The God That Laughs

The first sign of his arrival was the silence.

Not the kind that came with emptiness, but the kind that felt wrong—a forced hush, as if the world itself held its breath.

Lucian felt it before he saw him.

A weight in the air. A presence that didn't belong.

Then—laughter.

It started soft, curling through the ruins like a whisper. Then it grew—rising, twisting, bending into something unnatural.

Lucian's fingers tensed around his katana. Something was coming.

Then—he was just there.

Perched atop the remains of a broken pillar, one knee bent, elbow resting lazily on it.

A man—if he could even be called that.

His hair was pale silver, almost white, falling in careless waves. His eyes—two different colors, one gold, one crimson—gleamed with mischief. A loose, high-collared coat hung off his shoulders, stitched together like patchwork, as if he had taken it from a dozen different people and called it his own.

And his smile.

Sharp, knowing, mocking.

He rested his chin against his palm, tilting his head as if studying something amusing. "Well, well. This is interesting."

Lucian's muscles coiled, his instincts screaming at him to move, to attack, to do something.

But he couldn't.

Because something in Loki's gaze—playful, but absolute—made it clear.

There was nothing Lucian could do.

Not yet.

Not against him.

Loki chuckled, his voice smooth, dripping with amusement.

"You're the one who took the swordsman's skill, aren't you?"

Lucian's eyes narrowed. He didn't answer.

Loki grinned. "How cruel." He let out a mock sigh, shaking his head. "I like you already."

Then, in a blink—he was gone.

Lucian barely had time to react before a cold whisper brushed his ear.

"But tell me, thief…"

Loki stood right behind him.

Lucian swung on instinct—his blade carving through the air.

Nothing.

Loki was back on the pillar, lounging as if he had never moved.

Lucian's breath hitched. What…?

Loki's grin widened. "That's not yours either, is it?"

Lucian's grip on the katana tightened.

How?

Loki had seen it. Had known instantly.

This wasn't just someone strong.

This was someone untouchable.

Loki leaned forward, his mismatched eyes glowing faintly. "You're trying to take, aren't you?" His smile stretched wider. "Let me give you a lesson, little thief."

Lucian felt it then—a pressure, unlike anything before.

The Book of Envy pulsed violently against his chest.

Because Loki wasn't just strong.

He was something else entirely.

And Lucian had no idea what he had just stepped into.