Thor Odinson's dirty golden hair and beard had grown long, thick, and dense, tangled into loops of knots.
Mjolnir, bearing a palm-shaped dent with several cracks spreading out from it, had been casually tossed onto a bluish-black stone platform.
Thor wore a Frost Giant-style beast-hide vest, his heavily muscled chest and arms bare as he spoke in a low, hoarse voice:
"Do you remember the song Mother used to tell us when we were little? Beneath the World Tree, Yggdrasil, there are three great roots."
Loki's bluish hand, now more than twice its former size, played with Jotunheim's greatest treasure—the Casket of Ancient Winters.
Though he was a Frost Giant, his face remained refined and handsome. As he listened to his "brother" speak of childhood bedtime stories, the desolate, deathly frozen continent was reflected in his dark red eyes.
"One of its roots reaches deep into Asgard. Beneath it lies the Well of Urd, the spring that nurtures and multiplies the Aesir. It is our 'Mother Spring.'"
"One root reaches deep into Niflheim, the Land of Mist. Beneath it lies Hvergelmir, along with the venomous dragon Nidhogg, which constantly gnaws at the root. It bites without cease, until one day, when it finally severs that root, Ragnarok will come. The last root—"
"The last root of the World Tree reaches deep into Jotunheim, the dwelling place of giants. Beneath it lies the Well of Mimir, the spring of wisdom and knowledge."
Just as Thor spoke of the World Tree's third root, Loki cut him off in an eerie voice, recounting the source from which the legendary Allfather Odin had gained wisdom and the boundless power of runes.
"That's right. The last world Father conquered was Jotunheim, and it was here that he lost one eye. He once claimed it had