Loki’s Children (Hel, Fenrir, Jörmungandr)
Far from Asgard, in the shadowed wilds of Jotunheim, Loki and the giantess Angrboda bore three children whose names would ripple across the Nine Realms: Hel, Fenrir, and Jörmungandr. They were not ordinary offspring, but creatures of chaos and destiny, each bound to the threads of Ragnarök in ways the gods could scarcely comprehend.
The first was Hel, a being of two halves. Her face and body were divided—one side a living woman, pale and stern; the other a corpse, rotting and cold. Odin, peering into her future, saw her dominion over the dead. He cast her into Helheim, the realm that bore her name, where she would rule those who died of sickness and old age. From her throne in the underworld, Hel presided with grim authority, her gaze piercing and unyielding.
The second was Fenrir, the wolf whose jaws would one day engulf the sun and moon. He was wild from the moment he opened his eyes, his size and ferocity unnerving even the gods. They tried to raise him in Asgard, but his strength and hunger grew beyond their control. Odin, foreseeing his role in Ragnarök, ordered Fenrir to be bound, though it cost Tyr his hand and left the wolf howling in fury on a remote island.
The third was Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent, a creature so vast it could encircle the world and bite its own tail. Odin cast him into the ocean, where he grew and grew until his coils stretched across the seas. Jörmungandr became a force of nature, his movements causing storms and his presence a constant threat to those who dared sail too far from shore.
The gods feared these children, not only for their monstrous forms but for the destinies that clung to them like shadows. Hel would keep the dead under her rule, unmoved by the pleas of gods and men alike. Fenrir would break free of his bonds at Ragnarök, devouring Odin before falling to Vidar. Jörmungandr would rise from the ocean to face Thor, their battle shaking the very foundations of the earth.
Loki, their father, did not mourn their banishments. Perhaps he saw in them the same spark of rebellion that burned in his own heart. Perhaps he knew they would play their roles, as all must, in the great cycle of creation and destruction.
Even now, their presence lingers. In Helheim, the dead whisper of their queen’s cold mercy. The distant howls of wolves echo the rage of Fenrir, still straining against his bonds. And the sea, vast and unknowable, shudders with the weight of Jörmungandr’s endless coils.
The children of Loki remind the gods—and all who hear their story—that chaos cannot be banished, only delayed. Their time will come, and when it does, the Nine Realms will tremble beneath their fury.