Meanwhile, in Asgard, the twenty-four remained in a citadel blasted by war; torn by petty rivalries; arguing incessantly; easy targets for anyone who fancied trying for godhood. I saw them mostly through their dreams, which were small and unimaginative but which nevertheless gave me food for thought. Perhaps even then a part of me knew how badly they needed a friend, and how much I could help them, if only they could put aside their puny little prejudices.

In those days the General liked to travel in Journeyman Aspect throughout the Worlds. His blind eye, sacrificed to the runes, saw much further than his living one ever had, and he was obsessed with exploration and the pursuit of knowledge. He was a great traveller in Dream – that river that skirts our borders, flowing alongside Death itself, dividing this world from the next – and he would often watch our realm from the far side of the river, muttering cantrips to himself and squinting through his blind eye.

He didn’t look all that impressive back then – a tall man in his fifties, with unruly grey hair and an eyepatch. But even then I sensed that he was something out of the ordinary. For a start, he had glam – that primal fire stolen from Chaos, which the Folk later came to call magic and to fear with a superstitious awe. I could see it in the colours swirling all around him and by the signature he left, as unique as a fingerprint; a broad blaze of kingfisher-blue across the bleakness of rocks and snow. I’d seen that signature in dreams that were bigger and brighter than the rest and now I could almost hear him, too; his soft and coaxing voice; his words:

Loki, son of Laufey.

Son of Farbauti – Wildfire—

We didn’t have much need for names back in Pandaemonium. Of course I had them – everything does – but back then they had no power over me. As for my family, such as it was – well, demons have no family. My father was a lightning-strike and my mother was a pile of dry twigs (no that’s not a metaphor), which, to be fair to Yours Truly, made for pretty poor parenting.

In any case, Wildfire is hard to control: volatile; unpredictable. I’m not making excuses or anything, but it’s in my nature to be troublesome. Surt should have known it; Odin, too. Both got what was coming to them.