A blinding swirl of prismatic light surged upward from the ancient Bifrost gate, crackling against the edges of space as it collapsed into a focused stream. From the perspective of the untrained eye, it was nothing more than a rainbow flash. But for Vali, caught in the grasp of its runic funnel, it was like traveling inside a storm made of sunlight, thunder, and windless velocity.
This again...
He stood calmly amid the torrent, his body stabilized through familiarity and mild instinct — the countless times he had been sent across realms, shuttled between battlefields or formal meetings by command. But this time, something was different.
His breath felt shallower.
Not because of the Bifrost, but because of what lay at its end.
Asgard...
The second he thought of it, the light around him began to slow, dimming gradually until his boots struck cold, carved stone.
Clack.
The sound echoed within the great circular Bifrost chamber — vast, reverberating, and all too familiar. The floor beneath him was a shining obsidian-silver mosaic inlaid with cosmic runes, gleaming faintly beneath his feet. The air was cleaner here, unnaturally so, as though even dust had been banished by divine decree.
And yet, to Vali, the place smelled like secrets.
His first breath was filled with weightless stillness. He stood at the very edge of the massive gate's platform, the teleportation energy dispersing around him in rippling wisps, dissipating like morning mist.
Nothing and no one greeted him.
He blinked slowly.
Heimdall's absence is... expected, he thought, squinting toward the sealed golden gates that led back into Asgard's inner sanctum. He had known, of course, that Heimdall was on another posting for now — the guardian of the Bifrost had other matters elsewhere in the realm — but even so, some part of him had expected someone to be waiting.
A servant... a lesser guard... even a bird sent by the Allfather.
But there was no one.
The silence loomed like a veiled warning.
Still, he did not linger.
Step by step, he moved across the gleaming causeway, his figure small against the impossible vastness of the Rainbow Bridge. The surface shimmered beneath his feet, each color capturing a sliver of the cosmic sea surrounding Asgard. Below him was a view of the stars — not the night sky, but a galactic swirl of nebula and constellation, dotted with distant moons and glittering stardust.
Asgard truly was the realm eternal.
Yet despite its beauty, every inch of it felt colder to him than it ever had.
He hadn't walked this path in over three months. Three months — and yet, in those three months, he had fought, bled, almost died, and learned things that had cracked the surface of everything he thought he knew about his home.
His footsteps echoed faintly as he moved.
And with each step forward, memories returned — flickers of a younger self, practicing his forms under the watchful eye of Odin... eating roasted boar after mock battles with Vitra and the other trainees... even sneaking into the archives with Sigfried to read about Midgardian poetry, something none of them ever admitted aloud.
And of course, her.
Vali's eyes narrowed slightly.
Angerboda.
Her name felt sharp in his chest now.
She used to greet him when he returned from smaller missions — a soft smile on her lips, a hand on his shoulder, eyes that glinted like dark jade. Sometimes she gave him wine; sometimes words of praise. She had always felt cold, but regal. Calculated. And now... she had tried to have him killed.
She must know I survived, he thought bitterly. Of course she does. She always knows.
He stopped halfway down the causeway.
Just stood there for a moment.
Letting the breeze roll past him.
The wind of Asgard was distinct — weightless and fresh, like early spring woven into air. The golden towers glinted in the distance, tall and defiant, with the highest of them, Valaskjalf, the Allfather's throne hall, catching sunlight like a beacon.
From here, the city looked unchanged.
Too unchanged.
Polished. Peaceful. Pristine.
But that's the thing about gilded cages, he mused grimly. They always shine the brightest from the outside.
He walked on.
---
Inside the outer gate, the guards flinched as he approached. Two men clad in gold-and-crimson armor stiffened, holding their halberds upright. Recognition flickered in their eyes — but hesitation followed. One of them opened his mouth, seemingly about to address him, but Vali offered no chance.
"I am here on summons from the Allfather," he said calmly, yet coldly. "Let me through."
The guards exchanged a glance. Then silently parted.
Vali passed between them without another word.
Inside, the palace was every bit as vast as he remembered. Grand halls bathed in light. Vaulted ceilings painted with tales of conquest. Marble columns holding the weight of eternity.
But all of it felt... distant now.
As though he walked through a dream he no longer belonged in.
---
He made his way toward the central throne hall.
But not directly.
Instead, he took a slower route — intentionally wandering into one of the less-traveled wings of the palace. A corridor adorned with old tapestries — scenes from Odin's youth, battles that predated the Nine Realms' unification.
Here, no one saw him.
And here, Vali paused again.
Turning slowly, he looked at a specific tapestry — one depicting Odin and a veiled woman standing triumphant over a mountain of slain Frost Giants.
The woman was not named.
But Vali recognized her figure.
Long robes like winter silk. Hair black as void. Eyes hidden behind a silver mask.
Angerboda.
So even here, your image remains, he thought. But only at the edge. Never in the center. Always in the shadows.
He didn't linger long.
Soon, he resumed walking, this time with a steadier pace.
---
By the time he reached the outer steps of the Allfather's private audience chamber, the sun had begun to lower. Asgard's light turned amber, casting long golden rays through the open arches.
Two elite Einherjar stood guarding the entrance — these ones did not hesitate. They nodded at his approach and opened the doors in perfect unison.
A low hum echoed within.
The chamber was dimmer than he expected. No servants. No council members. Just Odin.
Seated alone upon a high, ancient throne.
Cloaked in shadows and wisdom.
Watching him.
Waiting.