The Summoning

Loki of Asgard had not felt a summoning in a very, very long time. He’d thought the spells lost - the people who once worshiped him, a minor trickster god, long gone. Yet time hadn’t dulled his senses. Loki knew what it was that called to him as he walked through the forests near his home.
It was the whim of a moment to decide to follow that summoning and see where it went. All a summoning could do was alert Loki that someone wanted him. It couldn’t force him there. That had always been up to the one being called. But Loki’s morning was slow, and the summoning was interesting. It held actual power to it. Not just the power given by a simple spell cast by a worshiper - this person was no worshiper. There was no faith behind the spell. There was, however, blood. Blood had been used in the spell, and it carried to it the kind of natural power that spoke of more than a simple Midgardian should possess.
Loki reached out to his seidr and let it guide him through the secret paths of Yggdrasil that took him down to Midgard.
When he arrives, what he finds isn't at all what he'd expected.