"...You got taller."

Silence. The throne of Helheim did not answer. Its queen simply watched, her unyielding gaze fixed on the visitor.

"I know. Brilliant opening," Loki added, breaking the quiet with a faint touch of his old deflection. "I practiced for at least three centuries."

Nothing. Loki smiled anyway, though the expression carried a heavy, quiet exhaustion. "You used to hide behind my leg whenever Fenrir barked too loudly."  
"You left," Hel said, her voice cutting through the hall.

"I did."

"You never came back."

"I know."

Hel's gaze never shifted. "You visited Jörmungandr."

"I did."

"You visited Fenrir."

"I did."

"You fought wars for the Jötnar."

"Yes."

"You argued with Odin."

"Frequently."

"You died."

"I managed that as well."

"But you never came here."

Loki inhaled slowly, the frozen air of the underworld settling deep into his chest. "I didn't."

"No."

"I have a thousand excuses," he murmured. "Realmly boundaries. Politics. Odin. The balance of the Nine Realms. The responsibilities of kingship."

"I know."

"They're all true."

"I know."

"And none of them matter."

For the first time, Hel moved. She stood from her dark throne and descended the frozen steps one by one, the sound of her deliberate movements echoing off the icy pillars. "You always had beautiful explanations."

"They're wasted on me now."

"You think enlightenment makes you honest?"

"No," Loki replied softly. "I think grief finally did."

Hel stopped only a few feet away from him. "You weren't there."

"I wasn't."

"When they gave me this realm."

"I wasn't."

"When I realized every soul who entered would look at me with fear."

"I wasn't."

"When I learned to rule."

"I wasn't."

"When I stopped waiting."

"I know."

There was no burning anger in her voice—only an absolute, chilling certainty. Somehow, that flat lack of rage was worse than any shout.

Loki nodded, looking down at his hands. "When you were little, I convinced myself that your survival was enough. I told myself, \*'She's powerful. She's clever. She'll understand.'\* And every year I found another reason not to visit. Another responsibility. Another crisis. Another war. I kept thinking I would come tomorrow, and then tomorrow became centuries."  
Hel looked at him, her eyes searching his face. "So why now?"

Loki was quiet for a long time, the silence stretching between them like the frozen wastes outside. "When I died... everything became very still. I forgave Odin."

"I know."

"I forgave Thor."

"I know."

"I forgave the stories they told about me."

"I know."

"And then I realized there was one person I had never asked forgiveness from."

Hel's expression remained perfectly unreadable. "You neglected everyone."

"I did," Loki swallowed, the admission raw. "But Fenrir knew I loved him."

"Yes."

"Jörmungandr knew."

"Yes."

"Even Sigyn knew."

"Yes." He paused, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm not certain you ever did."

The Queen of the Dead looked at him for what felt like an entire age. Finally, she asked, "Do you know what I remember most?"

Loki shook his head.

"You visited once."

His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "I did?"

"I was very small," she explained. "You sat with me for hours."

"I don't remember..."

"You made little animals out of ice."

Hel lifted one pale hand, and a tiny fox of frozen crystal formed smoothly in her palm. It wagged its delicate tail once before dissolving into a light shower of snow. "You kept failing to make the ears symmetrical."

Loki stared at her open palm, stunned. "I..."

"You apologized every time."

Another deep silence settled over the room.  
"I kept it," she whispered.

"You... kept an ice sculpture?"

"It melted," Hel said simply. "So I made another."

"You remembered that?"

"For thousands of years."

Loki laughed once, a short, breathless sound that broke halfway into a sob. He covered his face for a fleeting moment. "I thought I'd failed every single day."

"You failed most of them," Hel replied, offering no easy comfort. "I know."

"You missed birthdays."

"I know."

"You missed coronations."

"I know."

"You missed centuries."

"I know."

Hel stepped closer, her tone dropping its distance. "So don't insult me by pretending one apology fixes it."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good."

Another long pause lingered in the chilly air, less heavy this time.

"What happens now?" Hel asked.

Loki looked around the quiet, desolate kingdom. "I was hoping..." He hesitated, the great trickster suddenly unsure of his footing. "...perhaps we could start with tea."

Hel blinked, the request entirely foreign to Helheim. "Tea."

"I've been informed it solves more problems than war."

"I've never had tea."

"Neither have I."

Neither of them moved for a moment. Eventually, Hel turned away, her heavy robes brushing against the frosted floor. "There is a kettle."

Loki smiled, a genuine, fragile warmth returning to his expression. "I know."

"You'll make it wrong."

"Almost certainly."

"It will be terrible."

"Undoubtedly."

She began to walk toward the deeper halls of the dead. After taking several steps, she stopped in her tracks. Without looking back, she spoke one final sentence into the quiet room.

"...Father?"

Loki closed his eyes, leaning into the sound of the word. "Yes?"

"...Don't disappear this time."

When he answered, his voice was softer than falling snow. "I've spent an eternity running from every place I was afraid I had already failed. I'm very tired of running. I will never run again. Not from you, my dear.”

Enlightenment.