The med bay was silent except for the low hum of Strange's containment spell. The Casket of Ancient Winters sat in the center of the frost circle, its crystalline surface glowing faintly, spilling waves of cold across the floor.
Tony couldn't breathe. He had seen impossible things in his life; gods, aliens, magic hammers but this was different. This was survival, delivered in a small box of ancient ice.
Loki stirred. Not with breath, not with strength, but with something deeper. His body, still locked in stasis, lifted from the table in a slow, weightless drift.
"Stephen?" Tony's voice was hoarse.
Strange's jaw was tight, his hands trembling as he held the sigils steady. "Not my doing. He's calling to it instinctively. His magic knows what to do."
The Casket shuddered, light spilling from its seams. As Loki drifted closer, the artifact expanded, its surface reshaping like ice under pressure until it stood taller, broader—an open cradle of frost.
With a final pull, Loki's body settled inside. The lid rose on its own, a slab of ancient blue seidr, and then lowered with the patience of eternity. The Casket sealed shut around him.
The frost in the med bay vanished. The icy mist thinned. The temperature climbed degree by degree until the air no longer burned the lungs.
Only the Casket remained, glowing with a steady, protective light.
Tony sagged against the rail, a sound breaking from him that was half laugh, half sob. "Okay… okay, that's better. That's something."
But Strange swayed where he stood. His sigils flickered. Sweat dripped down his temple as his breathing went ragged.
"Stephen?"
The sorcerer tried to answer, but his knees buckled. The Cloak of Levitation caught him just enough to slow the fall before lowering him gently to the floor.
Tony lurched forward, catching him by the shoulder. "No, no, no—don't you dare do this too. I can't babysit two drama queens in one night."
Strange didn't stir. His chest rose shallowly; exhaustion carved deep into the lines of his face.
Tony sat back hard, one hand pressed against the cool glow of the Casket, the other gripping Strange's sleeve. His voice cracked, raw and low.
"You, Loki—better pull through. Or I swear I'll figure out how to storm the afterlife myself."
The Casket pulsed once in answer, a steady rhythm like a heartbeat.
Tony closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
He gathered Strange carefully into his arms, lifting him with surprising gentleness.
"Friday, get a room ready in the penthouse," Tony said, stepping toward the elevator. His voice was quiet now, but steady. "And make it warm. No more ice tonight."
As the doors closed behind them, the med bay dimmed again leaving only the faint hum of containment magic, and the slow, rhythmic pulse of the Casket glowing in the dark.