The rays of the sun beats upon the forest floor. The misty haze shimmered as light reflected from the tiny droplets of dew collected on the leaves. Birds chirped and sang, hopping from branch to branch, warming their bones for the first flight of the day.

The picture the forest painted was calm and serene, total opposite of what they had gone through.

An hours sleep was all he could give them, Hela's undead soldiers were near. He tracked their movements as the refugees slept in huddles, desperate for warmth from the cold misty morning.

It had only been fourteen minutes into their sleep—painfully short—but as every second ticks the draugrs ran at full sprint, drawing ever closer to their position

He stood, ready to rouse the people of Asgard from their minute slumber.

"We have to move! Hela would be upon us soon!" yelled Heimdall. "Gather your belongings, we leave posthaste."

Heads perked as his command reverberated through the forest. Glazed eyes tinged red gazed at him. Yawns sounded, accompanied by the chirps and whistles of birds.

"Can't even get a damn nap," an Asgardian noble grumbled. He was big and fat, thin gray hair peppered his scalp—the former splendor it might have had were lost to balding. Pug nose and rotund face lined with age twisted to a perpetual scowl.

He was unpleasant to look at, his features resembled more of a bulldog than a man, Heimdall mused. Watching the man kicked the others awake.

They were all tired. Only having less than an hours sleep and rest everyday. Having been on the run for three weeks now, not stopping even through the night, they face a cruel, restless enemy. Not knowing sleep nor fatigue.

Even with their Asgardian physiology, the hectic journey and the lack of food and sleep would have brought even the mightiest of warriors to their knees. Seeing no one collapse from exhaustion was a miracle—it was as if the Allfather had blessed them.

Heimdall rubbed his eyes, desperately fighting the urge to sleep. Even as the watcher he was allowed to eat, sleep and rest like any normal Asgardian. He rarely took them at first, feeling that his duty were more important than mundane luxuries.

He only stopped when Odin personally came to him and said, "We don't want our watcher and protector to drop down dead when he is needed the most. Rest boy, know that we are not Gods. Like any mortal eating and sleeping greatly benefits us."

He wouldn't admit it but the Allfather had become somewhat of a second father to him.

He remembered when he first met Odin.

Heimdall was the envy of their town when they knew the Allfather personally came to the small mountain village to see the child with eyes that can gaze upon all the nine realms.

The old men said he was prophesied by a woodswitch "Born under a red–moon a child with eyes of fire peer upon the branches of the Yggdrasil, the ravens may whisper stories but the seer watches all." they said.

He was playing with his brother as his mother spun them wool. He never played much with other children, his skin color only brought scorn and contempt. A boy once said Heimdall was cursed, a demon. That his skin was a result of breeding with the giants of Muspelheim, that his fiery eyes would be the end of his family as he would burn them in their sleep. He ran back home with tears in his eyes and hid under a tree by the creek. When his brother found him—red faced and all—he sworn to beat him for running from the boy. And beat him he did. He came home soft, bruised and battered, but his heart had grown like iron. He fought back like any man, breaking the nose of his older sibling, throwing punches with fervor he unleashed his fury. A temper he kept hidden from all.

The Allfather visited their house at noon, bringing with him a retinue of Gods and soldiers. Tyr, the God of War enamored his brother—who wanted to join the Einharjar.

"They said Tyr is the fiercest of all generals, his martial prowess surpasses all in the nine realms." his brother whispered to him.

He vaguely registered his brother's words and only nodded in response. His attention were only focused on the Allfather. Saddled on the great Sleipnir, his regal face was maned with a thick black beard. Hair made of blackened silk that reached his shoulders were adorned by a crown so gold it shone like a second sun. His pale blue eyes watched Heimdall with intent.

Heimdall knew they were coming—he watched them. He caught glimpses of the Allfather before, his vision was blurry at best however. Seeing the Allfather in the flesh, he can't help but stare wide-eyed.

The Allfather grunted and dismounted Sleipnir, landing with a thud. The jewels threaded in his golden-woven cloak clinked, moved by the force of the Allfather, who settled atop packed earth. His tall and wide figure loomed a shadow over Heimdall—who felt compelled to kneel as the Allfather's intense gaze jabbed at his core.

It was weird; getting stared at. His father once told him, "You're bound to get used to it."

Their skin color was the subject of japes and mockery when they moved here, their previous home became unprofitable. Fishing was a dying trade. His father made the decision of moving to this mining village years ago; they lived far from the center. Dark skin isn't common in Asgard, aside from their family, Heimdall has never seen another one with the same pigmentation.

A different family were close, however. Their skin was a beautiful shade of sunkissed olive, they had exotic features and dark eyes.

His mother stomped to welcome the Allfather, pebbles ground beneath her leather sandals. The visit was unannounced, nobody in his family knew—except for Heimdall.

She opened her mouth to sing a greeting to the Allfather who silenced her with a hand.

"So you must be the one my ravens kept pestering me about," Odin addressed Heimdall. "Yes, you're definitely the one, eyes of fire they whispered." Odin's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "With eyes like those boy, mayhaps you've been spying on royalty?" His voice veiled a threatening tone.

His mother's face turned a pale sickly white. "M-my king—"

"Fie!" Odin exclaimed in outrage, pointing an accusing finger. "Silence woman." he commanded. Turning the finger on Heimdall. "Answer me boy, methinks you aren't mute, so speak." Leather squealed as his hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

Heimdall kneeled frozen, unable to breathe. His lips cracked as saliva evaporated.

The air was thick and stale, tension high. The world seemed to stop as it watched.

Tyr cleared his throat, "Odin, you're terrifying the poor boy. What would Frigga say when she discovers you're threatening children?"

"Frigga would say 'go ahead and gouge out his eyes for gazing upon her pale beauty'." Odin retorted.

Tyr groaned, "We have talked about this on the road, the boy isn't spying on you or your wife."

Beside him his brother growled and bared his teeth, "I won't let you hurt my brother!" he yelled, "Treason, regicide I'm willing to die—"

Odin unsheathed his sword, the blade quivered in his hand; glinting in the noon-light. Uru reflected the fear in his brother's eyes, "And die you shall!" His boots drummed the earth as he trudged towards Heimdall's brother.

"Odin stop this," a feminine voice commanded.

Odin stopped, the fury on his face subsided, his lips quirked to a smile, "Frigga, my love. I am only chopping down unruly weeds—"

"Weeds!" said Frigga, exasperated. "Is that what you call your people?" she looked at Heimdall, "I am terribly sorry for my husband's boorish attitude. It seems his paranoia has returned, rest assured that he would be indemnified for this."

"Frigga—"

Her glare silenced the Allfather. "No Odin, we shall address the event at a later date. Threatening children is unbecoming for a king of Asgard. I expected better than marry a brute." she steered her horse back and galloped away.

Odin's fury returned as quickly as it left, "You dare embarrass a king!" he growled, jabbing a finger at Heimdall. "A hundred—no two hundred lashes for you. Don't come to the capital lest I have the entire city flog you purple." he stomped towards Sleipnir and mounted. Leaving with a thunderous gallop.

Tyr only chuckled as they watched Odin leave, "Boy, you have a gift. We must harness this gift to protect Asgard, our home. I will not take you against your will, this is your decision. Come to me by nightfall when you have made it. I may make a soldier out of you." said Tyr, gesturing to his men to follow the Allfather. Tyr soon left.

He breathed what felt like his first breath, greedily taking in air. The beats of his heart pounded against his ears. His head is light, the edges of his visions blurred. Only the feeling of dirt digging into skin were his last memories.

-l-l-

When his father returned he was furious and afraid. Both his parents wanted to leave their home, build a new life far away.

Heimdall knew it was useless, the Allfather would find them again. They will never escape the ravens. Even now one kept cawing outside their house, taunting them.

His brother had half-a-mind to shoot it full of arrows. But seeing the Allfather's rage and willingness to kill…

Heimdall didn't know what to think or do. As a child it was all too confusing, Odin wanted him gone but Tyr seemed eager that he existed. He didn't know what to think about the Allfather, he never knew that beneath that regal exterior he was a vile unpleasant man. If he was being honest he thought Tyr would be the ignorant brute.

But he was still their king, his judgement was correct. Covering his eyes his face fills with heat, he is guilty about using his eyes to peep. He didn't mean to, it took a while to harness his power. Still it doesn't excuse voyeurism.

Did the Allfather truly wanted him dead? No. He is only suspicious. Yes. As would all monarchs be if a person had the same power as Heimdall. First impressions aside the Allfather's concerns were valid. Heimdall loved his home, he wouldn't betray it even if his and his family's lives depended on it. But the Allfather didn't know that.

No. He didn't.

Heimdall needed to earn that trust. To show the Allfather he meant no harm to the realm. That he will give up his very life as a sacrifice. For Asgard, for his people and… for his family.

By twilight he made his decision. Leaving the house alone he looked for the God of War. The walk took several minutes before he reached the village hall. It was easy enough to find where he is—go where the people are. The village was festive, celebrating the arrival of their monarch.

He stood, staring at the thick wooden doors of the hall. The knobs were fashioned as roaring lions, casted in uru. The metal was cold against his quivering hand. The saliva in his mouth was thick and hard to swallow. His stomach fluttered, heart racing faster than war horses. "Breathe in slowly." his father would tell him. Taking a breath his heart pounding against his chest, the pulse of his veins throbbed through his skin and into the uru handle.

He could do this. He made his decision moments ago. He can't falter now.

He gathered his courage, knowing that it is a decision that could either haunt him for the rest of his life. Or bring him glory, respect and trust.

Opening the door, he entered.

Laughter, music and shouting invaded his ears. The noise was unpalatable. The thick oaken walls drowned out the worst of it from the outside. But inside… was a different story.

Bodies crammed together in such created an unpleasant heat, thankful his stature staved the worst of it. He knew a few more inches taller and he would sweat like roast pork.

The aroma of beer, mead and wine was thick in the air and burned his nose. Seated on a large dining table, in the middle was none other than the Allfather himself, red faced and drunk—two wenches with bosoms larger than grapefruits flanked his lap.

Special whores from the capital, Heimdall deduced. In a village as small as his you know every name and face.

Queen Frigga wasn't present, using his vision he watched her continue her journey towards the capital. A small retinue of guards accompanied her. She was pale and fair, wearing a blood red gown embezzled with finely woven golden threads. Her hair fashioned into curls, adorned with rare gemstones. Her face was doll-like, not a single blemish marred her beauty.

He understood why Odin would think he was peeping on his bride. She looked like the women he fantasized about when he dreamt that he was a prince that everyone fawned over.

The pale flower and her dark rose. His face fills with heat, maybe in another life.

"Ah! The All-Seer! I told you dunces that he would come, didn't I!?" Tyr proclaimed with a voice that drowned the room. Jabbing elbows into the ribs of his men who laughed merrily. Tyr unsteadily parted the sea-of-people and made his way towards Heimdall, almost tripping when his leg caught a ledge on the wood flooring. "Woah—I want to apo—"

Heimdall shook his head, "Let me join the Einharjar, I will earn Odin's trust and become the protector of Asgard." he said, interrupting the god's apologies, he wanted to prove himself worthy to the Allfather. And Heimdall will spill blood in the name of Odin.

Tyr was in shock by his proclamation and stammered, "Wha—Tha—I—" the alcohol in his blood made itself known. "Okay boy, that's bold of you. Very bold indeed. You'll make a fine soldier." Tyr smiled and placed a hand on Heimdall's shoulder. "Tell me boy, what is your name."

"Heimdall."

"Heimdall."

"Heimdall."

"H-E-I-M-D-A-L-L-!"

He was jolted awake by a slap.

Eyes fluttered open as he peered at the gathered crowd. The stinging on his face steadily rousing him.

A shadow loomed over him, the same fat noble stood before him. Dagger-like eyes glared at him. "It seemed the seer wanted to sleep." the noble snarled.

He had fallen asleep, a crucial mistake. "How long was I gone?" asked Heimdall.

The noble snorted, his sagging face flaps undulated from the motion. "Don't worry seer, whilst you slept we have foraged and found berries. We killed some squirrels as well but they are for the children." the nobles voice leaked of contempt.

Heimdall nodded. Using his vision he watched the draugrs and cursed. He was gone far longer than he first thought.

"We eat as we move, the draugrs draw near." he commanded. Raising a hand to silence protests.

They reluctantly clambered to their feet. Their gaits unsteady as they walked over twigs and pebbles.

He had to push them, they've been on the run for three weeks now. He knows not how long they can keep running, there were only so many places you could hide a mass of people in Asgard.

They needed to leave Asgard. He knew Loki used to travel realms without using the bridge, but only the trickster knew of where they are.

Heimdall sauntered up a rock. Using his vision he watched the fifty draugrs tracking them—only three hours away. He considered fighting them. As suicidal as that sounds, it may be the only way to lose them. But doing so wouldn't only risk his life, but the lives of the refugees. If he falls in battle the untrained, disorganized rabble are easy pickings for them. He can't risk it, they'll have to keep running.

"We must move faster!"

A woman coughed, catching Heimdall's attention. Her face was blackened by dirt, gown ripped at the hem continued towards her shin. She glanced at him with pleading eyes. "Heimdall, please we are tired. The children must rest. We must rest."

Heimdall wearily shook his head, "We may rest easy once we have found shelter and cover, we must not let Hela reach us."

He heard a growl, turning to the sound he came face-to-face with the same noble who slapped him. At first he thought the man was starving and looked poised to eat him. But when his vision cleared he saw the noble snarling at him.

"When?! When are we going to find the shelter and cover you keep talking about, Heimdall." the fat lord was apoplectic. His pudgy hands balled into fists. "You've been promising this for two weeks now. Two!"

That sparked an outrage amongst the refugees as more and more voices began to speak and voice their opinions.

A younger refugee stepped forward, his sunken twisted to a scowl. "What's so bad about Hela? If we go to her we could feast, sleep with soft pillows and feathered beds. Why must we continue following you?"

Heimdall groans, the irritation present on his face made him look like a savage beast as his fiery orange eyes peered upon the crowd. "Enough!" he shouted. "Did you not see what she had done to the entire army of Asgard? How she had skewered their heads on the walls and fed their bodies to her wolf—"

"Well, that was because they were fighting her," the fat old lord with loose jowls retorted, enticing several nods of agreement amongst the anxious crowd. "If we go to her now and surrender maybe she'll spare us." they all nodded at the fools suggestion.

"Aye!" the young man bellowed and drew his club, "Why must we follow you Heimdall, you would just get us butchered."