Chapter Text
Asgard was a wondrous place, described in countless legends as an indomitable golden realm, with gleaming buildings hovering above the earth, beautiful rivers flowing between mountains and disappearing beyond the horizon. A bright sun rose high each morning to illuminate with its rays the magnificent architectural structures crafted by master artisans. Such beauty was impossible not to envy, for its like was rarely found in any of the Nine Realms. Asgard's uniqueness was no accident. Under its protection lived thousands of innocent lives, honoring its warriors as glorious gods. Bloody battles and rivers of exquisite mead had left their mark on the minds of many beings.
The Golden City was obliged to make this impression on anyone who dared set foot on its luminous lands. It was meant to be a place that stood as an unbreakable fortress with thousands of soldiers ever-ready for battle. That was how it should be. However, things are not always as simple as mortals would like.
Heimdall was the watchman, the protector, the faithful Guardian of the legendary Bifröst, whose power could transport one to any of the Nine Realms. His burden was not light, but there was no cause for complaint here, for with the burden came immense power and strength. The ability to see everything and everyone, everywhere and always. To gaze upon the stars, physically standing at his lonely post, while his mind wandered freely across the universe, tracking every slightest movement toward his homeland. He carried a mistake on his shoulders. A mistake for which payment was exacted by those who utterly did not deserve such karma. The innocent perished, and the guilty departed, leaving only pain and blood in their wake. Swords driven into chests and the desperate cries of helpless children. Such a sin was horrific; a single moment of his inattention had served as the key lever for some of the most despicable events of the last millennium.
Calloused fingers tightened slightly harder around the massive sword that could control the Bifröst itself. For now, the bridge was not yet capable of performing its intended function, but it would be soon.
A pair of golden eyes behind dark lashes were closed, but that did not hinder sight. Before his vision appeared an achingly familiar green haze, a magic he thought he would never see again. Spells, seemingly light as a feather at first glance, yet viscous and dangerous, dragging one to the depths if touched the wrong way. Entirely fitting for their owner's character. A honed knife, polished to a painfully bright shine but left to lie in the dust until a specific moment. Dark curls shimmering in the sun like a raven's wings, with a familiar, modest yet sly smile on thin lips. The younger prince, once lost in the Void, who had voluntarily vanished into nothingness, had returned. This sensation was unmistakable, and over thousands of years of practice, Heimdall had perfected his ability to recognize magic. Even if someone tried to conceal their presence.
Loki was forever imprinted in his consciousness as a little boy with dark emerald eyes, burning with curiosity and mischief. Playfulness and a love for small, almost harmless pranks perfectly suited the title of God of Mischief. Even as the child grew into a youth, and the youth into an experienced man, some part of that childlike spark had never died. It lived on.
It was for this ability to carry a sliver of the past into the present that Heimdall had loved both princes of Asgard more than anything else. Even as the world changed relentlessly, something warm and familiar had always remained close by, eager to hear tales of distant stars and planets visible from the Bifröst. A pity that even this was fading into the distance.
The fall of the younger prince had been a bitter moment for the entire royal family and their inner circle. Frigga was devastated. It was hard for her to live knowing one of her children had been left to die somewhere in the cold cosmos, alone. No one was there to wipe his tears with a sleeve, no one to comfort or assure him that everything would be alright. No one held him, allowed him to bury his face in a chest to chase away the pain.
She had always been there as a mother where she was needed. Despite the bitter truth that the little emerald-eyed boy was not hers by blood, she did not care. She had given him all her knowledge of magic, aided his studies so her child could become more cunning than others on the battlefield. She gifted him his favorite pair of knives with green trim and golden patterns. She was not his birth mother, but she became his mother regardless. The Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge could not help but pay tribute to this woman. Even now, she stood proudly, occupying the throne and issuing commands, managing the state as befits a king's wife. Without forgetting her own grief, humbly mourning the two people dear to her. A truly resilient woman. Not every warrior could endure such things and continue moving forward.
After the tragedy, Asgard had to move on, mourning the younger prince but continuing to live and rise again. The beautiful city grew darker for a time, a fine rain drenching the streets and markets for days on end, not stopping for an instant. The hidden grief of the elder brother, masked by stoicism, could only express itself in other ways. A year had passed since that moment. Only one, yet it was overly rich with events and new blows to the Golden City. Before they could recover from one event, the Norns hurled a new obstacle at them, worse than the last. There was only one path: to overcome it once more.
The throne of the King of Asgard was not occupied by Frigga for no reason, and ordinary citizens tried to avoid uttering the All-Father's name.
Heimdall unclenched his fingers, not even noticing how tightly they had gripped the sword's hilt. Usually, he was a more dispassionate being. Centuries of observing the sufferings of various worlds on distant stars could temper an Asgardian to the state of a cold weapon. But much had changed, so the Guardian could not deny that recent events might have affected him.
Guilt... inattention and death...
He could not afford to surrender to the feeling in the depths of his lonely heart, not in such difficult times for everyone. Not when he needed to be a support for those dear to him in these dark times for the Eternal Realm. Throughout its history, Asgard had survived more catastrophic events (though there were not many) and managed to continue its existence, under the rule of one king or another.
His legs beneath the heavy gilded armor felt like cotton wool, an obvious consequence of standing in one pose for too long for the Guardian. He could handle it. For Heimdall, it was not the first time leaving his post when he wished to personally deliver important information directly to the House of Odin. Such occurrences were rare, of course. Not wishing to delay unnecessarily, the man left his post, walking briskly toward the enormous structure right in the center of the city.
The sky was slightly more overcast than before, the light of the sun's rays barely penetrating the thick veil, but the city grew no colder. The Eternal Realm was always warm, regardless of any external interference. Heimdall had long forgotten how cold should feel upon the skin. A good thousand and some years had passed since that campaign in Jotunheim.
His direct path to the palace courtyard was short and quick, without unnecessary stops. He did not intend to be distracted from his role as protector longer than necessary. Never again.
Around the entire castle stood many times more guards, selected from the best warriors in the ranks. Their militaristic state had once again begun to resemble one, with soldiers constantly patrolling the streets and everything in motion. Preparation for the worst. In light of recent events, this was a wise move by Frigga. She surely strove with all her might to protect the remnants of her family. Or rather, her son.
The guards at the doors immediately stepped aside, clearly recognizing the silhouette in the bulky armor. Surprise was written on their faces, while tension and caution reigned behind their eyes. Obviously, in a short time, Heimdall had begun to be associated by everyone with the harbinger of dire news foretelling Asgard's doom. They could not be blamed for that. After all, he was the first to openly report the king's death.
Not even questions about his purpose were asked. It was known to all that the Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge preferred silence to narration, speaking only when necessary.
"Where are Frigga and Thor?" he asked in a deep voice, scanning the empty throne hall containing only a couple of maids and the guards themselves. Once, life had reigned here; Odin's palace was always an active place, never still, even at night. Now, only lifelessness and silence. A dead silence. Not the kind that calms a troubled mind on a stormy day, but the kind that consumes and hangs heavily upon every person. It felt wrong, even for Heimdall.
"Her Highness is in her gardens, tending to the plants. Her request was not to be disturbed for the next hour, unless the situation is critical. The Prince is in the Council Hall. The Queen asked him to hold a meeting with the ministers," one of them reported crisply, looking into the Guardian's eyes. It was no surprise that the Queen cherished solitude among the beautiful flowers and tall, graceful trees she had once planted and nurtured herself. Grief and burden weighed upon her. Heimdall knew that telling Thor this, the prince would manage to inform her of the situation faster than he himself could. Or not.
He was, however, uncertain about the elder prince. The Guardian's single mistake had cost him dearly. Physically, he had recovered as much as possible, but the mind was a different matter. His too-frequent absences from home and long, drawn-out solitary wanderings without a single message caused concern. Sometimes Thor ventured so deep that Heimdall lost his trail among the Nine Realms.
Nodding his head, he withdrew deeper into the building, moving through the familiar place. The palace was not as old a structure as some others preserved to this day, but the atmosphere inside could still send a shiver through the body if one was not accustomed. Thor had complained to him more than once that it was too "dramatic" even for his father. Heimdall would only shake his head, hiding a smirk behind his palm. Perhaps this "dramaticism" was hereditary.
The Council door proved to be unlocked, and voices could be heard even through the small crack that allowed a glimpse into the room. But he had no need for that. He saw everything and everyone in Asgard; peeping was for lesser beings.
Punctuality did not overly concern the Guardian in urgent matters, so he did not stand on ceremony and opened the door without waiting for the meeting to end.
The elderly Council members sat in a circle around the table, each quietly arguing with the others about something. Ranging from agricultural problems in the north to what they planned to do next and how the Golden City would show that it still stood above the other Nine Realms.
The question of Hela had not yet been raised. Heimdall believed that the moment the All-Father perished, his firstborn would wish to emerge from where she was locked away and settle scores with Asgard for all the pain. Yet she remained silent. There were no signs of her appearance, and she remained a factor that no one knew how to handle. They were definitely not ready to face her head-on. Would it not be prudent for her to seize this opportunity? Was there a reason to wait?
He could not see what transpired in her domain. This could not help but unsettle the old Guardian. Hela was merciless, slaughtering races and committing genocide without a second thought. Under her father's guidance, she had become a growing sword that cut down all in Asgard's path. A bloody secret upon which the entire kingdom was built. The truth that they were not the protectors portrayed in ancient legends. An eternal stain that would forever tarnish the Golden City's reputation.
Amber eyes scanned the crowd, focusing on the silhouette standing at the head of the table. That scarlet cape was gone; Thor had removed it the moment everything went awry. He said he was unworthy of that majestic color when he could not even protect his loved ones from attack. When he failed to guard Loki.
Heimdall did not try to dissuade the elder prince from such renunciation. Grief expressed itself differently in everyone, and after a series of failures, the God of Thunder's confidence had fallen considerably. Bombast and self-assurance had yielded to rational thinking.
Dark blue fabric, almost black, was draped loosely over the heir's shoulders. It made him stand out against the old men and women clad in golden robes like a dark stain. Heimdall noticed that Frigga had also compelled Thor to wear his helmet to this meeting. A remarkable feat, especially considering the prince was not fond of wearing it, using the excuse: "Because of these feathers, my ears look bigger."
Many heads turned toward him in surprise at once. A piercing blue eye immediately darted to see who had arrived, and the body beneath layers of armor tensed. However, the cold gaze softened upon seeing his friend.
The elder prince, not waiting for the end, stepped away from his place at the head of the table to meet the Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge. Heimdall did not often come in person, especially when tension reigned in the universe due to a significant threat. They rarely crossed paths personally, and those old conversations about nothing on the Bifröst were no more. The prince no longer came to him to tell of his adventures in distant worlds or to complain about some problem. Heimdall had been a silent listener with a ready pair of advice from life experience. Times changed, and some things were destined to remain only memories.
He did not deny that seeing the young warrior in person was a pleasure.
Apparently, Thor paid no heed to the protests and angry shouts of the Council members at his sudden departure. Frigga would certainly have to deal with displeased ministers later. The heir had never gotten along with politics.
Heimdall did not delay and moved on, leading his friend to a more secluded place.
"Has something happened?" Slightly hoarse, his voice held distinct notes of worry and anxiety. Heimdall was sure that turning to face the prince, he would see the same in his one remaining eye. Thor had always had trouble wearing his heart on his sleeve, poorly hiding the emotions he felt. And none of Odin's attempts to change this had succeeded.
"Nothing of what you might suspect, my prince," the Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge replied briefly, to momentarily dispel his friend's anxieties. For now, they could breathe. No external threats were moving in their direction. On the contrary, realms tried to steer clear of Asgard, afraid to encounter the Mad Titan near it.
The Mad Titan... Even in his own thoughts, the name left a sour and unpleasant taste. A being who fancied himself a deity had devised the worst possible way to achieve a reckless goal. A genocide whose scale even the Norns had not witnessed.
Heimdall closed his eyes. A sigh of relief reached him from behind as his interlocutor raised a hand to rub the back of his helmet.
"Well then, I'll let you speak. It's been a while since I've heard your voice." A weak, strained smile appeared on Thor's lips, more resembling a grimace of pain. Heimdall remembered how, until recently, that smile could rival the brightest star in its brilliance and radiance. The light of the golden prince could gladden all of Asgard, granting a sense of safety and protection with its warmth. Seeing those dear to you suffer is painful, but worse still is seeing them fade and being unable to help. A truly sorrowful picture. But the Guardian knew better. His longtime charge was as strong in spirit as in strength. Stubbornness and determination were in his blood.
Thor led them into an empty room, not as spacious as the Council Hall, but its un-lived-in emptiness suggested it was likely used for receiving foreign envoys.
"We both know why. My duty is to watch over the Nine Realms. I have no right to be distracted from my post," the Guardian reminded his friend gently, hearing him chuckle softly as he pulled off his helmet. The sight that opened before him remained unusual to this day. Long blond locks were now cropped, barely reaching his ears; his beard was trimmed shorter. The tradition in families honoring the deceased applied even to the royal family. Cutting hair depending on the losses.
But the Guardian of the Bifröst felt that for the other, it was not only about tradition. A silent renunciation of past naivety and folly.
"Yet I have not come without reason. There is no point in delaying. Loki is alive."
The moment he uttered this, Thor's head whipped around toward him. The ugly scar covering almost the entire right side of his face was accentuated by widely opened eyes full of confusion. Somewhere in their depths glimmered the beginnings of hope. He and Loki had been close. As close as brothers who grew up together could be. Playing with each other until evening, pulling pranks at night, and embarking on great journeys by day. Heimdall had lost count of how many times he saw them intentionally ruin each other's lives, and just as many instances of their reconciliation and camaraderie.
At first glance, the two princes did not have much in common. The first had dedicated his life to the study of warfare, training his body to the limit and honing combat techniques with various weapons, fighting in battles. Thor could not sit still for a minute, constantly wanting to escape to freedom or fly into the sky like a bird. The second grew up withdrawn, disliking communication and noisy feasts. Studying spellbooks day and night, sometimes falling asleep at a table piled with ancient papers and scrolls. Loki loved to study sciences and develop his magic, perfecting his tricks. While Thor awakened his abilities to interact with nature at a fairly late age, the younger one mastered the basics of sorcery incredibly quickly.
They were utterly different, but opposites are destined to complement each other, creating perfect harmony. Born kings of two warring states, raised together. Perhaps not sons by blood, but brothers in every sense of the word.
Perhaps, had a different decision been made fifteen hundred years ago, had Odin told Loki the cruel truth about his origins, circumstances would have unfolded differently. However, thinking in this direction was pointless. The words "maybe" and "if" meant nothing but lost opportunities. One must think of the present, not the past.
A strong hand gripped his elbow in a panicked movement, as if the Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge was about to flee immediately after delivering this information. Thor opened and closed his mouth several times, like a fish, trying to gather his thoughts. He shook his fair head slightly, his fingers digging into the armor plates on Heimdall's arms.
"Where is he?" The question was barely more than a whisper, which Thor forced out with difficulty. Still with a hint of disbelief, he was already preparing to go search for his lost brother.
Heimdall shook his head, placing a broad palm on the young prince's healthy shoulder, rubbing the fabric of the cloak with his thumb. He knew his friend's reaction would be something like this, but he had to temper this half-crazed look fueled by the desire to regain some piece of his family. People in such a state often do foolish things they later regret.
"There are obstacles on this path. His aura has changed. I sense interference. I sense foreign energy within him," he said, firmly holding the hand of his late lord's son. The blue eye looked at him expectantly, wanting to hear the remaining details. Yes, elder brothers always look after younger ones, and his words about Loki only strengthened Thor's desire to bring him back home. To safety and warmth. To the native nest where wounds are healed and tended.
But everything was much more difficult and tangled. Heimdall had not seen all the events that had transpired on Midgard in the last couple of days. But what was presented to his sight was direct proof that the younger prince was not himself. And the influence exerted on him had a very specific nature.
"Thor, he was with the Mad Titan."
The younger Asgardian sharply inhaled through his mouth, exhaling raggedly. Heimdall only squeezed the other's shoulder more firmly, not allowing him to lose himself in whatever memories surfaced. Even the most experienced warriors could suffer from the consequences of head-on confrontations with the enemy. Heimdall understood this, despite never having been granted such experiences himself. He was grateful to the Norns for his natural detachment from emotion.
Thor shuddered, stepping back a couple of paces, turning his back. A tanned palm covered half his face, lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose. The Guardian of the Bifröst had seen such behavior in Odin before, though less vividly expressed. It signified deep worry and burden.
The single seeing eye, with a dark circle beneath it (speaking of less-than-ideal rest), gazed into the distance with anxiety and indignation. Thoughts and visions with bloody details raced through his fair head. Thor knew firsthand what Thanos was. How could he not, when he had faced him head-on in an unequal clash?
In the little time he had managed to spend near the purple Titan, it became clear that he did not shy from cruelty and manipulation. The most dishonorable means to achieve goals were the norm for the Children of Thanos and their leader. He knew this. He knew this. The prince ran his left hand through his hair, inhaling deeply. If Loki had been in that monster's clutches for even a few months...
"Then I am all the more obliged to find him. We know this monster's goals. We know they will do anything for what they want." And to his misfortune, it seemed the Titan had come across Loki after his brother fell into the Void. Thor grabbed his own hair and was grateful it was short, or he might have torn it out.
The head encased in the golden helmet nodded forward, confirming the other's words. However, the Mad Titan must have had a specific goal in sending Loki to Midgard. The younger prince was a high-level sorcerer, clearly for a task more complex than that of an errand boy. And thus, the goals were significant. When they appeared in the Golden Realm last, the Dark Order was searching for the Tesseract. They had been so desperate they launched a frontal assault, relying only on luck... Well, it seemed that day, luck had turned its back on Asgard. However, the Tesseract had been hidden on Midgard many years ago. The knowledge that the powerful relic had not fallen into ruinous hands brought some small comfort. Though it was still unknown how long the cube would remain beyond Thanos's reach. They should not tempt fate with slowness.
"You must warn your mother beforehand. The Bifröst is still not fully restored. Consulting with her, a solution for your passage to Midgard will be found," the old Guardian stepped a little closer to the heir, taking a place behind his back. Shoulders beneath the dark cloak trembled before Thor turned to face him with a thoughtful expression. It was the same face with which he proposed all his most dubious ideas to his friends.
"Or, I will take Gungnir and use its power. Theoretically, it can recreate the Bifröst. If Odin could, then so can I," the elder prince declared, spreading his arms, likely already figuring out how he planned to carry out this entire mission for Loki. Heimdall knew from experience that if Thor conceived something, he could not be stopped from the venture, however risky it might be. Of course, he had become more reasoned after Loki's fall and Odin's departure, learning diplomacy by attending many Council meetings at Mother's request. But apparently, it had not helped much...
Still, the heir was mostly absent from home, disappearing somewhere among distant stars, trying to restore balance among the Nine Realms. Thor was no longer the youth burning with desire to ascend the throne and show the All-Father he was worthy. If one thought about it, one might think the crown prince was avoiding Asgard, always finding a way to escape on new assignments. Last time, to keep Thor longer, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three had gone to great lengths. They cornered him and, hoisting Volstagg over a shoulder, managed to drag him off to rest.
Heimdall tilted his head to the side like an old eagle observing a hopping chick. "Even our glorious king expended considerable strength for that. We do not know if you will have to fight on the other side. It is unknown how clouded Loki's mind is. We cannot risk delivering you unprepared." The weak smile nearly slipped from the other's face after his words, held solely by the prince's ability to maintain a benevolent expression.
"Besides, if you are avoiding meeting your mother, you can say so directly."
Thor's brows furrowed, his face losing its strained glow.
"I am not avoiding her. It's just... I need to retrieve Loki without delay. And, preferably, return with the Tesseract if I can. The Bifröst is broken, so we must use the means we have to reach Midgard. Otherwise, it will be too late later." Yes, Heimdall knew that. Loki could cause trouble even when he was ostensibly an ally, and as an enemy, he was unbearable. Though the younger prince was not an enemy. He was merely lost and needed to be set back on the right path.
Who was he to dissuade a grieving man from rescuing his dear younger brother? He knew Loki would now be Thor's priority, regardless of any complications along the way. The Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge was certain Thor was quite capable of simply wrapping strong arms around the sorcerer, pressing him to his warm chest, and forcibly dragging him directly to Frigga so she could deal with his clouded mind.
Thor made some incomprehensible gesture with his hand, looking at him (perhaps he had picked it up from Midgardians).
"I must ask, my prince, but a weapon from Nidavellir, forged for a completely different god, does not take kindly to being used by an outsider." Weapons forged in the heat of a dying star often had an unbreakable bond with their wielder and his magic. Many enchantments possessed by the sacred metal could quite possibly not function as intended if held by the wrong person.
And knowing Thor... Everything could easily go wrong at the most inopportune moment.
"Yes, perhaps Gungnir does not approve of me much, but I am capable of holding a spear, and he will surely recognize his own blood," Thor replied with a careless shrug, as if it were some unimportant question about the weather. But it was the only fastest solution they had for the urgent problem. Nothing else could be done except to wish Thor luck. Midgard was the realm the prince had already visited once during his exile. Heimdall also often turned his gaze there, more out of curiosity than concern. The people there, though developing quickly, had not yet reached a serious level of threat to an Asgardian. Moreover, they were no match for the God of Thunder, though they could be a minor hindrance if they desired power they did not comprehend.
Heimdall's palm rested on Thor's back, tracing circles between his shoulder blades. The younger warrior relaxed noticeably at the pleasant touch, sighing contentedly. Another notable difference between the two brothers known to the Guardian; their sharply contrasting attitudes toward touch. Loki was no great lover of physical contact, always wriggling out of embraces like an eel or trying to sit farther away from others at a common table. The Emerald Prince cherished closeness only with his dear mother, and with Thor, if the latter had not been irritating him beforehand. Thor himself loved both giving and receiving, hugging shoulders or constantly trying to settle nearby, leaning his weight slightly. Lately, the elder prince valued solitude and the absence of anyone on his right side much more, but this affection remained deep within.
In a deep voice, Heimdall said: "In that case, I could tell her myself. Since you cannot and are in such a hurry. Besides, you had better inform the Council of the meeting's conclusion. They are surely displeased with your sudden interruption."
"They are always displeased with me, Heimdall. They're biased because I accidentally shaved off Alaric's beard when I was five hundred." Naturally, he had done it under Loki's close supervision, but it truly was an accident! At least, the deed was not entirely intentional.
His past bragging in those days when he had no qualms about telling the elders to their faces that he would fire them all as soon as he ascended the throne and make Loki his "honorable right hand" did not help his relations with the Council. A right hand would not hurt him now...
"You certainly should not have done that, my prince. Especially the night after your introduction."
Thor pretended not to notice the passive reproach in Heimdall's words and limped slightly toward the room's exit. The Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on what he saw.
Loki, where are you wandering...?
The young mage's magic half-concealed him from the watchful golden gaze that sees all Nine Realms, but the general picture was discernible. In that time, the God of Mischief had managed to cause enough trouble to incur the wrath of Midgardian authority. Not as many lives were extinguished as there could have been, but the mere knowledge that Loki was killing the innocent only on command weighed on the Guardian's eyes. Worst of all, he had no control over it and would surely grieve for his crimes in the future. Loki was not evil by nature, but he was also difficult to categorize as black or white. He was simply unusual and seemed somewhat neutral, yet prudent and capable of showing mercy.
If anyone could bring the god lost in the Void to his senses, it was his family.
"Hey, Heimdall? Do you know where Gungnir is...?" The golden-haired head poked out from the doorway again to stare at him with one large blue eye, while the other remained significantly more clouded, almost white.
Heimdall did not bother opening his eyelids and simply raised an eyebrow. He should not have forgotten that Thor had only recently returned from his latest campaign and had no idea about the location of certain items. For example, that Odin's full battle regalia, including the spear and armor, had been placed in the most secluded corners of the vault.
"The vault," he uttered dully, and the prince's trail vanished instantly. Only the thunderous footsteps of heavy boots could be heard as he departed again.
These children... May the Norns preserve them, lest they find their doom too quickly.
Gliding lightly through the golden corridors, the Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge had delivered what he needed to personally to the heir. Now he had to appear before the Queen and explain so she would not worry if (once again) she noticed her son's disappearance. Thor vanished suddenly; one moment he stood at a table discussing strategy, the next Lady Sif and the Warriors Three were lamenting the disappearance of their unofficial "leader."
He was certain the news of Loki would lift a considerable burden from Frigga's fragile shoulders. She had been a mother, friend, and experienced mentor to the sorcerer, able to impart her vast knowledge like a book rich with pages. The key was not to hope for the best, but to prepare for the worst. The imposition of foreign beliefs on Loki might run deeper than they thought. The consequences after this whole spectacle promised to be turbulent. It was worth praying to all the fallen kings for aid. A raven flew past him, flapping broad wings with glossy black feathers. This was one of the All-Father's ravens, capable of conveying messages even between realms, especially useful during prolonged campaigns or difficult times. Heimdall did not even need to wonder where the bird was flying. The answer was in plain sight. They needed some form of contact with the crown prince while he retrieved Loki. Fortunately, the ravens had begun to treat Thor better, and there were no more attempts to peck his forehead at every opportunity.
With a characteristic sensation behind his eyes, the Guardian of the Bifröst felt the Rainbow Bridge being summoned somewhere near the palace.
Well, he hoped Odin's son would manage to wield Gungnir, not crash into some asteroid, and safely reach Midgard. With this thought, the old Guardian raised both eyelids, watching his friend depart.