Chapter 28: Reflections in the Hollow
The moment Loki stepped through the shimmering gate, the world shifted.
Not with sound or light—but with silence so complete it deafened. He stood on a street that did not belong to any world he remembered. It was too perfect. No cracks in the stone. No ash on the wind. The sky was a delicate violet, bleeding into gold at the horizon. This was a city not of memory, but of longing.
His mother stood by the threshold of their old home. The one that had burned. The one he hadn't visited since the fire.
"Loki," she said, voice like warm bread and rainy mornings.
He didn't speak. His throat tightened.
"You left your coat again." She held it out—the same tattered green one he wore the day he fled the Dumornay estate.
His hand trembled as he took it. The seams were perfect. The tears never happened.
Behind her, the house opened into a banquet of impossible possibilities. Every room filled with people who had once loved him—some of whom had never existed. His brothers, not yet cruel. His father, not yet distant. A younger version of himself laughing. He could hear the music from his childhood—a lullaby warped by longing.
He stood there for what could have been seconds or hours. Part of him wanted to believe this world, just for a while longer. But something scratched beneath the surface, like teeth behind a smile.
Then the sky cracked.
Meanwhile, back in the real Hollow Weave, Selena waited with Eira and Calder in the shadow of the gate. Each second stretched. Her fingers twitched against her blade, her eyes never leaving the portal.
"What do you see?" she asked Eira.
Eira's eyes glowed faintly. "The lie is beautiful. It always is. But beauty can smother truth if it's sung sweet enough."
Selena narrowed her eyes. "Do you know what's inside?"
Eira nodded slowly. "It changes for everyone. For Loki, it's the one place he's always wanted but never believed he deserved. The lie becomes a truth only if he accepts it. That's the danger."
Calder muttered, "And if he doesn't?"
Eira didn't answer.
Selena felt something cold settle in her chest. A future flickered across her mind—Loki, standing above them all, eyes empty, smiling with no joy left. Not Loki. Something wearing him.
No. She wouldn't let that happen.
Inside the illusion, Loki finally turned from the door.
He walked the streets of his dream-city. People bowed to him. Cheered him. The Trickster, risen and revered. The city shimmered with belief—every alley and window built from his own unspoken desires.
He passed by a statue of himself in marble, inscribed with the words: He who freed the bound gods. He winced.
But as he passed a mirror, he stopped.
The reflection was not his.
It was Magnus. Wearing his face.
"You're not meant to be free," the reflection said. "You're meant to inherit the cage. The throne with golden bars."
Loki snarled. "I'm not you."
"No," Magnus said, grinning. "You're worse. Because you still pretend you aren't enjoying this."
Cracks spread across the world.
Back outside, the gate began to shimmer wildly.
Selena drew her blade. "He's fighting it."
Eira nodded. "He has to reject the lie completely. Not just escape it—defy it. If he clings to even a thread, it'll bind him forever."
Calder took a step back. "What happens if he doesn't?"
Eira looked at him, then at the gate. "Then the Trickster becomes the Tyrant. And we lose him."
The gate pulsed, then fractured.
Inside, Loki fell to one knee. The city dissolved into dust around him. His mother's face contorted, warped into something ancient and hungry. The dream turned to nightmare.
"Stay," it whispered. "Be loved. Be worshipped."
He laughed—broken, bitter.
"No one ever loved me without wanting something. Not even here."
He stood. Raised his hand.
"I am the Trickster. I make the rules now."
With a scream, he tore open the sky.
The gate exploded in violet fire.
Loki collapsed at Selena's feet, steaming with phantom heat. His eyes snapped open, wide and wild—but clear.
"I made it real," he gasped. "The lie. I made it real—and I walked away."
Selena knelt beside him. "You came back."
He smiled faintly. "Of course. I promised you chaos."
in the quiet that followed, Selena sat with Loki under the Hollow Weave's twisted sky. He stared into the distance, unblinking.
"Something's changed in you," she said finally.
"I see too much now," he whispered. "And things I never meant to see keep happening around me—by accident, or design."
Around them, flowers bloomed from cracks in the stone, then melted into mirrors. A clock ticked backward nearby. Selena reached for his hand but hesitated. Was it still Loki? Or something wearing him, piece by piece?
A pulse of golden light radiated from Loki's chest. The sigil shimmered like burning script, and with it came a voice—not from the sky, but from within the world itself:
SEQUENCE EIGHT: SHADOW JESTER OF THE REALM-BENDING THREAD
It echoed across dimensions, a name stitched into fate.
Loki gasped as his breath returned with unnatural clarity. He felt everything—every motion of wind, every movement of those nearby, every truth trying to hide behind words. Power stirred like wildfire beneath his skin.
His new powers had awakened.
Reality Skew: Loki could bend physical reality in subtle ways—gravity, distance, and perception were no longer constants. He twisted alleyways like string and folded shadows into doors.
Echo Manifestation: With a snap, he could summon distorted versions of himself from choices not taken—each lasting only moments, but revealing what could have been.
Deception Anchoring: If enough people believed a lie Loki told, it would temporarily become real. A nonexistent guard post might appear. An enemy might forget why they came. For a time, lies became truth.
His heartbeat echoed in his mind like a drum of mischief and awe. "I thought I'd feel invincible," he murmured. "Instead, I feel... responsible."
Selena watched him carefully. "That might be the most dangerous part of all."
He turned to her, green eyes glowing faintly. "The Trickster always laughs last. But now I wonder... what if I laugh alone?"
She didn't answer. She just sat beside him, close enough to remind him he wasn't.
Eira placed a hand on his chest. The mark of Sequence Eight now shimmered with truth and madness. The final stage was complete.
But the ground beneath them rumbled.
Far away, every faction felt the shift. In towers, temples, vaults of the old blood—eyes turned toward the Trickster's awakening.
And in a room of masks and maps, Magnus Dumornay whispered:
"It begins."