Chapter Thirteen: The Trickster’s Den

This town reeks of magic.

Not in the way the Feywild did—chaotic and wild, impossible to control. No, this was something else. Something deeper. The air was too still. The people too… perfect.

And yet, no one seemed to notice.

I walked the streets, watching, searching. No one questioned their happiness. No one doubted their reality. They didn't even look at me.

This place wasn't right.

I kept moving, my steps silent against the cobblestone, until I found a building that felt… different.

A tavern.

The door creaked as I stepped inside, the scent of ale and roasted meat heavy in the air. Laughter. Music. Everything a tavern should be. But the people here were just as hollow. Just as lost.

Then I saw him.

He sat alone in the corner, green eyes glinting beneath long, dark hair. Unlike the others, his gaze moved. He watched. He noticed.

And when I walked toward him, his lips curled into a smirk.

I stopped in front of his table. He tilted his head, studying me like I was some rare creature.

"Well, this is interesting," he said. "You're not under the spell."

I didn't answer.

"That makes two of us," he continued, leaning back. "And here I thought I was special."

Arrogant. Cocky.

I drew my dagger and placed it against his throat.

His smirk widened. "Oh? You wound me."

Then he was gone.

Before I could react, cold steel pressed against my neck.

I didn't flinch.

His breath was close, just behind my ear. "That was rude," he murmured. "I don't appreciate being threatened."

I turned my head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. Amused. Playful. Not afraid.

"Who are you?" I asked.

His grin sharpened. "You don't know?" He stepped back, twirling the dagger between his fingers before flicking it into the table. "I'm offended."

I stared at him, piecing it together. The magic. The arrogance. The tricks.

I had read about beings like him.

Not a god of war. Not a god of wisdom.

A god of mischief.

"Loki."

He laughed, low and pleased. "There it is."

I tightened my grip on my blade. I hated gods, meddling with mortals as they see wish, never considering the harm they might cause.