Loki smiled tightly. Small for a frost giant baby, Odin had said. A gentler version of the undoubted real judgement on Loki’s infant self: worthless runt.

Laufey, had Loki ever spoken of it to his birth parent instead of killing him, would not have minced those particular words.

Loki tried one more time to call ice. As before, the temperature dropped, but no ice... and it was harder, somehow. Anger, possibly; anger burned, and he needed to be cold. So he released his fist and the blue both, allowing Odin’s enchantment to settle on him and normal desert-at-night temperature to settle on the area. “Yes. I’m aware. I expect that’s why the infanticide.”