This wasn't just a meal.
It was a memory being burned into the hearts of gods.
And Alex had made it all without hesitation.
As the feast carried on under the painted skies of Asgard, clear patterns began to emerge in the crowd's preferences.
The Aesir gods of Asgard leaned heavily toward the hearty, meat-rich plates:
Thor devoured steak after steak, grinning as the golden elk melted in his mouth.Heimdall methodically worked through perfectly fried chicken pieces, nodding with each bite.Tyr favored the grilled river fish, savoring its crisp skin and the citrus-mana glaze.Baldr could be seen hoarding a small mountain of giant shrimp, declaring them a "divine gift" before anyone could argue.
Meanwhile, the Vanir gods of Vanaheim, known for their elegance and affinity for nature, seemed enchanted by the lighter dishes:
Freyja picked delicately at her salad of frostleaf, eyes closed as she savored each mana-kissed bite.Njord praised the creamy stew, saying it reminded him of homecooked meals from the old sea temples.Freyr nearly cried from joy after finishing his apple tart, and immediately reached for another.Sif, ever graceful, claimed the rice pudding was "better than any ambrosia she had ever tasted."
The noodle dish, with its aurora shimmer and seven-colored strands, had both camps briefly unified in curiosity. Even Odin, who had remained quiet until then, accepted a bowl from a passing attendant—and finished it silently, eyes deep in thought.
Alex remained by the cooking station, casually preparing more dishes. His movements were effortless, his control of fire absolute, and his speed near-invisible. The air carried not just scent but memory, comfort, and peace.
And in that moment, Asgard was not a kingdom of warriors—it was simply a place where gods shared a meal.
As the feast carried on, it became clear that even the gods had preferences.
The Aesir gods — warriors through and through — gravitated toward the hearty and the bold:
Steak of Asgardian golden elk was devoured first, the tender meat bringing gleams of satisfaction to the eyes of even the most stoic gods.Cloud-honey fried chicken had Odin licking his fingers without shame, while Tyr praised the crispness like it was a battle won.Seared river fish with its delicate glaze made even Heimdall hum in appreciation, his sharp senses overwhelmed by the perfect balance.Deep-fried giant shrimp caused Thor to declare, mouth full, "If this was war food, I'd never leave the table!"
On the other hand, the Vanir gods, more attuned to nature and the flow of mana, favored dishes rich in harmony and magic:
Mana-infused cream stew was a unanimous favorite, warming and nourishing, evoking the quiet calm of deep forests.Crisp salad of frostleaf and sky sprouts earned high praise from Njord, who called it "a breeze turned to flavor."Sky apple tarts vanished quickly—Freyja was caught hiding a second one under her sleeve.Bifröst noodles became a visual and magical delight, glowing in their bowls as Vanir children giggled in wonder.And the Aten rice pudding? Even quiet Nerthus broke her composure, calling it "divine rebirth in a bowl."
As for Surtr, he sat apart on a stone bench, legs crossed, a mountain of empty plates around him.
He didn't speak much—just ate with terrifying focus, flames in his hair rising gently with every satisfied breath. Occasionally, he'd mutter "Good," or "Excellent," but mostly… he smiled.
A rare, contented, utterly peaceful smile.
Nobody dared interrupt him.
Chapter 637 – "The Room of a God Long Gone"
The celebration winded down under a sky of dancing lights. Music still played softly, and laughter echoed across the open halls of Asgard, but Alex had grown quiet.
He glanced toward the far corner of the city — a faint ripple in the air, almost too subtle to notice. The sensation was gentle, not hostile, but wrong. Like a breath taken in the wrong rhythm.
Alex turned to Odin, who had just finished his third helping of golden elk steak.
"Odin," he said calmly, "Do you feel anything… off?"
The Allfather wiped his beard with a cloth, then looked up at Alex, his one eye narrowing in curiosity. "Strange question. No—everything feels as it should." He paused, then studied Alex more seriously. "But you… you do?"
Alex didn't answer directly. He looked again in the direction of that faint, flickering thread — the feeling had not vanished. It pulled at his senses like an invisible current brushing the edge of a sleeping dream.
He took a slow step forward.
Odin followed his gaze, brows furrowing. Then he blinked, and something in his face changed.
"That direction…" he murmured. "That leads to… Loki's chamber."
Alex stopped. "Loki?"
Odin nodded slowly. "The trickster. My blood. My curse. That room has been sealed for many years… ever since he died."
The word hung in the air like falling frost.
Alex didn't reply. He kept looking toward the distant hall, where the wrongness continued — faint but persistent. A breath in the dark. A ripple without wind.
And though the city remained festive, though music and firelight danced, something beyond the edges of the world had begun to stir.
Odin hesitated only for a moment when Alex made his request.
"You want to see it?"
Alex nodded. "Whatever I sensed… it's coming from there."
"…Very well." The Allfather rose to his feet, serious now. "We go together."
Thor stepped in beside them without needing to be asked. Freyja followed next, lips tight, eyes sharp. And when Odin turned to Heimdall with a glance, the guardian god simply nodded.
Together, the five of them crossed the quieter sections of Asgard until they stood before a large set of obsidian doors veined with ancient runes — untouched for decades. The divine seals were still active, faintly humming, untouched by wind or dust. The air was unnaturally still.
Odin stepped forward and raised his hand.
The runes shimmered, recognized him… and fell silent.
The doors creaked open.
Inside was Loki's chamber — perfectly preserved. Everything was as it had been the day he vanished. Old books. Strange artifacts. Trinkets and scrolls. And the scent of smoke and apple mead, faint, like a memory that refused to fade.
Heimdall stepped forward first, ever watchful. His eyes scanned everything until they landed on something leaning against a shelf at the far end of the room.
"…A mirror," he said.
An ornate, tall mirror — rimmed with carved serpents biting their own tails.
It had not gathered dust. Its surface shimmered faintly.
Heimdall approached and lifted it slightly to inspect the back.
The moment the mirror tilted toward Alex—
He felt it.
"That's it," Alex said, sharp and sure. "That's what I felt earlier. The distortion."
The moment his voice touched it, the mirror shifted. The surface rippled like water… then lunged outward.
A pale hand of reflection surged from the glass like liquid silver—
—and grabbed Heimdall by the arm.
The guardian god barely had time to react.
"—!"
Alex moved before the others could even blink.
A flicker of mana surged through the air — dark and golden at once — and Alex's hand struck the edge of the mirror, blasting the reaching reflection away in an instant. Heimdall staggered back, free.
The mirror let out a soundless scream, like glass straining against its shape.
Alex stood between it and the others now, eyes narrowed.
"That's not just a mirror," he said. "That's a prison."
Odin stepped forward slowly. "…Or a trap. But for whom?"
No one answered.
The mirror sat still again, its surface now showing nothing but a smoky swirl. Silent. Waiting.
Alex extended his hand toward the mirror, golden circuits flickering faintly across his palm as a scanning spell pulsed out like silent ripples. The air buzzed — low, almost imperceptible — but the mana feedback returned with chilling clarity.
He lowered his hand slowly, brows furrowed.
"This isn't just enchanted," he said, voice calm but steady. "It's constructed. Carefully. Purposefully. This mirror was made to trap living beings inside it."
Freyja's eyes narrowed. "A prison?"
"Worse," Alex replied. "It doesn't just trap you. It creates a reflection of whoever looks into it… a copy. A false 'you.'"
He turned back to the others.
"The one outside becomes the fake — the one who looks, speaks, moves like you… but isn't. Meanwhile, the real you gets pulled into the reflection… locked inside."
Heimdall stiffened, staring at the mirror with visible discomfort now. "So if you hadn't stopped it…"
"You'd be inside it," Alex said. "And we'd be standing beside something pretending to be you."
Thor muttered, "That's some trickery even Loki would find too cruel."
Freyja crossed her arms tightly. "Then the question is… who made it? And why is it still active?"
Alex said nothing. He stared into the still, smoke-shrouded surface of the mirror — and it stared back.
It didn't attack again.
It waited.
Alex stepped a little closer, his eyes narrowing.
"I see someone inside."
The gods stiffened. Freyja moved to his side, and even Odin leaned forward, expression unreadable.
The surface of the mirror was still smoky, but as Alex focused, the fog began to part slightly — like mist drawn back by the pressure of his gaze. A blurry silhouette stood behind the glass. Vague, shifting… but humanoid.
Tall. Lean. Familiar.
They couldn't hear anything — no voice, no sound — but the figure moved its hands rapidly, as if trying to speak through motion. It was frantic, desperate, mouthing something no one could understand.
And then it stopped.
Its hand rose… and began to write across the mirror's inner surface.
Slowly, glowing lines appeared on the glass:
"I am real Loki."
A tense silence filled the room.
Thor muttered, "That's not possible… He's dead."
Freyja's voice was low. "Or something else has been pretending to be him all along."
Odin's single eye remained locked on the words.
Alex's voice cut through the silence. "This might be the real Loki. The mirror traps the real one inside and replaces them."
The figure inside placed its hand against the mirror.
So did Alex.
But the surface did not ripple this time.
It pulsed… softly… like a heartbeat.
The figure inside the mirror pressed both palms against the glass now — more frantic, more urgent.
Then, just as it began to move its hand again—
Something grabbed it.
Alex's eyes widened.
The silhouette jolted violently, yanked backward by unseen force. The figure's form blurred further, as if the mirror itself was trying to erase it from view. But Loki resisted, fighting to remain at the surface. His hand slammed back against the glass.
And with the last of his strength, he scratched one final word across the inside of the mirror:
"Help me."
Then he was gone.
The mist closed in, swallowing the shape whole.
The mirror returned to silence.
Alex's hand remained where it was, fingers brushing the now-empty surface.
"…It really was him," he said quietly.
Behind him, no one spoke.
Even Odin stood still, his one eye filled with something cold and ancient — not fear, not doubt… but the weight of realization.
Thor's voice broke the silence at last.
"If that was the real Loki…" he said slowly, "then who—no… what—took his place?"
Footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor.
The silence outside the sealed chamber had drawn notice. One by one, curious gods arrived — drawn by the unusual gathering at Loki's forgotten room.
Baldur. Tyr. Idunn. Even Frigg, her calm face clouded with quiet concern.
They hesitated at the threshold until Odin turned to face them, his voice steady and grave.
"Enter," he said. "You deserve to know."
The gods filed in, eyes scanning the dustless chamber, noting the untouched books, the eerie stillness — and the tall mirror glowing faintly in the torchlight. Its surface shimmered now and then, like it remembered being touched.
Odin faced them all.
"We have confirmed something terrible," he said. "The mirror is not a relic. It is a prison — one that creates a false copy of any who look into it and traps the real self inside."
He paused.
"And we believe… the one trapped is Loki."
A ripple passed through the gathered gods — disbelief, anger, suspicion.
Baldur's voice was tight. "But Loki… died."
"No," Alex said, stepping forward, calm but firm. "Someone made us believe he did. The being that died may have been the reflection. The real one has been trapped… all this time."
"And he tried to speak to us," Freyja added. "He wrote on the glass… 'I am real Loki.' And just before he was pulled away, he begged for help."
A long silence followed.
Then Frigg whispered, "All these years… we blamed him."
Heimdall stood near the mirror, his arms crossed, face unreadable.
Thor let out a breath. "If he's still alive, then we owe it to him to find a way to bring him back."
Odin looked toward Alex. "Then we'll need the one person who's dealt with things beyond gods."
Alex didn't speak. He was already thinking.
Chapter 638 – "The Mirror That Should Not Exist"
Heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway like a war drum.
Surtr arrived at the threshold of Loki's sealed room, shoulders broad, flames faintly flickering beneath his skin — more restrained than usual. He expected curiosity. He expected perhaps a divine relic, a secret from the past, or a lingering trick of Loki's mischief.
What he didn't expect… was that mirror.
The moment his eyes fell on it, Surtr froze.
His mouth parted slightly.
And then—his voice thundered:
"What the hell?! Why is the Mirror of Orryx here?!"
The gods flinched.
Alex's eyes narrowed, already turning toward him. Odin, Freyja, Thor, and the others stared in confusion.
"Mirror of what?" Heimdall asked, hand instinctively going to the hilt of his blade.
Surtr stepped into the room slowly, as if worried the mirror might notice him.
"Orryx," he said quietly now, eyes never leaving the surface of the glass. "That name should not be spoken lightly… It is the name of a Great Old One."
Gasps and uneasy murmurs spread through the gods.
"A Great Old One?" Freyja repeated.
"I thought Void Knight destroyed the last one…" said Baldur.
But Surtr didn't look at anyone. He continued, his voice heavier with every word.
"Orryx is… unlike the others. He came to this world long ago — not with storms, or flames, or madness. He simply… watched. Reflected. Studied everything."
"And then?" Thor asked.
Surtr's face darkened. "And then he left. Without doing anything."
Silence.
Alex's eyes were already studying the mirror again, pieces connecting in his mind.
"No destruction. No corruption?" Freyja asked cautiously.
"No," Surtr said. "Not visibly. Not like Fthaggua or the Crawlers or the Dreaming Serpents. But everything he sees, he remembers. He creates reflections — not illusions, but opposites. Inverse truths. Twisted selves. He plants them. Like seeds. Mirrors, mostly. His signature."
He pointed at the one in front of them.
"That is one of them. A Mirror of Orryx. It shouldn't even exist anymore."
Alex remained quiet.
Because deep inside… he realized:
This was not just a prison for Loki.
It was a door.
And something — or someone — had left it open.
Surtr narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to the mirror. The flames beneath his skin dimmed to a low ember.
"Fortunately," he muttered, "this… is just a small fragment. One that broke off from Orryx's body long ago. Not a direct link. Not the whole."
He exhaled, still wary. "It doesn't mean it's harmless… but it means he's not watching."
The gods let out silent breaths of relief.
Alex, however, didn't take his eyes off the glass.
"No connection," he said quietly. "But it's still alive."
He raised his hand and slowly traced a circle just above the mirror's surface. The mana around his fingertips shimmered—reacting not to the reflection, but to the presence of something behind it.
"Fragments like this," he murmured, "can develop will of their own. They don't need orders. They just remember… and repeat."
The room fell silent again.
Odin's voice was firm. "Then it must be destroyed."
But Alex didn't move.
He kept his gaze fixed on the mirror. Something inside it still shifted faintly, like a breath held beneath the surface.
"If I destroy it now," he said, "we may lose Loki forever."
Surtr crossed his arms. "Then you'll need to extract him first. But do it quickly. Fragments like this… don't stay quiet forever."
Freyja stepped closer, golden brows drawn. "Can you do it?"
Alex nodded once. "I'll need time. But I can get him out."
Thor grinned faintly. "Then we'll guard the room. Let none disturb you."
And with that, preparations began.
The mirror pulsed once, as if it had heard every word. And maybe… it had.
Alex raised one hand toward the mirror, his palm glowing with a focused weave of space magic, stabilized by the Law of Mana. The surface of the mirror rippled—not like water, but like fractured glass trying to bend.
He didn't hesitate.
With a single step, he slipped into the mirror.
Behind him, Ciel pressed one hand to her chest and called softly, "Be careful."
He glanced back just once, giving her the faintest nod before disappearing completely.
The world inside the mirror was not a reflection. It was a distortion.
Everything shimmered like the shards of a broken lens. The sky was jagged and shifting. The ground wasn't solid, but a chaotic floor of shattered glass, floating in a sea of weightless black fog. Shapes twitched at the edge of his vision—silhouettes that moved wrong, flickered, reversed, or vanished mid-motion.
Alex floated gently above the ground, eyes calm. The pressure here wasn't heavy, but unstable—as if reality didn't fully exist and could collapse or twist at any moment.
This was a world that shouldn't be.
A world born not from creation… but from a fragment's memory.
Alex walked across the unstable realm of fractured reflections. Each step echoed in strange ways—some bouncing back late, others swallowed in silence. The black fog shifted around him but never touched him, repelled by the dense aura of his mana.
He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the shards suspended in midair.
Then—he stopped.
In one of the floating panes, he saw a flicker of motion.
A man sat hunched against a wall of broken sky. His clothes were torn and faded. His once-proud green cloak was in tatters. A tangled mess of long, unkempt hair hung over his face, and his beard looked as though it hadn't been trimmed in years.
But the moment Alex stepped into view, the figure slowly looked up.
Tired, mismatched eyes met his—sharp even through exhaustion, as if they had been waiting for this moment.
"…You came," Loki whispered, his voice hoarse.
Alex nodded. "Of course."
Loki gave a low, strained laugh and tried to rise, but stumbled.
Alex caught him effortlessly.
"You… you're not surprised?" Loki rasped.
"I saw your message," Alex replied. "You said you were the real one."
Loki's mouth twisted into something like a grin. "Took you long enough…"
Alex didn't smile back. He looked over the broken realm with calm intensity.
"We're getting you out of here."
Loki's expression tightened. "Then hurry. This place… it remembers everything I've ever been. And it hates me."
Just as Alex began forming the spell to open a return gate, the fog around them stirred—shivering like something had awakened.
Loki's breath caught. "It's coming."
From the broken sky above, a shard of mirror floated down—perfectly smooth, but pulsing faintly with a pale glow. Then another followed. And another.
The shards circled slowly around Alex, as if scanning him.
Then they began to fuse—forming the outline of a figure.
It was trying to copy him.
Alex watched with narrowed eyes as the shape solidified: same height, same face, same presence.
But the moment it reached the core—his mana—the process stopped.
The light cracked.
The mirror figure trembled, then shattered into nothing.
Loki stared in disbelief. "It failed…?"
Alex's eyes didn't waver. "It can only reflect what it understands. And I've already rewritten too much."
He stepped forward as the shards scattered into smoke.
"This place… can't copy what it can't comprehend."
He reached for Loki again. "Let's go home."
Loki exhaled slowly. "…I owe you one."
Chapter 639 – "The Trickster Returns
A sharp pulse of space magic lit the sealed chamber.
The air twisted.
And then Alex stepped out of the mirror—one hand gripping Loki's shoulder as he brought him back to the real world.
The gods turned at once. Odin's eye narrowed. Freyja's breath caught. Heimdall straightened instantly.
And then they saw him.
Loki stood unsteadily, his eyes blinking rapidly against the light. His clothes were torn and faded. His once-sharp face was hidden beneath a thick, unkempt beard, his hair long and tangled. His skin was pale, his body thin—like a man who had been starving in silence, locked away in a space without time.
He looked like someone who had been imprisoned for a thousand years.
Loki slowly turned his head, eyes wide, scanning the faces around him—the golden walls, the high ceiling, the scent of Asgardian air.
His lips trembled.
"…Is this real?" he whispered.
Odin stepped forward, but said nothing.
Thor looked stunned, his voice caught in his throat.
Even Freyja covered her mouth, unable to speak.
Alex remained beside Loki, steadying him.
"It's real," Alex said quietly. "You're free."
Silence held the room like a breath that wouldn't release.
Loki looked around, as if unsure whether to laugh or cry. "It's really… Asgard," he muttered. "You haven't changed at all…"
Odin slowly approached. His expression was unreadable—wary, stern, but not cruel.
"Loki," he said.
The name lingered between them like something sacred and broken.
"You were declared dead," Freyja said softly. "We mourned you."
Thor's voice followed, rough with disbelief. "I buried a piece of you with my own hands… How—?"
Heimdall looked toward the mirror, still pulsing faintly behind Alex. "That cursed thing. It swallowed his truth and left us with a lie."
Loki gave a strained chuckle, though there was no joy in it. "Figures. The moment I vanish, the world gets better."
"You fool," Odin said, stepping closer. "Do you think we wanted that?"
Loki met his father's gaze—tired, wary, and yet still sharp. "I didn't know what anyone wanted anymore."
There was a pause. Then Odin said quietly, "We were wrong to assume."
Freyja, ever perceptive, finally stepped beside Alex, her gaze flickering to him. "You found him… in that thing?"
Alex gave a slight nod. "A fragment of a Great Old One's power. It created a false Loki and sealed the real one inside."
Thor's fists clenched. "Then whoever's been walking around in his place—!"
"Isn't me," Loki finished bitterly. "That's not even a copy. Just a shell puppeted by madness."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then Heimdall lowered his head. "Then welcome back, old friend. Whatever happened… we saw the truth today."
Freyja smiled faintly. "Even if your hair needs urgent divine intervention."
Loki blinked, then laughed weakly. "I'd forgotten what insults felt like when they weren't whispered by broken glass."
Loki took a deep breath. His body still trembled slightly, but he stood straighter now. He glanced around at the divine figures surrounding him—Odin, Freyja, Thor, Heimdall—and then let out a low groan.
"Alright… enough with the dramatics," he muttered. "I've had enough existential horror to last ten eternities."
He turned to Alex with a tired but hopeful expression.
"…Do you have some food?"
The gods blinked in unison.
Freyja let out a surprised breath, half-laughing. "Seriously?"
Loki rubbed his beard and sighed. "I've been gnawing on my sanity for who knows how long. I will collapse if I don't eat something."
Thor grinned suddenly, slapping Alex on the back. "Then it's settled. Chef of the Golden Festival, God-Slayer Cook—feed the trickster!"
Heimdall muttered, "He never changes."
Alex gave a calm nod. "Alright. Let's go to the festival grounds. I'll make something light first."
"Bless you," Loki said, dragging his feet slightly as he followed. "Preferably something that doesn't whisper back when you chew it."
Thor laughed, loud and booming. "You're really back."
Freyja smiled gently. "And already being difficult."
The divine kitchen was still warm from the earlier festival.
Alex stepped behind the long marble counter without a word, his movements calm and fluid. He didn't need to ask for ingredients—he summoned them himself from Asgard's vast storehouses with precise teleportation spells. The scent of roasted herbs and mana-rich broth soon began to fill the air.
Loki sat nearby, hunched like a man decades older, still brushing bits of black dust from his ragged cloak. His eyes never left Alex's hands.
"You move like someone who's been doing this for centuries," he muttered.
Alex said nothing. He simply stirred the pan.
In another corner, Odin remained standing—silent, watchful. Freyja sat cross-legged at the edge of the table, sipping gently from a fruit wine. Thor lounged like a content lion, and Heimdall leaned on his spear, quietly observing the sizzling sounds and rising aromas.
Alex plated the first dish: Asgardian Elk Stew, rich and golden, topped with floating herbs and a swirl of cream infused with mana.
He set it in front of Loki.
The trickster god stared at it as if it were a holy relic.
"…Are you real?" Loki muttered to the food. Then, without waiting for a reply, he took a bite.
He froze.
Then groaned—loudly, dramatically, with all the flair of someone dying in bliss. "By the nine realms… this is illegal."
Thor burst out laughing. "See? Told you!"
Alex was already preparing more—Frostleaf dumplings, seared skyfish with emberroot glaze, and honey-spark ricecakes for dessert. He cooked for all of them, effortlessly keeping pace with his magic-enhanced movements. His agility made the entire kitchen a blur of graceful motion, like a quiet storm in an apron.
Even Odin, old and solemn, nodded once. "This is… excellent."
Loki, still shoveling stew into his mouth like it might vanish any second, mumbled with his mouth full, "You could end wars with this."
"Or start them," Freyja added, smiling.
Loki didn't even bother using magic.
After his third bowl, he grabbed a blade from Heimdall's side—who didn't even flinch—and began trimming his wild beard with one hand while still eating with the other.
"Disgraceful," he muttered, bits of hair falling into the air. "I look like I lost a bet with a thundercloud."
"You did lose a bet with me once," Thor reminded him with a grin. "You had to wear Freyja's gown for a whole day."
Loki snorted. "That was theater. This—" he hacked away at another tangled lock of hair "—this is survival grooming."
Freyja leaned over to Alex, lowering her voice just enough for the others not to hear. "Should we be concerned that he's multitasking with a knife while eating that fast?"
Alex, calmly slicing skyfruit for another dish, didn't even glance over. "If he cuts himself, he'll regenerate."
"Charming," Freyja said dryly.
Loki finally flung the last clump of messy hair away with dramatic flair. With a puff of harmless smoke, he adjusted his appearance slightly—cleaner, sharper, more like the Loki they remembered.
"Much better," he sighed, flexing his fingers. "Now I feel like myself again."
"Still eating like a starved troll," Thor said, shaking his head.
"Your stew tastes like hope and safety," Loki replied through a mouthful of ricecake. "Don't expect dignity."
He reached for another dumpling, then paused, looking up at Alex.
"I know you're strong," Loki said casually. "I've heard the rumors. The one who knocked out Apollo. The one who made Fenrir sit."
Alex glanced at him, expression neutral.
Loki grinned. "But I have to admit—this food? It's the most dangerous thing about you."
Thor raised a mug. "To that, I'll drink!"
Loki's fingers lingered on the rim of his bowl, now empty. He stared down at the last smear of stew, his playful smirk slowly fading.
"…It tasted so real," he murmured, quieter now. "Not just the food. The air. The sounds. The weight of it all."
The others grew still.
Freyja set down her wine. Thor's grin faded. Heimdall stopped sharpening his blade. Odin's gaze narrowed.
Alex watched silently, letting him speak when he was ready.
Loki looked up, his green eyes no longer mischievous—but worn. Not broken, but changed.
"At first, I thought it was a prank. A punishment. Maybe something from the Allfather—" he glanced briefly at Odin, who said nothing. "But it wasn't. That place… that mirror… it wasn't illusion. It was replication. An echo of everything, but empty."
He drew a line on the table with his finger, as if tracing something unseen.
"It mimicked Asgard. Perfectly. Every room, every person… even you," he looked at Thor. "Even you were there. But none of you were real. Just… shadows, reflections. And they knew they weren't real."
A chill settled over the table.
"They talked to me," Loki said. "But only in circles. They'd say things I should hear. Laugh when I tried to speak. Sometimes they mimicked me. Badly. Like puppets made of glass."
He reached for another ricecake, but didn't eat it.
"The worst part?" His voice dipped lower. "The silence. The waiting. No passage of time. No sleep. Just… wandering. And something always watching. Never coming close. But always there."
Thor clenched his mug.
"Why didn't you call out sooner?" Freyja asked gently.
"I did. A thousand times. Ten thousand." Loki gave a tired smile. "But you weren't listening. Because you weren't there."
He turned back to Alex.
"But he heard me. Or maybe… he saw the thing that wasn't quite right."
Alex didn't answer. He simply nodded once, calm as always.
Loki leaned back slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. "So… thank you. I don't say that often. But I mean it."
Thor grunted. "You better mean it. You owe us at least two centuries of headaches."
Loki gave a faint laugh. "I'll pay in pranks. One per month. That's generous."
Odin finally spoke, his voice even. "We will speak more of this. But for tonight… rest."
Loki nodded. "Gladly."
Chapter 640 – "Truth in the Reflection"
Morning light spilled across the wide marble balcony where the gods had gathered again—this time not for a feast, but to hear the truth.
Loki sat wrapped in a thick fur cloak, hair trimmed, beard gone, looking more like himself with each passing hour. But there was still a lingering shadow in his eyes—something deep, weighty, old.
Alex stood nearby, arms crossed, Ciel beside him. Thor leaned against a pillar, arms folded. Freyja, Heimdall, Baldur, and several others formed a quiet circle around them. Odin sat in silence, saying nothing yet.
It was Alex who spoke first.
"How did it happen, Loki?"
The trickster god sighed, long and tired.
"It was… 3,000 years ago," he began. "I was walking along the northern riverbanks. There'd been a flood the night before—things get swept up sometimes. I saw a mirror half-buried in the mud. Plain-looking. Old, but not magical by first glance."
He shook his head. "Didn't think anything of it. I brought it back to my room. Just something interesting."
He looked around at them all, his voice quieter now.
"That night, it pulled me in. No warning. No glow. No sense of danger. I reached to wipe something off the glass, and that was it. Like falling through smoke."
"What came out after," Thor muttered, "wasn't you."
"No," Loki said. "That thing—whatever it was—pretended. Wore my skin. It knew my habits. My voice. My magic. But it wasn't me." He looked directly at Odin. "It did things I would never do."
Alex watched carefully, his eyes unreadable. "The mirror didn't just reflect you. It reversed you."
Loki nodded. "Exactly. I'm not innocent. I'm a liar, a trickster, a pain in the ass—but I don't destroy what I love. That thing… it was cold. Hollow. I could feel its malice like a heartbeat."
Everyone was silent for a moment.
Then Odin rose.
His voice was quiet, but absolute.
"Destroy it."
He turned to Heimdall. "Take the mirror to the deepest vault. I'll bring the weapon myself."
Thor blinked. "You're not keeping it sealed?"
"No." Odin's single eye narrowed. "It took my son from me for three thousand years. That artifact has no place in this world."
He looked to Alex. "And you… were the only one who noticed."
Alex gave no reply.
But when Loki looked at him again, the trickster's smile returned—small, honest, tired.
"…Thank you."
The mirror stood upright in the center of the ancient vault—framed in black stone, its surface like still water under moonlight. Faint wisps of mist curled at its edges, as if it were breathing. Silent. Waiting.
Odin stepped forward with Gungnir in hand.
Alex, Ciel, Loki, Thor, and Heimdall stood behind him in a semicircle. No one spoke.
The moment Odin raised his spear, the mirror shimmered.
A voice echoed—soft, feminine, and tempting. Not with power, but promises.
"Odin. Father of all. Seer of paths. Would you take a gift from beyond the thread of time?"
Odin narrowed his eye.
"A glimpse of futures unspoken… The death of your enemies before they rise… The return of what was lost…"
The air thickened, the vault pulsing with ancient pressure. Even Thor clenched his jaw.
The mirror glowed faintly, casting long shadows behind them.
"A single touch, and you will know. Everything."
But Odin did not waver.
"I am no fool," he said. "I have traded my eye for wisdom. I will not trade my soul for delusion."
And then, without hesitation, he struck.
Gungnir blazed with divine light as it pierced the mirror.
The moment the tip touched the glass, the mirror screamed—not with sound, but with reality tearing. The vault trembled. Black fog erupted like blood from the wound. The reflection shattered, each shard crying out in silent horror.
The mirror collapsed inward, folding like cloth into itself, until nothing remained but dust and silence.
The vault was quiet again. Gungnir dimmed.
No one moved for several seconds.
Finally, Loki exhaled.
"That… was satisfying."
Thor clapped him on the back. "About time something tried to tempt him and got rejected."
Odin turned, his face unreadable.
"It's over."
Alex stared at the spot where the mirror had stood. He said nothing, but Ciel gently reached for his hand.
He took it.
And far above, the skies of Asgard remained clear.
As the gods turned to leave the vault, the tension slowly began to lift. The air no longer carried the heavy weight of the mirror's presence.
Odin lingered behind with Alex, standing where the glass had once stood. Ciel remained at Alex's side, silent and watchful.
Alex spoke at last, his voice steady.
"That mirror… it doesn't tempt people with what they want. It lies to them about what they fear. And then it offers a solution."
He looked up at Odin.
"But the solution is never real. It just feeds on the fear. Twists it. Uses it. It's not a gift—it's bait."
Odin nodded slowly. "A trap for gods and mortals alike."
Alex's eyes darkened in thought.
"What people truly need isn't what they want most," he said quietly. "It's the real answer to the problem they fear most. But when fear blinds them, even a lie can look like hope. That's how something like this mirror wins—not with power, but with persuasion."
"It didn't care about truth," Alex continued. "It only needed belief. That was enough to ruin a person."
The Allfather closed his eye briefly, thoughtful. Then he placed a hand on Alex's shoulder—not as a king to a subject, but as one guardian of the world to another.
"You see too much," Odin said. "And because of that, you saved us all from believing a lie."
Alex said nothing more.
They left the vault together, the heavy doors sealing shut behind them.
And thus ended the tale of the mirror that whispered lies.