Chapter Fourteen: Loki

Loki lowered his knife, watching me with curious amusement.

"So," he said, tilting his head. "Why aren't you affected?"

I met his gaze, my expression blank. "Affected by what?"

His smirk widened. "The spell, of course. This whole town is an illusion, a dream made real. Everyone here is trapped, living in their deepest desires without even knowing it. But you..." He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "You see through it."

I didn't answer.

Instead, I studied him. The arrogance, the unnatural sharpness in his features. The way he spoke like he was above all of this. I had heard stories of gods like him, tricksters who wove lies into the fabric of reality.

"Loki."

His grin faded for just a second before returning, sharper than before. "You do know me. That makes this more fun."

"Why are you here?"

He sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I lost something. My daggers—the ones I forged with my own magic. Without them, my illusions unravel in ways they shouldn't. This town? It's what happens when power like mine is left unchecked."

I exhaled slowly. "So you want them back."

"Obviously. And you want out of here, don't you?"

I nodded. We had an agreement.

The search took hours. The town twisted around us, the illusions shifting with every step, tempting us, pulling at us. But I never faltered.

And then, at last, I found them.

Two wickedly sharp daggers, humming with power, buried in the heart of the town square. The moment I picked them up, the air itself shuddered.

Loki smirked. "Good girl. Now—"

I turned, pressing one blade to his throat.

His amusement vanished.

"That won't work." His voice was calm, but his body was still.

I held his gaze. "Gods' weapons can make gods bleed."

For the first time, I saw a flicker of something beneath his arrogance. Recognition. He knew I wasn't just some lost traveler.

"My father taught me history," I said. "I know what your kind can and can't survive."

His smirk returned, but it was forced. "Alright, fine. Ask your question, then. That's how these things work, right?"

I tightened my grip. "Do you know anything about a fire that cannot be controlled by magic?"

Loki blinked, then laughed. "Fire isn't really my thing."

I pressed the dagger harder. "Then tell me what you do know."

He sighed. "It wasn't the gods. Whatever happened to you, it was mortal hands that lit the match."

I searched his face for any sign of deceit. Nothing.

I lowered the daggers.

Loki stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Well, that was fun." He reached out, and before I could stop him, the daggers vanished from my hands, reappearing in his. "Thanks for the help."

And then, he was gone.

With his disappearance, the town shattered.

Gone were the perfect homes, the glowing lanterns, the dreams. All that remained was a graveyard of broken buildings and silence.

No people. No voices. Nothing but a ghost town.

I stood there for a long time.

Then, without another word, I left.