What Loki remembered the most that day was the falling.

And the falling.

And falling.

And falling.

And the other thing that he remembered was the silence.

It burned him. He had never been somewhere truly so quiet, so meaninglessly empty.

'I could've done it, Father! For you! For all of us!'

'No, Loki.'

From that point onward, had come that dreadful plummet, as he loosened his grip on Gungnir, sealing his fate. He didn't belong in Asgard. He didn't belong in Jotunheim. As far as Loki knew, he didn't belong anywhere.

And as soon as the crushing silence hit him for what felt like eons upon eons, came the end.

As well as music.

He didn't quite know where it was coming from. He didn't quite know where he was. But it was voices, and they were singing, loud, yet distant.

Loki stood slowly, his head feeling nauseatingly dizzy, every footstep a dazed stumble. From whatever he fell upon, it sure hit his legs hard. It was almost painful to walk. Even so, his Aesir healing properties didn't seem to be doing their job.

He wondered how long he had been in The Void. His boney, at the moment trembling, hands gently patted his face. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary-he certainly wasn't dreaming. He deftly fiddled with his hair-it had grown, that was for certain. He had made an effort to keep it neat and short in Asgard, now it fell in velvety raven locks onto his shoulders, spiking outward at the tips like a wild animal.

How had he gotten out of The Void in the first place? Had he slipped through a hole-a portal, perhaps-unbeknownst to any who watch the slim, nearly forgotten space between the Nine Realms? It didn't matter. He was alive, that was a positive note.

Loki limped, green eyes taut with longing as he heard the melodic voices again. Maybe he had somehow looped back to Asgard, or Vanaheim. He didn't even care to check his surroundings, feeling his way around trees and dips in the ground. He licked his cracked, dry lips, wetting them slightly, taking in a deep whiff of the crisp, chill air. It smelled like the forests back home, where and Thor would go adventuring in their youth. They had gone on such reckless-yet meaningful escapades, always looking for wild bilgesnipes. They never quite found one, until they were older and more adequate hunters, where for long times, he and his brother would rejoice over a successful kill.

They had been happy. He missed those days, where they had just simply been the two Odinsons, hand in hand, no one could stop them.

But times were different now. Things had changed, drastically, over the course of...however long he had been in The Void.

Loki Laufeyson.

Not Odinson.

It made his fingers twitch, his spine tingle at the thought. He brushed it away, continuing his search towards the harmonious sounds not too far ahead.

At last he came in contact with a building. Well, multiple buildings, with a road drawn out in between. Lights flickered from inside their lampposts, as if recoiling at the very sight of him. They were strung up with odd decorations, such as canes of white and red, and leaves of holly.

Loki was baffled by these bizarre designs for a town of dwelling. He stood, under the light, absolutely exhausted, before he was finally hit with the solution of exactly where The Void had deposited him:

Midgard.