I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryear's are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.

- Beryl Markham

Alfheim, home of the light elves, is described as many things.

Beautiful.

Peaceful.

Heavenly.

And to the species living on said planet, it was accurate, for the most part. There are always opinions, always ridiculous naysayers against the planets function.

At the top of that list was Algrim.

Not that he despised every living thing on the planet, no. He simply disagreed.

The Light Elves were said to be powerful. All knowing. Rumors were thrown that they were the only other race that could match the mighty Asgardians in all points. They had no flaws.

With such raw, unharnessed power, Algrim thought his people would rule with unquestioned force.

Instead, he lies in his bedchamber, doing nothing for the third day in a row. Being an only child of Eririk, trusted guard of the light elves king, undoubtedly had no perks at all, leaving Algrim restless.

In times like these, the young warrior sought out solitude, a place only found in the vast mountains of the east, where no elf was to enter.

His energetic steps become a quick unraveling. Eririk was guarding the exit.

"My, my!" He exclaims, grinning with mischievousness. The guard mistakes his sons eagerness."It seems a fair young elf has finally caught my son's eye, making him light headed with glee! What is her name?"

Algrim can't help but roll his eyes in annoyance. Yet another thing he loathed in Alfheim was the persistence in romance. Almost all of his childhood friends had wives, and nearly ten kids! His mind was too rapid, producing question after question of things he simply couldn't know. He had to interest, or time, for love.

"Father, please. I need to run to the market."

Eririk's face darkens. "And what will you need there?"

"We are out of yeast. I cannot make bread."

His only reply is an incredibly cold slap across a cheek. He's certain there's blood, but never falters his stance.

It wasn't the first time he had been through this.

"Liar! You're off to those mountains again, aren't you? When will you understand that there is no place in the nine realms better suited for us than right here!"

Algrim grips his fists, attempting to silence a retort that would surely earn him far worse punishment.

He fails.

"Father, how can you say such a thing, when you once told me that the light elves could defeat Asgardians?! We are superior, and should show it!"

Though pride swells in the warriors heart, its quickly silenced by another blow.

"Foolish child! Learn your place! You are no light elf, and you are not my son!"

Algrim is thereafter dragged back to his chambers, and swiftly reduced to nothing more that a weeping mass of bruises and blood.

He weeps, wishing for a better life, out of that house, off the planet.

Aflheim was pure hel.

A soft pitter patter of rain awakens the injured elf into a pain induced state. He opens his window, looking down at the drop, contemplating if it would finally end his misery.
His slate gray eyes find the mountains, silhouetted beautifully under the starlight.

Even if he couldn't leave his planet, he had to escape his father's wrath...

The weather pelts the ground, only irregular as a distraught elf runs from all he has ever known.

Darkness was surprisingly easy for light elves to blend into, so it seemed. Algrim does it effortlessly, his tanned skin almost as black as the night. And the cave he always retreated to was even blacker.

Yet being a light elf brought a particular uncertainty about voids.

So, being a bit frightened at the sudden lack of light, he had summoned a fire, using the standard magic all elves knew. The flames crackles drift him to deep thoughts.

What next?

How long could he possibly hide, when his father was an outstanding enforcer of the King?

Algrim growls, standing up in a huff, kicking a pebble against a nearby boulder. Only, the satisfactory noise isn't made.

He tries once more, intently surveying the rock. What he finds easily drops his jaw.

It had disappeared.

Slowly, the young elf approaches it, sticking a tentative hand to the smooth stone. Miraculously, it too vanishes. Then, realization falls on his bruised features.

This was a secret portal. A ticket out.

Yes, he didn't know where it may lead, but was positive it was much better than anything on Alfheim.

So, with the glee of a child's heart, and a small satchel of food and clothes, Algrim crawls in, hoping that whatever lays on the other side is soon to be his destiny.