Loki -2021-2021 ⇒

2021–2021. Short. Impossible. Perfect.

November was cold. He stood on the edge of the multiverse, watching timelines bloom like flowers from a corpse. He Who Remains had called it a loom. Loki called it a garden. And gardens needed gardeners. But not masters. Never again a master. Loki -2021-2021

In June, he found Sylvie. She was working at a McDonald’s in Oklahoma, 2021. She was happy. He did not disturb her. He ordered a cheeseburger, paid with a gold coin that shimmered into a dollar bill, and left it uneaten on the counter. She looked up as he walked out. Their eyes met. She did not run after him. He did not turn back. 2021–2021

December 31, 2021. Midnight. Loki sat alone on the roof of the apartment building in the dying branch. Fireworks erupted across a dozen timelines at once, visible only to him. He raised a glass of champagne that didn’t exist—a phantom glass, a trick of light. Perfect

He smiled, stepped into the new year, and became the version of himself he had always pretended to be.

For the first few months—January to April—he did nothing. He sat in a small apartment in a reality where Asgard had fallen but New York still stood. He drank cheap coffee and stared at the ceiling. The TVA was gone. He Who Remains was dead. The loom of fate was unspooling into infinite, beautiful chaos. And Loki was… tired.