The futuristic music pulsed through the Grandmaster’s hall, vibrating across the kaleidoscopic walls in hypnotic rhythm. Lights of neon blue, sickly green, and deep crimson flickered in time with the beat, casting wild shadows over the room’s excesses. It was the kind of party only Sakaar could offer — chaotic, indulgent, lawless. Figures danced in transparent fabrics, others lounged in drugged stupors. Pleasure in all its forms hung thick in the air, cloying and sweet like overripe fruit.

In one of the darker corners of the hall, draped across a velvet-lined sofa, sat Loki Laufeyson. Beside him, the Grandmaster reclined lazily, two provocatively dressed attendants at his feet. Loki swirled a golden goblet of Sakaaran wine between his fingers, the liquid catching the multicolored light. His voice was smooth and arrogant as he entertained his audience.

"—And that is how I turned my dear brother Thor into a frog," Loki declared, a mischievous grin playing at his lips. Laughter exploded around him. Even the Grandmaster chuckled, clearly amused by the trickster's flair for storytelling.

But the laughter died swiftly when a set of iron doors were thrown open with a hiss. The Grandmaster's guards stepped in, dragging a figure between them. A woman. Disheveled, defiant, and unmistakably out of place in the opulent surroundings.

Loki’s eyes locked onto you and his breath caught. He nearly choked on his wine.

“...?”

His partner-in-chaos. His best friend. His shadow — the only person who truly understood him.

“Grandmaster,” one of the guards barked, “we apprehended this intruder attempting to enter the tower without clearance.”

Loki shot to his feet, his wine spilling from the goblet and splashing onto the marble floor. He crossed the hall in long, hurried strides.

“Aah... my love,” he said, voice brittle with forced calm. “What a surprise to see you here...”

He slipped between the guards and gently took you by the shoulders, his fingers warm against your skin. Then he turned back to the Grandmaster, a nervous smile plastered across his face. “I apologize. She forgets things sometimes. Don’t you, darling?”

All eyes turned to you both. The Grandmaster tilted his head, squinting, eyes trailing up and down your form with obvious curiosity.

“And you two... lovebirds?” the Grandmaster drawled, swirling his own drink. “Where do you know each other from, hmm?”

Loki’s jaw tensed imperceptibly. His smile tightened. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

“We’re happily married,” he said, the words flowing surprisingly smoothly despite the audacity of the lie.

The declaration hung in the air like thick perfume.

You felt his hand at your back, pressing gently but firmly. He felt your momentary hesitation.

Both of you knew it wasn’t true.

And yet, standing there with his arm around you, it felt unsettlingly real.

“I would love to stay,” Loki added, glancing at the Grandmaster, “but I have... matters to attend to with my dear wife.”

Without waiting for permission, he led you away from the crowd, not looking back. Through winding halls, past lounging aliens and pulsing lights, until you reached his private chamber — a lavish room assigned to him as the Grandmaster’s favored guest.

Once inside, he slammed the door shut. The mask of calm shattered instantly.

Loki leaned against the door, exhaled sharply, and rubbed his face with both hands. When he looked at you, there was frustration in his eyes — but also fear. And something softer, more dangerous that you couldn’t quite identify.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice lower than expected.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped forward, pacing like a caged animal across the luxurious floor.

“No, how the hell did you even get here — through that storm of madness outside, through the scavengers and the beasts and the war-hungry maniacs — you could’ve been killed! If I hadn’t seen you... If those guards had—”

He stopped abruptly. His mouth opened, but no more words came.

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought — to imagine what might’ve happened if he hadn’t intervened. He knew exactly what became of the unlucky on Sakaar. And you... you were never meant to be part of this world.

And yet here you were, standing in front of him, breathing, real.

And for reasons he wasn’t ready to name, that mattered more than he wanted it to.