The Master of the Manor.
The grand festivities of the Golden Palace finally ebbed like a receding tide, leaving the citizens of Asgard to return to their hearths and their stories. For Loki, the transition was more than just the end of a party; it was a relocation of his soul.
Goria had made a show of wanting to return to her estate alone, her pride still stinging from the "Lulu incident." She insisted she needed space. She insisted she needed to paint. Loki, playing the part of the persistent suitor, insisted on following. And as is the way with such things, she... well, she let him.
As they crossed the threshold of her sprawling manor—a place of white stone, climbing ivy, and the scent of aging oak—Loki felt a jarring sense of déjà vu. It was the exact layout of the sanctuary that had guided his dreams for years.
"Goria," Loki said, his voice echoing in the vaulted foyer. "Am I the Master of this house?"
Goria paused, her long golden hair shimmering in the afternoon light. She looked at him with a mix of exhaustion and affection. "Yes, Loki. For as long as you can hold the keys."
"Then I want to choose my own room," he declared with a mischievous glint.
"Loki, no!" she laughed, but her protest was buried under the weight of his sudden, playful energy.
In the days that followed, the ghosts of the past began to thin. Goria moved the portrait of her late husband from the master suite to a private gallery. While the imprint of the man remained in her heart, the space he occupied was shifting, being rewritten by the presence of a living, breathing God.
Loki settled into a rhythm. He returned to the Golden Palace once a week to visit Frigga, but his true life was now at the manor. Goria was a creature of beautiful, chaotic whims. Some days she would paint from sunrise to dusk, refusing to eat until the canvas was a riot of color. Other days, she would spend hours in the cellar, obsessing over the temperature of her vintage wines. She was a free spirit, and Loki found himself mesmerized by her lack of routine.
The Sparring Match.
By the end of the month, Goria had completed her third "Refinement" cycle. Thanks to the Interface rewards Loki had funneled her way, she felt a strange, surging vitality she mistook for an artistic second wind. One warm afternoon, feeling particularly spirited in her new tight-fitting leather training suit, she challenged him.
"Are you ready, my Prince?" she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her golden hair was tied back in a fierce braid.
"Bring it on," Loki replied, standing in the center of the riding arena with his hands behind his back.
"Ha!"
Goria moved with a speed that would have shamed a palace guard. Her strikes were well-structured, her long legs cutting through the air with a powerful whoosh. But Loki was no longer just a mage; he was a being of refined divine essence. He weaved through her attacks like smoke.
"Why are you dodging!" she snapped, frustrated.
"Fine," Loki smiled. "I won't dodge."
"Catch this, then!"
She threw a flurry of punches. Loki caught her small, pinkish-white fists in his palms. Goria gritted her teeth, trying to pull away, but she couldn't move an inch. Frustrated, she drove a knee toward his abdomen.
Loki felt the wind of the strike and flashed backward three meters in a blink. "Careful with those legs, treasure! You might break your future King."
"Hmph! Take this!"
She launched a series of high kicks and spinning strikes. Loki played with her, his movements a taunting dance, a constant, mischievous smirk on his lips. It worked. Her chest began to heave with anger.
"Ah!"
Suddenly, Goria stumbled, clutching her leg.
"Goria! Are you alright?" Loki was at her side in an instant, his heart skipping a beat.
"I haven't exercised in too long," she groaned, leaning into him. "I think... I have a cramp."
"Where? Let me see. I'll rub it out for you."
Loki pulled her into his arms, his expression full of genuine concern. He was utterly heartbroken at the thought of her in pain.
Then, the trap sprung.
Goria's "cramp" vanished. She bit her lip to hide a grin and landed a fierce, direct punch squarely on Loki's left eye socket. It was a perfect strike, avenging the humiliation of being teased.
"AH! Hiss... Mother of...!" Loki recoiled, clutching his face.
"Pfft! Hahahahaha!" Goria doubled over, her laughter echoing through the valley. "Goo-goo-goo-goo! Look at the God of Wisdom now!"
Loki sat on the grass, his eye swelling rapidly. "That was low, Goria. Truly low."
She knelt beside him, helping him apply a cooling ointment, her eyes softening. "Loki... I really have become stronger. It's not an illusion. Is it... because of you?"
Loki paused. He couldn't tell her about the Interface, but he could use the narrative. "...Your God of Wisdom's 'essence,' perhaps? The only thing you've been in contact with recently that has changed is... well, me."
Goria looked down, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "I suppose that makes sense."
[Chaos Points +50!]
[Major Reward: Skill - High-Speed Regeneration (Passive).]
Perfect, Loki thought, feeling his eye socket already beginning to knit back together. Between the Eternal Rebirth and now High-Speed Regeneration, I'm basically a biological tank.
"I love you, Goria," he whispered, pulling her close.
"How much?" she teased.
"The most. Enough to let you punch me in the face."
The Uninvited Business Partner.
Their sweet afternoon was interrupted by a loud, familiar rhythmic thumping at the manor gates.
"Hi! Good sister!"
Lulu burst into the courtyard, tossing her round merchant's hat. Loki reflexively ducked behind Goria, his memory of the hot-spring incident still vivid.
"Haha! Look at him," Lulu laughed, her dimples flashing. She looked as sharp as ever—part shrewd businesswoman, part impish rogue. "Relax, my Prince. I'm here on business. It's Ms. Lulu now, by the way. The papers are signed."
Loki coughed, stepping out from behind his shield. "Please be serious, Ms. Lulu."
"I am being serious! You're a hands-off boss, abandoning a mountain of work for a month of honeymooning. Here... the cigarettes are finished."
Loki took the exquisite gift box. Inside were the first filtered cigarettes and cigars of Asgard, branded with his seal. "Thank you. I know this wasn't easy to mass-produce."
"It's what a big sister does," Lulu said, winking. She turned to Goria and linked arms. "I also brought those slaves you requested to clean the north wing. Same deal as last time? I'll sell them back once they've polished the marble."
Goria nodded. It was their usual arrangement—a cost-effective way to maintain the massive estate. "Stay for lunch, Lulu. We were just sitting down."
As they ate, the conversation turned to the upcoming voyage. "Our caravan sets off in three days," Lulu said, her tone turning professional. "Goria, do you want to sell some of that cellar-aged wine? The Kree will pay a fortune for Asgardian vintage."
Goria turned to Loki. "Master of the house, what do you think?"
Loki didn't hesitate. "No sale. We keep the good stuff for ourselves."
Lulu clutched her chest in mock agony. "Ouch! My dear sister, that stings! One little kiss and now he's blocking my trade routes?"
Goria raised an eyebrow, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. "Lulu, dear, while this house has a Master, I have the final say. You can take three hundred cases of the thousand-year-old mead. No more."
"Deal!"
Lulu clinked glasses with Goria, then her gaze shifted to Loki. Her face turned uncharacteristically cold. "The 'Master of the house' needs to pay attention. There's a rumor spreading through the Golden Palace that Odin has effectively disowned you. They're saying you've been exiled to this manor while Thor is being groomed for the high command."
Goria's smile vanished. "Loki, is this true?"
Loki's eyes sparkled with a calculated innocence. "Father and I... we have a different understanding of 'service,' that's all."
"In that case," Goria said firmly, "you should go back to the Palace this afternoon. We need to reverse this rumor before it takes root. I won't have people thinking my man is a cast-off."
"Will you come with me?" Loki asked, looking like a kicked puppy.
Goria sighed, her heart clearly melting. "I can't say no to that face. I'll stay at the Golden Palace for half a year. No more."
"Enough," Loki beamed. "That's more than enough."
Lulu shook her head. "Goria, don't be fooled. This guy has been the best actor in Asgard since he was three. He's playing you like a harp."
Loki ignored the jab. He knew the "exile" rumor worked in his favor—it kept Odin's expectations low. But having Goria at his side in the Palace would boost his "Wisdom" prestige.
"So," Lulu asked, leaning in. "On our return trip from the Kree Empire, what are we bringing back?"
"Entertainment," Loki said, his mind already three steps ahead. "And technology. We'll carry half a warehouse of legitimate goods, and we'll use our 'guards' to loot the other half from pirate lanes. Asgard is stuck in a loop of war and mead. I want to bring back the stars."
"Looting? Mercenaries?" Lulu's dimples reappeared. "I love it. Within thirty years, I'll give you a force of fifty thousand. In three hundred years? An army of half a million. You could do anything, Loki."
"I don't want an army to conquer, Lulu," Loki said honestly. "I want an army to ensure that when the time comes, I'm the only one who can keep Asgard standing."
"Praise the God of Wisdom, then," Lulu toasted.
"Mother?" Loki looked at Goria.
Goria hesitated, then raised her glass. "Praise the God of Wisdom."
Lulu looked at Goria strangely. There was something in Goria's tone—a secret knowledge. You'll know later, Goria's eyes seemed to say.
Loki drank his wine, the Interface humming in his mind. The pieces were moving. The merchant, the mistress, and the hidden King.
The Kree wouldn't know what hit them.
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