Loki's communicates distain with a casual bitterness that's so familiar to Gansey that he has to grin and shake his head. "Maybe your Midgard." He skips neatly over the question of his humanity. "The magic I know isn't flashy like the movies. There's no bolts of spell-light or people flying through the air. We have science, and it's factually true as far as humans understand the world. Magic is..." He pauses, considering how to explain without details. "Magica fit somniorum, et somnia magica." Magic is made of dreams, and dreams are made of magic. "There are things that can't and shouldn't be explained with math and logic, and it's not because science is wrong."

The admission that he is, in fact, the god Loki lights something in Gansey's eyes. "Meeting a god has up until a few minutes ago been a never occasion. What makes someone a god?" What an odd but completely sincere question, especially considering Loki's attitude. "I've wondered that for a long time." He's been wondering if one of his friends is a god or something close to it, wandering the earth in a lanky body that seems to be mostly made of barbs and profanity and heartbreakingly beautiful and terrible dreams.

"I'm not that kind of magical. My friend, she comes from a whole family of psychics, but she isn't one. She's a mirror, someone who amplifies everything around her. I'm--" he pauses and changes his words before they have a chance to escape "--not someone who fits nicely in a category besides 'tangled up in things'."

Gansey watches Loki take the stone, letting his hand drop once it's no longer weighted down. "You have to believe it will work," he offers before Loki can put the stone to his eye. "Or at least believe that it's possible." Subtle magic takes faith, he means.