Ragnarök - The bindings of Fenrir
Loki sat by the fire, a little sad running a hand through his hair. His usual trickster smile was there, but softer more tired and sadder.
He turned his gaze to the flames, watching them dance and eat everything which ignites it like the character of this story.
"Tonight, little listeners, I’ll tell you a story not of warriors or gods, but of a son. My son."
"He let out a slow breath, the firelight flickering against his sharp features.
"A son I could not protect."
A Pup Too Large for Their Comfort
"The gods, in all their wisdom, have a habit of fearing what they do not understand. And fear? It turns even the mightiest into cowards."
Loki tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
"When Fenrir was born, he was no monster. He was a pup, warm and full of life. A child who, despite his size, only ever wanted to be accepted. But the gods looked at him and saw not a son, not a brother only a prophecy waiting to unfold."
He clenched his jaw for a moment before forcing a chuckle.
"And, well, what do gods do when they fear something? They try to control it."
The Chains of Cowards
Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"They brought him chains, you know. Thick iron shackles, meant to test his strength. ‘Oh, it’s just a game, Fenrir,’ they said, smiling through their teeth."
His voice was laced with bitterness now.
"And my boy—gods, my foolish, trusting boy he played along. He snapped the first chain like it was nothing. The second? Harder, but still nothing to him. And with each break, their fear grew."
Loki’s fingers tapped against his knee.
"So they forged Gleipnir, a ribbon made of things that do not exist so light, so soft, it seemed harmless."
His eyes darkened.
"But nothing made by the gods is ever harmless."
The Betrayal
"Fenrir was no fool. He saw through their tricks. He knew the gods feared him, knew they would not unbind him if he failed.
So he asked for trust.
‘If this is no trick,’ he said, ‘then one of you must place your hand in my mouth as a sign of good faith.’"
Loki let out a slow breath, shaking his head.
"Do you think any of them stepped forward? Odin, the wise? Thor, the brave? No. Not one.
Only Tyr."
Loki's expression turned unreadable.
"The one god who had shown Fenrir kindness. The only one he might have called a friend."
He exhaled through his nose, watching the fire crackle.
"And so, my boy allowed himself to be bound."
The Moment the World Broke
Loki's hands curled into fists.
"When he struggled and realized the truth that he had been betrayed the sound he made… It was not a growl, not a roar."
His voice was barely above a whisper now.
"It was a howl. A sound that shook the roots of the world itself. A sound of heartbreak, of fury, of grief so deep it could split mountains."
He looked down at his hands.
"And in that moment, Tyr did not flinch. Even as Fenrir bit down, even as he lost his hand he did not flinch."
The Waiting
Loki let out a quiet chuckle, but it lacked joy.
"And then? The gods, in their wisdom, drove a sword between his jaws to keep them open. They left him bound, alone, abandoned."
His fingers drummed against the ground as he looked up, that familiar smirk returning only this time, it was sharp. Dangerous.
"But here’s what they forget."
His voice was quiet, yet it carried something far stronger than anger.
"They did not kill him."
Loki tilted his head, eyes gleaming like embers in the dark.
"They left him to wait."
He leaned back, stretching his arms as if shaking off the weight of the story.
"And my boy? He is patient."
A pause. Then a slow, knowing smile.
"And when Ragnarök comes… when that little ribbon snaps…"
Loki closed his eyes and let out a breath that almost-almost sounded like relief.
"Odin will finally learn what it means to be afraid."
The fire crackled.
Loki sat in silence for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
"But that is a tale for another night."
End of Tale.
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