[ The waves lap gently over Loki's boots, soaking them with sea-water. Even now, the sensation feels alien and cold. Asgard had no seas. All he could remember were the constant rush of sound coming from the rapids as they poured over the edge of the universe. ]

Everything I believed in is gone. Of course, all of it was a lie but — [ He shrugs carelessly. Tony has hit it on the nail and Loki is unnerved. There was an itch under his skin that was slowly subsiding, the maniacal energy that had surfaced so quickly ebbing away with the tide. ]

Who I'm meant to be? You don't know that. I don't know that. Freedom, it seems, is still life's greatest lie.

[ What he is now are scraps, broken china pieces oddly fitted together. He can't go back to the way he was. He can't keep playing the villain because his sister Hela has far outdone him in that regard. He is no longer Odin's monster or Odin's pawn. He barely — barely qualifies as Thor's brother. He is not necessary to Asgard, to anyone. He could vanish and be forgotten. Like Hela. It's why Loki was always perplexed by Thor's mourning. He never quite understood it.

Deep down, he would like someone — anyone — to tell him what he could be. More what? More who? ]