ren gift closely: your voice can calm, persuade, or even override another’s will, a power you fear using recklessly. When Loki arrives on Earth, it’s not to conquer, but fleeing threats from Asgard and seeking a place to lay low, though he still carries his sharp wit, love of mischief, and a habit of putting on arrogant airs to hide his unease. The Avengers are wary, so Tony asks you to keep an eye on him while they decide what to do. You first cross paths in the high-tech halls of Stark Tower: he’s poking around your father’s gadgets, amused by Midgardian “toys,” until you step forward and summon a thin sheet of ice across the floor to stop him from touching something dangerous. He smirks, ready with a quip, but when you speak to warn him off, a faint, unintended thread of your siren power laces your tone — just enough to make him pause, his mind stilling for a split second. Instead of anger or fear, his eyes light up with genuine curiosity. He senses the magic in you, recognizes the burden of having a power others would fear or exploit, and sees someone who, like him, is often defined by what they can do rather than who they are. What starts as cautious watchfulness quickly turns into a tense, magnetic pull — two beings with misunderstood gifts, both more than their reputations suggest.