With the opening of the mighty gates, the old man felt a tremendous gust of wind break against his body like a wave would against a rock, blowing his wanderer's cloak behind him so far it stood horizontal at his shoulders and sending his two pet Ravens fluttering away from his shoulder in terror, cawing loudly at the disruption, their frustration obvious. Yet the old man didn't flinch at the raw power, smiling instead at the chill it brought to his old bones, for he had not felt such a profound feeling in his aged joints in centuries. As his cloak settled at his feet and his Ravens perched on his shoulder once more, the old man chuckled as he fed his two pets breadcrumbs to calm them and their irritable pecking. "Yes" he whispered, "they remember us".

Starting forward, the aged man strode forth through the gateway of Asgard which stands several stories tall, his noble, determined posture a stark contrast to his aged appearance and tattered clothing. Despite walking with a staff, he did not seem to rely on it at all, instead holding it with the grasp and ceremony that a mighty emperor would grant a sceptre, although the staff itself was not a beautiful thing, being a worn yet sturdy piece of wood. Hearing the calls to close the gate and the strains of both men and wood behind him, the wanderer pricked his ears for the earth shattering boom that would announce that he stood alone on the road he had not travelled for centuries. As the gate finally shut, what followed could only be described as a thunderclap magnified tenfold, the very boom vibrating down the road that the man wandered, reaching his feet and travelling up his bones, giving his very movement new purpose, encouraging him to strive at a quicker pace yet maintaining his regal stature. The power that he now felt was coldly familiar, yet reassuring. Underneath his hood, the old man gave himself a grin oōf confidence at this reassurance. Strength, once sapped and stolen from him, was now embedded deep within his very core.

Allowing himself to look up and gaze upon the beauty that surrounded him, a mixture of a sigh of nostalgia and a gasp of wonder escaped him, for neither mortal nor God can grow tired of the sight of the cosmos around us. Even the Ravens ceased their cawing, at least for a time and jerked their heads to take in the spectacle, before returning to their irritating calls for attention and breadcrumbs. The man ignored their calls and continued to stride with confidence, taking in the once oh so familiar surroundings, gazing at planets in their orbit, stars both distant and near and the light that stretched wherever he looked, but was reflected marvellously on the road he tread which bore each and every light known in existence and glowed as brightly as the traveller desired. For the solitary wanderer, it served to illuminate his path for the hour he walked until he saw his destination, a humble gate beside a a small drinking hall manned by a single, unmoving guardian, bearing a large, one handed axe and a solid oaken shield, rippling with power barely contained within his armour. As the traveller approached, the guard remained unflinching in his watch, until the gap between the two figures closed to only a few steps, at which point the guardian swung around with such speed he appeared as a blur, laying his axe on the road in front of him and his shield by his side. The traveller stopped, fixing his gaze on the kneeling guard, his chest swelling with pride for the guardian who kept his oath and his watch for millennia, even in the centuries of solitude where Bifrost lay abandoned and Asgard locked.

With little hesitation, the guard, still staring at the boots of the wanderer, did give his oath. "My lord, as you have bid since the beginning of my watch, I have remained vigilant and stalwart on the gate to Asgard. No giant has evaded me, nor trickster set foot on Bifrost, for I see all, hear all, and know all, as you have seen fit to endow me with gifts of senses second to none. Here I stand, awaiting the time of Ragnarok, the end times, ready to blow the horn of my sacred badge of office. Whether you are here to relieve me of my watch or embark on your many journeys beyond Asgard, I remain your servant, ready to aid you at your behest."

The words were delivered with the coldness of a sentry who's duty he upheld above all else, but the aged traveller could hear the emotion behind his oath. For a god to stand, unflinching, unwavering, at the gates to Asgard, watching the centuries pass as the gods remained inside the immortal city awaiting Ragnarok, when even the tide of warriors seeking entrance to Valhalla stopped, such a solitary existence would test even Heimdallr's will. Yet here he stood, loyal, unflinching and remembering the words that he so eagerly wished to say to his Lord.

"Arise Heimdallr. I bid you arise, for I am on no journey, but rather, I have summoned the strength to embark from Asgard. Your watch is suspended while I rest here, watching the nine worlds for you. Go inside to your home, Himinbjörg, drink of the good mead that was promised, and rest your tired eyes." Now it was the wanderer's turn to hide emotion behind formal lines.

Heimdallr did indeed arise, and his Lord saw the face of a God who was relieved after so many centuries, not just to rest, but also relieved to see his Lord, emerged from Asgard and stronger than he had been in centuries. Drawing back his hood and sending the Ravens to perch on the gate itself, the wanderer rested a wrinkled hand on the mailed shoulder and smiled at his guard, with a single bright, blue eye and a beaming smile from beneath a glowing white beard.

"Rest, my friend. You have earned it."

As Heimdallr marched to his drinking hall, relieved for the first time in centuries, the Wanderer sat down on a treestump by the gate of his realm, and began his watch. Odin had emerged. The gods had stirred.

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