No, Loki.

Those words still rang in his ears even hours after they had been said, as though a bell tolling for his execution. He saw Odin's face with every blink of his eyes, disappointed and dispassionate, as though he cared nothing for the suffering of his younger son. No-- No, not son. He had made that mistake too many times, he was no Odinson, and to believe otherwise was to perpetuate the lie told to him his entire life. He would not be so foolish as to pin hope on those words said before the sleep took the All-Father, where he said he still saw Loki as his son, where the lies had been designed to protect him.

His actions since proved those false. Lies worthy of being told by the Silver-tongue himself.

Despite all Loki had done. Despite upholding his decision regarding Thor, despite proving the elder son had no right to the throne in his arrogance and stupidity, despite saving the sleeping king's life from a mortal enemy and slaughtering his own birth father for his sake, despite acting as a true ruler to destroy a realm that had declared war... still he was seen as wanting. His actions deemed as unworthy, even criminal. And Thor returned to the fold as worthy heir.

He had thought to die when he fell to the Void. He had hoped for once brief, brilliant moment that Odin or Thor would catch him. But they did not. They watched him fall as though they had tossed him to the abyss himself. But he had not died, he had somehow fallen through the gaps in shadow and landed in another realm. He knew at once that it was Midgard. It stank of the mortals, the air had that distinct sharpness that was only found here.

This was where Thor had become worthy once more.

Perhaps that was a sign. Perhaps he could reforge himself once more here on Midgard, perhaps-- or perhaps those were false hopes brought out by a shattered mind. He no longer knew himself if he were insane, and he found he did not care. He only wished to be alone and hidden until he thought through what he should do, until he found a place for himself once more. It was a matter of instinct to cloak himself from Heimdall's gaze, though he had little energy left and exhaustion tugged at his bones even with that small use of his magic.

He did not even have the energy to find one of the cities the mortals had built, scarce enough to even find one of their roads and sit beside him. He used the last of his magic to change his clothing into garb less likely to draw attention, simple black trousers and a neat shirt, before he sat in the dust and dirt and waited for one of their vehicles to pass by.

Loki required transportation, food, and rest. Then perhaps he could begin to make sense of what had happened and plan his next moves.