Chapter Text
- New York City: 2012
“On my way down to coordinate search and rescue.”
Loki rolls his eyes at Rogers holier than thou attitude, “Truly? You let him lead you?” he mutters to Thor. “How the mighty have fallen,” he smirks.
“Be quiet,” Thor growls, placing the gag on him and steering him toward the elevator.
They all enter when the Hulk attempts to squeeze his frame inside.
“Hey!” “No!” “Dear god no!” The mortals all shout at once.
Thor tries to ward off the green beast whilst Stark tries in vain to shout logic at the creature.
“How do you think that’s gonna go? We’re at maximum occupancy in here, Jolly Green.”
“Take the stairs,” Thor orders.
Hulk bellows his displeasure and punches the doors for good measure before trudging towards the stairs and heading for the long way down.
Loki tilts his head in amusement, watching as the Hulk is reduced to an angry puppy. Quite the role reversal from the raging berserker from moments ago, these warriors are more suited to Thor than he realised.
In the lobby of Stark’s domain, they encounter an even holier than thou authority than Rogers who expect their orders to be followed immediately.
“Hand over the case, Stark.”
“No can do, Men in Black.”
Thor steps in front of Stark in defence, as the mortal holds the case carrying the tesseract behind him in a vain attempt to conceal it.
They quickly become outnumbered and the men in tactical suits close in on their prize. In the kerfuffle the case slips from Stark’s grasp to the floor.
These midgardians lack such decorum, it pains his inner diplomat.
Suddenly the case is pushed away by an unknown force, he keeps track of it without turning his head and giving away what is happening. A man picks up the case as if it had been specially delivered to him, dressed the same as the so-called Shield agents and walks on his merry way.
Loki is struck speechless for a moment, how in the Norns has no one but him noticed this?
“Stark breathe!”
Ah, Stark is pulling everyone’s attention.
But wait…. He faintly overhears the mystery man’s comments about picking up food.
Well, this is… interesting. Two Tony Starks in one room, who knew the universe wouldn't implode in on itself. Either they have gotten their hands on the Time Stone or found another way of travelling through time.
He didn't think this day could become any stranger when suddenly the green beast makes its appearance crashing through the door in a storm and knocking the other Stark off his feet.
“Hulk hate stairs!”
He had never been one to dismiss fortune when it lays so readily at his feet. So, when the tesseract presents itself quite literally within his grasp…
Well, what do you expect?
“Where’s Loki? LOKI!”
- Gobi Desert, Mongolia
He lands rather unexpectedly in a pile of sand, the sun burning his already bruised skin.
He takes a moment to rid himself of the chains and mask his dear brother had adorned him with, making sure to secure them in a pocket dimension. Who knows when those could come in handy?
A grunt forces itself out as he pushes himself to sit up in this newly made crater. His back is never going to forgive him for all he’s put it through today.
A deep breath of the clean humid air and the faint buzzing of the wildlife allows him to feel somewhat safe. He has not had a moment's respite in years, with Asgard and then the Mad Titan, and then the circus act on Midgard. There wasn’t a moment he could truly let himself breathe.
Not too soon he is interrupted by the local populace searching for what had crash-landed into their territory.
“Who are you?”
He sensed they posed no harm, but he still eyed them warily. He doesn't feel the need to hurt them but he will defend himself.
“Why have you come to our home?”
He heaves a sigh and gets to his feet.
“I am merely passing through,” he assures them. “I-”
Out of nowhere a door appears, outlined in gold and slightly glowing, and outstep what appear to be five soldiers peering at the Space stone he had left on the ground. Clearly, this day could get worse.
“One moment,” he asks, motioning toward the newcomers. They nod wearily and back away from the strange outsiders.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” he warns.
At his approach, they stand in formation as if against a threat, smart move. They hold weapons he has never encountered before, but he still has some brain capacity to know not to get hit with the strange glowy end.
Once again another door appears but out walks only one soldier.
“Appears to be a standard sequence violation.” She lifts what seems to be a monitor, “Branch is growing at a stable rate and slope.”
She looks up and pierces him with her gaze, annoyed but with a suspiciously satisfied glint. “Variant identified.”
He tilts his head in question, “Who might you be?”
She puts away her monitor and places a hand on the hilt of her weapon, the soldiers armed and ready behind her.
“On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the Sacred Timeline. Hands up.”
The sound of their weapons powering up cuts through the tension.
“You’re coming with us.” She states.
“Time Variance Authority? Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure.”
At his disobedience, she powers her weapon and aims straight for his heart.
“Last chance variant.”
He chuckles at her attitude, “It’s been a very long day, madam. So, no I will not be going with you.”
She slowly closes the distance between them.
He sighs knowing a fight is yet again the only way out of the situation.
“Six against one? Hardly honourable” he taunts.
“What do you care about honour?” she snarls.
He smirks, “Touche.”
She makes the first move, engaging the trickster god into a fight that the soldiers take as their queue to engage. They all get the upper hand for a moment, with Loki kicking a soldier and toppling him into another, only to be tripped by the woman. Flickering a knife into his hand he aims it at another soldier's leg to distract.
Unfortunately he has spent the past two years in captivity and a long weekend planning an invasion meant to fail, so he justifies his next failure as being not at peak health and so the woman gets the upper hand at last and whacks him in the face with a strange device.
He can feel it spread through his whole body, pain spiking its way through every limb. Unable to control anything and powerless to stop it. It’s a feeling he’s coming to resent.
Another shackle is placed upon him unwillingly, cold metal against his neck.
“You are now moving at 1/16 speed, but feeling all that pain in real-time.”
He collapses to the ground in a thud, the pain that had stretched out now whipping back into him like backlash.
“You’ll pay for that.” He hisses.
She merely huffs and nods to her men.
It’s enough to disorient him, the soldiers don’t lose any time and quickly they carry him through one of their golden portals. But not before he gets another swift kick to one of their men.
“Reset the timeline,” she orders. Picking up the Space Stone and peering at it with a distasteful grimace.
He glances behind him as he’s roughly carried and confined by four of the men. What he sees leaves him more confused than ever.
One of the soldiers places a canister on the ground which he turns, setting a liquid to mix with its contents and turning it a smokey purple hue. Like a timer had gone off, a wave of what he would consider seiðr flows over everything.
“What did you-“ he’s roughly pushed despite his not weak resistance through the portal before he can get his answer.
- Time Variance Authority
He lands in what he can only assume is Helheim but that would be doing his daughter’s realm a disservice. At least her domain has better lighting and interior decoration.
He hears more than see’s the portal close behind them, and then he is once again pushed to move forward.
“Go to medical and get that checked out,” she orders the one he stabbed.
He smirks at him in farewell as the soldier snarls what he assumes are misgivings under his breath.
The other four surrounding him lead him down a hallway until they arrive at what appears to be a central foyer.
The one in charge pushes past them up to a man behind a desk. They seem to be in a lobby of sorts, he sees other people in a similar situation to himself, cuffed and manhandled into following these foot soldiers orders.
“What species?” “Variant Skrull.”
“Where have you taken me?” he asks, unable to find any clues as to where they could be.
“I’ve already told you.”
Time Variance Authority? Like that helps him narrow it down on a map, thinking he has had enough of playing along with these ignorant peasants, he calls on a trusted weapon. Only what he finds is a gaping chasm.
“What have you done?” He hisses, lunging at the woman. He doesn't get far before one of the soldiers hits him in the stomach and another whacks him in the legs. Seem’s they’re still sore about their friend.
“Stand down, variant.”
“I’m going to burn this place to the ground,” he warns. The collar that they put on him may have something to do with his seiðr being cut off from him. It is not taken, it would be impossible to fully take that away from someone but it is entirely possible to contain it out of someone’s reach.
Odin had many such tools in his vault, and the dungeons had no shortage of appliances to help prisoners who were uncooperative to talk. He had long ago sought out ways to cheat or dismember such tools but this one feels different… it may take him time to undo it.
She ignores him and finally gives the man behind the desk her attention, who looks more than happy to be of service.
“Hello, ma’am, uh…” he tries to hand her a clipboard but she quickly shuts that down.
“Log this as evidence.” She states, placing the Space Stone still in its container on the desk.
“Oh, can you at least tell me what it is?” he asks timidly, reaching for the cube.
She nods at the guards who once again haul him around like a dog. He’s already decided he’s killing these first.
“They’ve been calling it a tesseract,” she said carelessly.
“Sounds dumb!” he calls after them, making Loki roll his eyes.
They deposit him in front of an actual door this time, “I can handle it from here.”
A rough shove and they leave with parting sneers over their shoulders. She pulls a lever next to the side of the door.
After that beating from the Hulk and torture for two years, his body is starting to feel the strain of neanderthals with no manners. He’s losing his patience very quickly.
Lacking a physical weapon he uses another tool in his arsenal, talking has always served him well.
“I demand an audience, clearly the foot soldiers know nothing of import.”
“Oh you’ll get your audience,” she says, a twisted smile on her face. She once again holds out her weapon to his chest, probably knowing he’d try to take it from her.
He leans out of range, refusing to take a step back from this woman.
A chirp sounds behind him and she nods her head for him to take a step backwards.
“Now, go through the door.”
He glances behind him without showing her his back, “If I don’t?”
She waves her weapon toward his face this time. “Then I finally get to use this.”
He can tell by her eyes that she would like nothing more, and he knows isn’t going to get anything out of her so he takes his chances at this new room.
He shoots her a glare that would put Odin to shame as the doors slowly shut.
Taking a look around the small dimly lit room, he sighs in renewed anguish.
All he had wanted was to return to Asgard so he could recuperate in peace and plan an escape that would predictably go off flawlessly, but this was not to be. Besides without his seiðr, his healing is reduced to normal Asgardian speed, which is not slow by any means but far behind what he could usually manage.
A warbling sound alerts him to the machine in the room awakening. Its claw-like arms reach out as if to touch him. It vaguely reminds him of something that Stark was likely to make.
He swats at the grabby appendages, “I think not.”
The strange face lighting up the screen turns into a frown… looks like he’s made it angry. Suddenly a pistol-shaped object is pointed again in his face, glowing slightly gold. Seems to be a theme with these people and an unfortunate reminder of home.
“Hold very still.” It cautions as it aims at his chest with a sadistic grin.
“Why?” he asks, backing away and quickly looking around the room for possible escape hatches.
A piercing sharp laser cuts through his clothes, leaving him in nothing but the collar they had placed on him.
“How dare you!” he snarls, if humiliation was their goal they were to be sorely mistaken. He was a god after all, but they would pay for disintegrating his clothes. They had no idea how much Asgardian leather sells for and it was tailored made for him in Alfheim.
Just as he’s about to punch the thing in its screen the floor opens up beneath him.
He lands like he always does, on his feet. And suspiciously clothed again except this time in some hideous jumpsuit, in a shade of appalling beige.
He locks eyes with another drone sitting behind a desk looking bored out of his mind, and a feline sitting by his feet.
“Please sign to verify this is everything you’ve ever said.”
A stack of paper is pushed towards him with an expectant look. He looks at it warily, this whole charade is absurd…
“… I’m thousands of years old, that can’t possibly be everything I’ve ever said.”
The man heaves a sigh that impresses even him, before pointing behind him. A wall of filing cabinets lines the wall, floor to ceiling.
“The rest of it is in those.” He grabs another paper that has been printed and puts it atop the pile.
Loki goes to protest again, maybe the typeface is just small? But a serious shake of the man’s head halts the thought.
“Please just sign this.”
Loki knows better than to sign anything without reviewing it in excruciating detail, but… desperate times.
He rolls his eyes and snatches the pen. Adding a flourish to the page and concealing the pen neatly in his pocket afterwards. They really shouldn't put pockets in these monstrosities.
“Now wh-“
He lands again on agile feet and in a room with another drone and yet another tedious task.
Thoughts of maiming race through his skull but he tempers them until he gets more information. After all, if he were to escape the room, who knows how many more would be waiting for him. He deems it better to wait it out and assess his options.
“Please confirm to your knowledge that you are not a fully robotic being, were born an organic creature, and do in fact possess what many cultures would call a soul.” He recites, eyes never leaving his clipboard.
To his knowledge? How would one not know he ponders, unless… pained memories of Odin and his sinful confessions spring to mind. Also, a particular daughter of the Titan that had become more machine than being. How far had she been taken apart? How much of herself has she lost to his painful teachings.
“Why do you wish to know?” He asks, wondering what tortures they were planning on conducting. They were certainly going about it differently than the Titan, at least his minions had been upfront about it, this bureaucratic nonsense that was merely irritating, verging on tedious.
“Thank you for confirming, move through.” His tone was uncaring as he signals toward the metal contraption in the middle of the room.
“I did not confirm nor deny.”
His look portrays the perfect face of, I could not give less of a fuck.
He decides to switch tacks, just to see if it were to garner a different reaction. “If I were to kill you instead?”
“Another would be sent in my place.” He states as if they weren’t discussing his gruesome murder.
Alright then, he steps carefully toward the contraption. Hearing a faint humming coming off it makes him pause.
“… and if I was not born an organic creature? What would happen?”
“The machine would melt you from the inside out. Please move along, sir.”
He hates this place. Fairly certain that Odin had spoken the truth and that casket had indeed revealed his true self, he cautiously steps through the detector.
… It’s a little anticlimactic. A little flash of light and a picture washed with colours pops out.
“What does that reveal?” he asks, curious despite himself.
“Your temporal aura,” he says.
“… and that would be?” It probably has something to do with time or perhaps an identifying marker, but the man finally seems to get impatient with him.
“Please, through the door.” He points, revealing another elevator opening into what he guesses is another depressing room.
“What? No trap door?” He mocks, and gets a glare in return. It makes him feel somewhat better.
Stepping through he’s proved right once more, a queuing system with no one present but one other hostage and another soldier. Oh, joy.
“Take a ticket,” a soldier orders with a hand on his weapon.
“What is this, a deli? No.” The other prisoner, he presumes by the matching disgusting jumpsuit he wears.
The man petulantly struts through the turnstile whilst turning a mocking smile at the soldier. The man has a death wish, he notes.
Loki steps forward to enter a separate queue since the only exit appears to be on the other side of the room. But before he can enter he too is ordered to take a ticket.
“There are only two people you have kidnapped here, why would I need a ticket?” He asks what he assumes is a very reasonable question.
“Take… a… ticket.” He states again, his enunciation taking centre stage.
With an eye roll hopefully visible to Heimdall he snatches a ticket. Speaking of, the gatekeeper is either ignoring him on purpose, having trouble sending his brother after him or most probable, can’t see him. Which fills him with a sense of dread but not surprise. Heimdall’s gaze has always been faulty and easy to trick but for the second time in one century he prays that this time he’s within sight.
An Asgardian prison cell seems so much preferable to this monotonous purgatory.
He makes sure the guard sees his ticket as he waves it sarcastically at him, and he stores it in his pocket next to his stolen weapon. They really shouldn't have given him something pointy.
Meandering through the ropes slowly he mutters about incompetent peasants and promises of a conflagration when suddenly a female voice comes through the speakers.
“Hi, there! You’re probably saying, this is a mistake. I shouldn't even be here.”
He takes in the room, looking for the voice or cameras concealed about the place. His attention is pulled to the many screens littered along the walls, an anthropological clock being the voice they hear.
“Welcome to the Time variance Authority. I’m Miss Minutes, and it’s my job to catch you up before you stand trial for your crimes. So let’s not waste another minute.”
Crimes? What in the Norns are they talking about? Asgard would have authority over his actions on Midgard, even if the humans disagreed. His actions with Jotunheim would also come under Asgardian jurisdiction, so whatever authority they think they wield they are sorely mistaken.
But a so-called Time Authority… a familiar scent is making things appear a little clearer for him.
He patiently settles in for a spiel about this higher authority and mentally adds in house propaganda to his growing list of concerns for this place.
“For all time? A little on the nose don’t you think?” He comments to an audience of one.
“Ticket, sir?” He overhears.
“He didn’t give me a ticket. I asked.” The other prisoner scoffs.
“Ticket, sir!” He orders forcefully.
“I tried to ask that guy for a ticket!” A pitiful tone enters his voice, as he points toward the guard stationed at the front.
“Sir,” he goes to ask again, this time pulling his weapon out of his holster.
This garners a stronger reaction, the prisoner denies being asked and because of his carelessness Loki finally finds out what the glowy end of their weapons finally do. It’s a lot more sparkly than he was expecting.
“Thanks for visiting the TVA!” The strange clock states, voice unusually perky for such a morbid sendoff. Wait... did she witness that in real-time?
A subtle search of his pocket confirms he still has his ticket, he pulls it out and clenches it in his fist. Making his way along the queue but at an even slower pace than before, somewhat reluctant for the end of the line.
Aix-en-Provence, France 1549
A man stands in a desecrated church and asks a child who could have committed such atrocities.
Her reply leaves him wary, “The devil.” Pointing to a stained-glass depiction of the fallen angel, in all his horned glory.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “that devil’s afraid of us.”
- Time Variance Authority, courtroom
“Next case, please.”
He walked into a poor imitation for a court and was made to stand trial for a crime he didn’t commit. It’s not a new feeling for him, the finger has been pointed in his direction many times. Some may have been for good reason but this time it's enough to raise his fury at their self-appointed rule.
“Laufeyson. Variant L1130, aka Loki Laufeyson, is charged with sequence violation 7-20-89.”
That name makes him wince, a memory still fresh in his mind. How in the Norns do they know about that?
“How do you plead?” The apparent judge asks, her tone impatient.
“This has all been a misunderstanding, whatever you think I did I can assure you I have a valid alibi.”
“Are you guilty or not guilty, sir?”
He sighs, “I’m afraid I’ll need a little more information than that. What is it you are accusing me of exactly? Because I have been accused of many things over the centuries but being brought before a so-called Time Court is a new one for me.”
“You are accused of crimes against the sacred timeline.”
“Then you have the wrong person.” He insists.
“Oh, really? And who should we have?”
“I suspect the Avengers. The merry band of misfits currently occupying Midgard, you see, I came into possession of the Space Stone once more because they travelled through time, no doubt to fix a mess they had created.” He says, a tight smile pulling at his lips.
Though a darker thought enters his mind, if they went to such lengths as to go through time, what were they preparing for?
“That’s quite an accusation.”
“Oh, believe me, you can smell the cologne of two Tony Starks in the room.”
He notes hurried footsteps behind him, but since they don't interrupt he pushes the thought aside.
“You speak of finding someone guilty of altering your sacred timeline, surely the ones who travelled through it so haphazardly would be your intended targets.” He says, “Not the one who just happened to pick up something they maybe shouldn’t have.”
He can all but feel the soldier who brought him here rolling her eyes at him.
“We’re not here to talk about the Avengers,” the judge states.
He tilts his head, “No?” his teeth now grinding through his frustration.
“No, what they did was supposed to happen. You were not.”
“But I wouldn't have escaped if they had not travelled in time,” he quickly retorts.
She presses her lips in displeasure. His logical point irritates her... good.
“You can see how this senseless logic is getting us nowhere,” he calmly states. “I did not commit a crime, simply place me back where I was and we can all go our separate ways and I’ll happily travel back to Asgard where I was supposedly intended to go.” He physically holds himself back from rolling his eyes this time.
“That’s not going to be happening,” she states, tone hardening. “Your picking up the Stone and escaping was not meant to happen and-“
“Not meant to happen? According to whom?” he interrupts. He’s already on her bad side, might as well dig for information.
“The Time Keepers,” she explains like she’s talking to a small child.
“Ah, yes, the Time-Keepers. Well, perhaps I should take this up with them since the best answer you can give me is because they said so.”
“I’m sorry, but they’re quite busy.” Flat out lies he can sense in a heartbeat.
“Oh, they are? What are they doing exactly?”
“Dictating the proper flow of time.”
He nods very seriously, “I see, and then what is it you do?”
“Dictate the proper flow of time according to their dictations.” She seethes, “How do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” he grounds out. “Oh, and another thing, how did you suppress my seiðr? I’m curious, the collar isn't it and your foot soldiers haven't struck me with anything else.”
At her confused look, the woman who brought him in piped up with a smirk on her face.
“He’s talking about his magic powers, ma’am.”
“They’re no good in the TVA, Mr Laufeyson.” She reveals.
“Why?”
She hurriedly ignores him, “The court finds you guilty, and I sentence you to be reset.” A bang of her gavel, concludes her business. “Next case, please!”
The thought of using his makeshift weapon is becoming more and more appealing, “What does resetting entail exactly? Doesn't sound fun.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“You truly think this is how it ends for me?” He mocks, eyeing the soldiers moving toward him.
“It’s not your story Mr Laufeyson, it never was.”
“If not mine, then whose?” He hisses, as someone grabs his arm. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” He spits at the man trying and failing to pull him forward, without his friends he’ll have a tough time moving him.
Just as he’s about to start stabbing people, someone interestingly calls out.
“I… I think I might.”
Everyone pauses in the room to look at the white-haired man standing behind them. Facial hair not un-similar to Starks and an unassuming manner like Banner. He wonders what dark secrets this one holds.
“Have an idea of what he’s capable of, I mean.”
“Approach the bench,” she calls.
He wondered what this man knew of him, to stop the proceedings like this.
“Hi,” he says softly.
She leans forward ominously over him, “If you’re thinking what I think you are, it’s a bad idea.” She whispers.
Do they not realise that he can hear them?
“Okay, I’m just chasing a hunch.”
“… Anything goes sideways, it’s on you.” She warns him.
“Okay. I feel like I’m always looking up to you. I like it. It’s appropriate.” He teases softly.
She’s having none of it but lets him proceed over the god they have in their grasp.
He stands still allowing them to feel some semblance of control, the better for when he rips it from them.
“… and who am I thanking for this detour on the way to my execution?” he asks, looking him up and down. Not overly impressed with what he sees, but then again it’s the unassuming ones that prove the most dangerous.
It merely makes the man smile, like he’s in on a joke nobody knows. Well, that won’t do. Then the man waves off the guards and gestures for him to follow.
This place is like a maze, no doubt intended that way should anybody try to escape. It reminds him of Alfheim’s gardens but the beauty of the elven courts put this to shame. He recalls time spent with Thor and Fandral trying to escape the mazes, sometimes he would cheat and burn through them, setting them aflame just for fun. But a stern talk from his mother put that habit to bed, nevertheless, he got used to tracking the pathways in his mind.
It’s something he does now, plotting every hallway in his mind's eye, every corner and every twist added to his mental map of this purgatory.
“I heard you wanna burn this place to the ground. I’ll show you where my desk is, you can start there.”
Travelling through one particular hallway leads him to a view he was not prepared for.
“Have a look,” the man offers.
It’s expansive, to say the least, stretching further than even he can see. Large structures towering high above, with hundreds of shuttles going back and forth through the place. It is similar to Nidavellir with its metalwork overlaying everything in its cavernous space.
“Home sweet home.”
“No seiðr was used to create this?” he inquired. He knows many civilisations did not use or even have access to such power, like Midgard though they hide it even from themselves.
“Nope.”
“It’s impressive,” he admits.
“It is, and unfortunately, so is all the paperwork.” He turns him away and they start walking again. “Good tinder for your fire, though. Come on.”
“Surely working in such a place would be a nightmare?”
“That’s another department, now that department I’ll help you burn down.” He chuckles at his own quip.
They enter another elevator, this one more comfortable, he makes a mental review of the strange codes for the levels when he sees the anthological clock making another appearance.
At least no strange contraptions or tedious men are asking for tedious things in here… speaking of tedious men.
He slips his hand into his pocket, head staring straight forward, expression perfectly affable.
“I’m Agent Mobius, by the way.” He greets, holding out his hand. Loki merely looks at it in confusion before rolling his eyes at the attempt.
He sighs and turns his attention seemingly back to the door.
“I wouldn't if I were you.” Mobius calmly states.
It momentarily pauses him before he quickly calms himself, hand still clenched around the pen. Mobius is more perceptive than he gave him credit for. “Why ever not?”
“You saw it out there, how far do you think you’ll get?”
“Further than you suspect, I assure you.” Turning to look him in the eye, but Mobius looks like he’s trying to reason with him.
“Are you taking me somewhere else to kill me? Perhaps a tour before I meet my end?” He asks, tone drenched in sarcasm.
“No, that’s where you just were. I’m taking you somewhere to talk.”
“Well, I’m not amenable to that right now.”
“But you are amenable to lying, which you just did. Because we both know you love talking, and you’re so good at it” he smirks. “Sure I can’t tempt you? It’s better than the alternative.”
“That’s hardly saying much,” he sighs. “How long have you worked here?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to say, time passes differently here in the TVA.” He dismisses.
“What does that mean? Is this place separate from reality? How much control do you have over time? How did you get such oversight? How does it work exactly?”
Mobius sighs at the sudden burst of curiosity but smiles at the glint in the trickster’s eyes. “You’ll find out soon enough.”