Heimdall was guardian of the Rainbow Bridge, the only means of gaining access to Asgard. Heimdall was known for his vigil all throughout the Nine Realms. There were songs dedicated to him, rituals performed in his name in hopes his favor could be won. Of course, he paid no attention to such frivolities. Nay, let the Odinson bask in the praise of mortals, Heimdall had more pressing matters to turn his mind towards.

When the Odinson had returned from his venture with the mortals down on Midgard, he had come back a changed man. Humble, considerate, placing mind to his words, and it was all thanks to the mortals he had met.

"They're quite valiant," Thor Odinson said upon his return. "They are quite possibly the strongest people I've ever encountered."

Heimdall took his prince's word for it. Never had the guard of the Rainbow Bridge turned his mind towards Midgard. There was never a reason to. The mortals posed no threat to the safety of Asgard, not like the dark elves or the Frost Giants. But still, the Odinson's tales of great valor from the mortals peeked Heimdall's interest, if only a small deal.

He turned his eyes towards the bustling street corners of Beijing. He mused over the ballads of rock n' roll. He wondered at the enchantment of fireworks on a warm July evening. Granted, the mortals and their ways were nothing compared to the splendor of Asgard. Their music was gratifying, yet ended too soon, nothing like the blaring trumpets of victory that played every time a warrior was welcomed to Valhalla, the head of a giant in his fist, and the admiration of his peers in his mind. Still, there were wonders to be seen on Midgard.

Heimdall was blessed with an all seeing eye that could pierce the veil of time and space. He could turn his sight to anyone, foe or friend, and see their whole existence spread out before him. All of their victories, their woes, their trickery, their valor, laid out before him like an epic tale. And as the Norns would have it, Heimdall's eyes had settled upon a man named Justin Williams. A young man, one who was hardly big enough to carry an axe into a horde of giants, yet his potential for greatness was unmeasurable. Justin was a strapping young man (well, by the standards that the mortals were accustomed to). He had a dark complexion, much like Heimdall's own, a faint glow in his eyes that Heimdall had recognized in many of Asgard's great heroes. Balder, Thor, Sif…a faint glow that could illuminate an entire kingdom.

Justin was like the other mortal boys his age. He went to school, listened to his mother's wisdom, set the table when it was time to feast, and went to bed when his body needed rest. At school, like all boys, he would do battle with those who challenged him, who showed disrespect to his family, who wished to test his mettle in battle.

"Keep talkin' shit," Justin said, "And I'll knock you out." School was always pulsed with a potential battle, yet Justin never challenged others to the field of combat, it was always brought to him like an unwanted visitor. The other boy, the one who believed himself to be Justin's better, had red hair streaming down his back, and had a face that reminded Heimdall a lot of Thor's. There was an arrogance to this young man's face that, more often than not, led to recklessness.

"You think you can take me, Justin?" said the young enemy as he shoved his way into Justin's countenance, a sheer sign of battle. "Don't talk about it punk, be about it."

And with one mighty blow, the battle began. The two shoved, and pulled, and rolled onto the floor of the school hallway. Other students cheered, and booed, and scowled until the school masters broke the battle a twain. While Justin's foe was verbally chastised, Justin himself left the school grounds in restraints.

Justin was taken to a police department, a place where the unjust were punished for their criminal actions. But Justin did not deserve to be among those scoundrels, he was merely protecting his family's honor, was he not?

His mother had to fetch him and return him home.

"Have you lost your mind?" she said, her voice loud enough to be heard in the halls of Valhalla.

"Ma', he was askin' for it."

"How many times have I told you, you can't be fighting in school?" Her voice rammed into the ears of all who could hear her, "You think people out there care? You think people are gonna treat you the same way they treat everyone else?" She stood tall and proud, but she could not fool Heimdall's eyes…she was terrified. The same terror Heimdall saw when a mother sent her son off to war. Off to face an evil that would surely claim his life.

"Ma', I-"

"No," she said firmly. "No more fighting. I don't care what they do. No. More."

And Justin gave his word, and that was all there was to the matter. Back in school, Justin honored his word. Even though he wanted to fight against the others who provoked him, he did not. He stayed true to his mother's wishes, and as much as it pained Heimdall to see someone run from battle, he understood that a man's word is of greater importance than boyhood feuds.

The days turned into weeks, and soon the taste for battle left Justin's tongue. One night, as he sat at home, he realized that there was no milk for the morning feast. His mother had always been so good at keeping milk, and eggs, and whatever else stoked for the morning. Yet, she had returned home late that evening, and was too tired to away to the market. So Justin decided that we would carry out the errand in his mother's stead. He grabbed a jacket and journeyed to the local market.

There was no milk to be bought, and no eggs to be secured either. Justin had made his trip in vain.

"Damn it," he said as he made his way back home. The night had grown long and dark on his way home. There was no light to be had on the streets that night, even the streetlamps had forsaken their duties, and Justin walked under the cover of darkness.

"Hey, boy."

And Justin stopped, and turned his eyes towards a police officer whose gun was already drawn.

"E-excuse me?" Justin asked.

"I asked you a question. What're you doing out here so late?"

Justin looked around, and there was no one else to be found. The streets were empty. "I-I just went to the store to buy milk for-"

"Milk?" the officer asked. "I don't see any milk?" He took a step forward. "You out sellin' drugs, ain't that right?"

Heimdall could see the fear spread across Justin's face, "N-no…" Justine said, and then quickly added, "…sir. I was just trying to get home."

"We've had a huge drug ring going on around here, and you fit the description of one of the drug runners to a fuckin' T." The officer grinned, as if he were some kind of valiant hero…holding a gun against an unarmed man.

"Sir, I-I'm just trying to get home. I don't wan-"

"Get your fuckin' hands up."

And Justin obeyed, his hands reached so high he could almost scrap the bottom of Heimdall's boots. Justin shook, "I just want to get home."

And the gun pointed squarely at his face. The officer's hand shook, he was fearful. The police man was fearful of the unarmed school boy he had cornered in a dark alley. How could that be? How could the man with the weaponry be intimidated by the one who had nothing but his clothing?

"Lemme see your ID…slowly." The officer breathed heavy, and the finger on the gun's trigger shook with every noise that bumped in the night. Justin moved slowly, gently placing his hand behind his back to fetch his wallet. He was terrified. And Heimdall knew that ilk. A warrior with a fearful hand is prone to quick temperament and foolish actions.

"Just let me-"

"I said slowly!" The officer screamed, and in one quick twitch, the bullet was fired…and Justin fell to the cold ground.

Heimdall blinked, and felt a cold shiver run up his back.

"Ho, Heimdall!" Prince Thor Odinson had arrived home from a long day of battle. "What see you this day, old friend?" Thor asked, his voice hearty.

"This day, young Prince I have turned my eyes to Midgard." Heimdall's voice was slow and even…he tried not to allow his mind to be clouded by what he had just witnessed. A young man cut down for a crime he was innocent of. Fear, and anger, and an insatiable sadness mulled over the guardian's chest.

Thor smiled, "In truth old friend? What say you of the mortals? Are they not every bit as valiant as I have proclaimed?"

And Heimdall shook his head, "One, my prince, that I have seen showcases all you have told us and more."

There was valor in Midgard. There was courage amongst grand injustices. There was warmth and honor in the hearts of mortal mothers, and their sons. Valor that would be welcomed at the gates of Valhalla.

And Heimdall waited…on baited breath…to hear the horns of Asgard blare, to welcome its new hero.