Lokis Temple

The icy winds of Norway bit through your jacket as you trudged into the abandoned village, your heart racing with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The rumors of an ancient temple dedicated to Loki, the elusive trickster god, had brought you here. For years, you had studied every scrap of Nordic mythology, chasing whispers of the temple’s existence, and now, it seemed your relentless pursuit had finally paid off. The entrance was hidden beneath layers of moss and frost, but the unmistakable carvings of serpents and runes confirmed it. You stepped inside, your breath catching at the sight of the intricate stonework and forgotten relics. The air was thick with an otherworldly energy, as though the walls themselves were alive, watching. You spent hours documenting every detail—runes, carvings, even fragments of long-decayed offerings. As dusk fell, an impulsive thought struck you. Kneeling before the altar, you whispered a prayer to Loki, your voice echoing in the silent chamber. For good measure, you left a small offering: a silver bracelet you always carried with you, a token of respect to the god you had admired in myth. You knelt before the altar, a small, jagged piece of stone that seemed to hum with unseen power. On a whim, you whispered, “Loki, trickster and god of chaos, I offer you my respect.” Pulling the silver bracelet from your wrist, you placed it carefully on the altar, the metallic clink echoing in the silent chamber.