The Invisible String Theory

Chapter 8 - Tethered Silence

(The Cut That Always Bleeds - Conan Gray and Please don't humble me - Artemas)

Morning mist clung to the ground as we prepared to leave Asgard behind. No fanfare, no lingering goodbyes– just quiet understanding. Loki didn't speak much, only offered a simple nod when I glanced his way. The tether pulsed faintly between us, a reminder of everything unsaid.

Crossing into the ruins of Elyndor felt like stepping into memory. The once-vibrant stonework had been swallowed by time and silence.

We split off naturally, like the weight of everything demanded distance. I drifted toward the market ruins. He headed toward the temple at the heart of town– the old Councils center.

Loki slowed his steps as he neared it. The spires had mostly collapsed, no thanks to our initial quarrel, but the door remained– tall blackened silver, with a faint shimmer etched in Elyardi sigils. He stepped in and began investigating the space.

Past the pedestal, something on the wall behind it seemed out of place. Maybe a shift from the fight they first had, but the closer he got the more he realized. It was a hidden vault.

He reached for it and felt nothing. Locked. Sealed. It needed something he didn't have.

Until he remembered.

The tether.

He closed his eyes and drew on that connection. The ache. The heat. Her. And as the power pulsed faintly from it, he pressed his hand forward.

The door shuttered and groaned... then opened.
Inside, dust motes floated in amber light through a vast secret archive, broken only by a single pedestal in the center. A worn, hand-bound journal sat untouched for ages. Loki approached it with a frown, flipping through the fragile pages.

Diagrams. Records. Notes written in flowing Elyardi script. Mentions of the Heartstream. Chaos. Balance.

His stomach twisted.

"Without equilibrium, one fades."

Each choice, each pull of power, came at the cost of another version of her– across timelines, across realities. She wasn't just burning out.

She was vanishing.

And his power, thanks to the tether, grounded that destruction.

Then came the confirmation he dreaded: A powerful enough connection, forged deep enough, could break the bond. But it must be severed through peak emotional and magical discharge. Otherwise, both may suffer consequences.

He stared at the final line for a long time.
"What is given through trust must be shattered through betrayal."

He clenched the journal in his fist. That tether wasn't just a link– it was a shield.  A weapon. He'd have to make her turn on him. And she would, if he pushed her hard enough.

He swallowed hard. Not because he feared the pain.

Because he feared her face when it was done.

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The ruins were silent as I returned from the outskirts of Elyndor, my cloak heavy with dust and memory. I traced where the gardens once bloomed, found nothing but broken remnants and reminders of my past. I hadn't seen Loki in hours.

The air shifted– too quiet.

Then I saw him.

He sat at the base of the old council steps, sunset rays streaking across the pale stones. That look in his eyes was off– distant, calculating.