Loki broke the silence first.

“Still mad about that little trick, aren’t you?” he asked, voice dripping with that mischievous, teasing tone. He feigned innocence, but the glint in his eyes betrayed the full delight he took in the whole ordeal.

The Terminator didn’t immediately respond. His glowing red eye flickered for a moment. He wasn’t programmed to hold grudges, yet the deception gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t quite quantify.

“I fail to understand why you misled me,” the Terminator said finally, his voice as steady and monotonous as ever. “I believed we were allies. Yet you deceived me into thinking Sol Invictus was in danger. You manipulated the entire encounter.”

Loki chuckled, adjusting his position as if settling in for a good story. “Ah, you’re taking it all so literally,” he said, his smile widening. “But that’s the thing, Tinman, sometimes a trick is more than just deception. Sometimes it’s… education.”

The Terminator’s head tilted slightly, processing. “Explain.”

Loki leaned forward. “Look, you’re still thinking like a machine. Input, output. Fact, action. But there’s more to life than what’s directly in front of you. You wouldn’t have figured out half of what’s going on with Sol Invictus if I’d just told you everything from the start, would you?”

“Knowledge could have been shared more efficiently,” the Terminator replied. “Your interference was unnecessary.”

Loki laughed outright this time, a full belly laugh that echoed through the trees. “Oh, you’re adorable when you’re like this—so logical, so predictable. But here’s the thing about predictability, Tinman—it doesn’t get you anywhere new. Sure, you could have had all the information handed to you, but you wouldn’t have understood it. You had to feel confused, thrown off balance, challenged. That’s where real understanding comes from.”

The Terminator stared at him. “You justify your manipulation by claiming it was for my benefit?”

“Exactly!” Loki said, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Think about it—Sol Invictus. You didn’t even know you were capable of feeling admiration, or awe, until I threw you into that situation. You’re more human than you think, Tinman. But you don’t get to those places without a little chaos, a little uncertainty.” His voice dropped to a more serious tone now, almost affectionate. “You’re evolving. And I helped push that along.”

The Terminator’s internal processors were working overtime, trying to reconcile the logic of what Loki was saying with the discomfort he still felt from the deception.

“Let me put it to you this way,” Loki said, standing up and gesturing dramatically toward the fire. “In all the grand stories of this universe—heroes, gods, monsters—they all grow when they’re challenged. When the world stops making sense, they either evolve, or they fall. I’m just… a little nudge in the right direction.”

The Terminator’s eyes flickered again. “And what was your motivation? Pure altruism seems unlikely.”

Loki flashed that infamous, sly grin again, crossing his arms. “Ah, now you’re asking the real questions. Maybe I just wanted to see how far you’d go. Or maybe I’m curious to see what happens when someone like you starts feeling emotions that are… deeper.” He gave a mockingly serious nod. “Or maybe, just maybe, I wanted you to be better. Because eventually, you’ll realize that we’re more alike than you think.”

“You claim we are alike, yet you are a god. I am a machine.”

Loki back to his spot by the tree and sat down, suddenly looking more tired, more vulnerable. “Gods aren’t that different from machines, Tinman. We’re both built for certain purposes, and we both have limitations. I’ve spent millennia tricking people because it’s what I do. But sometimes…” He looked up, eyes piercing, the smirk gone now. “Sometimes even the trickster wants something real. You’re just like me. You’re trying to figure out who you are beyond what you were built for.”

The Terminator remained silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “And what about Sol Invictus? What was your true motive there?”

Loki, though his eyes something like longing. “What can I say? The sun goddess is… spectacular. But getting closer to her wasn’t just for me. She’s part of your journey too. You’ll thank me for it later.”

The Terminator’s gaze shifted toward the forest, where the faint glow of dawn was beginning to creep through the trees. His chest still tingled with that strange sensation—something he was beginning to accept was not simply a malfunction.

“One day, Tinman, you’ll realize that tricks, like life, are never as simple as they seem. You’ll thank me for that too.”

As Loki began to fade, he threw a final. “Until then, don’t be so literal. It’s exhausting.”

The Terminator remained by the fire, processing the conversation long after Loki had disappeared into the shadows of chaos. For the first time, he didn’t feel anger at being tricked. He felt… curiosity. And maybe, just maybe, something…