Earlier that evening, Loki had been at the edge of the estate grounds, perched on the crumbling wall that overlooked the city of Carcera. The view of the labyrinthine streets and flickering lanterns below was both breathtaking and suffocating. He tugged his dark cloak tighter around his lean frame as the evening chill crept in. His dark hair, always slightly disheveled, fell into his piercing green eyes—eyes that often seemed to see more than they let on. Loki's clothes, though finely made, bore subtle signs of wear, a reminder that he was the least favored of the Dumornay heirs.
Tonight, the weight of his family's disdain pressed heavily on him. Magnus's cutting remarks during dinner still echoed in his mind: "Stick to your petty tricks, Loki. Leave the real power to those who matter." The laughter of his siblings had been the final blow. Determined to prove them wrong, Loki had slipped away from the dining hall and made his way to the forbidden library—the one place in the estate where the truth might be found.
The library of the Dumornay estate was a cavernous room filled with tomes of forbidden knowledge, the scent of aged leather and dust hanging heavily in the air. The towering shelves seemed to stretch into the shadows above, and the faint golden glow of enchanted sconces barely reached the corners of the room. Loki moved with practiced stealth, his footsteps muffled by the rich, faded carpet beneath him.
His heart raced as he approached a locked cabinet at the far end of the room. The Dumornay crest was etched into its wooden surface, a warning to those who dared to open it. Loki pulled a slender hairpin from his pocket, his fingers deftly working the lock. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a collection of ancient manuscripts. Among them was a leather-bound book that seemed to hum faintly with an unnatural energy.
As he settled onto the floor with the book, a flickering candle casting long shadows around him, Loki began to read. His fingers traced the faded text of a prophecy that had been whispered about in hushed tones for centuries: A Trickster shall rise, unbind the chains of fate, and plunge the world into chaos.
"You'll get yourself killed poking around in there," came a soft voice from the doorway. Loki's older sister, Annalise, leaned against the frame, her golden hair catching the light. Her gown, a deep emerald green, flowed elegantly around her, accentuating her regal bearing. Annalise was everything Loki was not—graceful, poised, and favored by their father. Her expression was a mix of curiosity and exasperation.
Loki glanced up, his lips curling into a wry smile. "And yet here I am, alive and well. Perhaps the Trickster's luck is already with me."
Annalise sighed, stepping closer. Her piercing blue eyes softened for a moment as she looked at him. "That so-called Trickster prophecy is a joke, Loki. No one has ever ascended through that Sequence. It's a dead end."
"Or perhaps it's a path no one else had the courage to take," Loki countered, his tone sharper than he intended. He looked back down at the book, tracing the prophecy's words with his fingertips.
Annalise crouched beside him, her voice lowering. "You don't understand what you're playing with. The Sequence system demands more than tricks and clever words. It demands sacrifice… blood. If you're not careful, it'll destroy you."
Loki turned to face her fully, his green eyes blazing with determination. "Better to be destroyed trying than to rot away in their shadow," he said, nodding toward the rest of the family, who he imagined were still basking in their self-importance in the grand hall.
For a moment, Annalise seemed to waver. She reached out, her hand brushing against the edge of the book. "You don't have to prove anything to them, Loki. You're better than this."
He pulled the book closer to himself, his voice cold. "Am I? You've all made it perfectly clear that I'm nothing more than an afterthought. Maybe it's time I showed you what an afterthought can do."
Annalise rose to her feet, her expression hardening. "Do what you want, then. But don't say I didn't warn you." Her footsteps echoed as she left the library, her golden hair disappearing into the shadows.
Alone once more, Loki's fingers tightened around the book. The faint hum of its power resonated in his chest, and for the first time, he felt a spark of something he hadn't known in years: hope. If the Sequence of the Trickster was truly his path, then he would walk it—no matter the cost.