“The first world to exist, however, was Muspell in the southern hemisphere, it is light and hot and that region flames and burns so that those who do not belong to it and whose native land it is not, cannot endure it. The one who sits there at land’s end to guard it is called Surt; he has a flaming sword, and at the end of the world, he will come and harry and will vanquish all the gods and burn the whole world with fire.”
How to Train your Dragon // yddrasil-dragon-muspellheim-drake
Thor finally had enough. He just couldn’t watch Loki waste away to nothingness anymore. He hadn’t wrested him out of his prison just for him to die of depression. And so, he opened the doors to Loki’s chambers– his eternal home for several months now– and announced loudly, “We are going on a hunting trip. You are coming with us, Loki.”
He couldn’t even protest to that. How could he, really? When Thor made up his mind like that… he just couldn’t. And so, Loki got dressed in more than his nightclothes, shouldered the pack Thor gave him– it was a light pack, but felt horribly heavy– and they started off. Thor and the warriors three laughed and joked loudly as they rode into the forests. Sif merely watched him distrustfully out of the corner of her eye. Loki didn’t see how this would make anything better. He was still the outsider. Sigyn wasn’t here. Neither were his little sons.
He said nothing though. Thor halted the company, and they made camp. Loki attempted to help, but really proved to be more of a hindrance– his health was terrible. He hadn’t been taking care of himself well at all. But once the camp was made, and the fire was lit, and Thor’s goats slaughtered for supper, it got a little better. Thor tucked his younger brother up against him, making sure Loki was wrapped cozily in a blanket and, while he wasn’t exactly included in the conversations about glory in battle, he wasn’t shoved aside either.
Once the fire died to embers, Loki slipped into the camping-bed inside the tent, then tilted his head upward, watching the stars. The slight bit of warming of his cold heart seemed to fade with the glowing of the embers. Now, in the silence, he was left to his own thoughts again.
“Many ages before the earth, Muspellheim was shaped; the first world. A light, hot and fiery place glowing and burning, in the south region. There dwells the demon Surt, guarding the realm with his flaming sword.”
Muspellheim is a realm perilously close to its sun, but the currents of Yggdrasill flow through it and so life arose, life had to arise, had to cope. Its people are large, their bodies wrinkled and webbed to lose heat, and dancing in fire is nothing to them. They are kin to the jotnar in some ways, in their temperature-formed blades of blistering, terrible heat rather than ice, and their cities are melted together with the heat of a thousand furnaces. As a civilisation, they are young, but restless and hungry, burning through their world and its resources and soon looking outward. Fear of Asgard held them, but there is a new leader who sees the shape of the universe, sees the worlds they could conquer. They do not intend to bring destruction, but bring it they will once they learn how to sear through spacetime.