They entered Asgard in darkness. Not a surprise to emerge somewhere sightless, given the Dwarves’ aversion to sunlight; it stood to reason that they made their gates beyond the reach of its light, such as underground or inside a building.

  “Where do you think we are?” asked Freydis with a whisper.

  “The other gates seemed placed somewhere remote, away from big settlements,” Sif considered. “This might be similar, an abandoned tower or something.”

  “That would be fortunate. We’re due a little luck.”

  Light appeared as a door was thrust open. It revealed the room to be entirely barren, and no greater than twenty by twenty feet. In the doorway, a looming shape showed itself. Squinting at the sudden dispelling of darkness, Sif saw that it was a man, but taller and larger than even Halfdan. She noticed his rich garments that would be suitable for a jarl during feasts in his mead hall; in addition, a sword was strapped to his waist.

  “I see that Hel has spurned her gifts,” came a derisive voice. Sif’s heart sank as she realised they were only further overdue any luck. “I laughed when Odin told me to keep watch of the gate where my gaze has not turned in a thousand years. Surely no mortals, a child and an ungifted, would be so foolish to attempt sneaking past me! My ears can hear grass and wool grow. Did you think your whispers would go unnoticed?”

  Her heart beating swiftly in terror, Sif used [Know the Gifts] to confirm her fears.

  [Watcher of Asgard]

  Nothing more reached her mind, which in itself was proof of his power, reducing her ability to read him. “Heimdall,” she breathed.

  The god smirked. “In the flesh.” He drew his sword. “Will this be quick, or do you prefer to surrender?” He glanced them over. “I could use new thralls.”

  Sif held out her palm downwards and began speaking the first syllable, but before she could open the gate to their escape, a blinding light appeared from Heimdall’s empty hand, searing her with pain and disrupting her from using [Runes are Read].

  “None of that.”

  Freydis lowered her spear in a defensive position and took a step forward to insert herself between the girl and the god. “Sif, flee!”

  Heimdall nodded. “Quick it is.” His sword became wreathed in flames, and he raised his empty hand to release the light again, forcing Freydis to avert her gaze.

  Sif saw only spots before her eyes. She could try activating the gate again, even if she could not see the runes; perhaps vicinity was enough, and she did not have to actually read the symbols. But she could tell that Freydis had taken a step away, which meant she would be outside the circle.

  Sif could run away, like she had been told to do a hundred times when in this exact situation. But if Sif did as expected of her, she never would have left Midgard in the first place. And she did not need sight to know where Heimdall was or use her tongue. She released [Galdr is Heard], and a discordant scream issued from her to cause confusion and impairment.

  The god, his flaming sword poised to strike Freydis, flinched at the sorcerous attack. The disruption allowed her to recover and stab at him. The Dwarven-made spear tore through his tunic, but it barely drew blood.

  Heimdall smiled. “I am a god, fool.” He grabbed Freydis’ spear just below the tip. With one hand, he raised both spear and her into the air and tossed both aside, into the wall. “Try your little screams again,” he taunted, turning to Sif.

  She, meanwhile, had a stone of the living rock in her sling, swinging it to release it. It flew true – hard to miss so close. It struck his chest, cracking his ribcage. The god gasped for breath, pain on his face before it was replaced by anger. He stormed forwards, swiftly crossing the short distance between them, raising his flaming sword for a deadly stroke.

  Dropping her sling, Sif drew her knife from her belt, given to her by Halfdan an age ago. Well made from good iron, it was in every respect an ordinary blade. The god smirked seeing the pitiful weapon in her hand.

  Relying on his arrogance to provide the opening, Sif dropped to one knee while drawing Hel’s dagger she had taken from her hall. She drove the vicious blade into Heimdall’s foot, and the god roared in pain as it cut skin and flesh.

  Despite his injury, he kicked out with his other foot to send Sif flying back into the wall.

  Freydis, recovered from her own journey across the room, vanished into shadows and appeared behind Heimdall, crouching like Sif had been. She pulled the dagger from his foot and lashed out, slicing his calf open.

  Again, the god shouted in agony, and on instinct, he spun around to backhand Freydis with enough force that she tumbled away. Staring at his two adversaries with gritted teeth, both of them on the ground and near incapacitated, Heimdall chose Sif first. He took a pained step forward, looming over her, his flaming sword ready to deal incinerating death.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Freydis screamed something unintelligible, the words too garbled by pure terror. Yet they were still heard.

  From the shadows, a bear appeared. It charged the small room in the blink of an eye, falling upon Heimdall from the back. For all his strength and invulnerabilities, the god could not withstand one thousand pounds of fur and muscle bearing down on him, especially from this angle. He fell to the ground, face first, with a furious beast raking claws down his back.

  Still, Heimdall’s resistance to weaponry served him well, and the bear accomplished little beyond pinning him in place. Likewise, for all his divine might, the god was matched in strength by the beast, who did not allow its prey to escape or itself to be tossed aside from his back.

  Sif’s eyes fell on the dagger that had flown from Freydis’ grasp when the latter was struck. She crawled across the floor and picked it up, getting on her feet as well. Seeing their enemy, struggling in vain to push himself off the ground, she took two steps and planted the dagger in his skull. Breath and life leaving the god, he fell still and moved no more.

  *

  The bear disappeared, as abruptly as it had appeared. Both of them panted for breath and had aching bruises all over. Sif looked towards the dead god, the knife sticking out of his head. She had known what to do in the moment, acting on instinct. Now that it was done, she thought she might have emptied her stomach, had it contained anything. She remembered how it felt, the knife cutting through hard bone to pierce soft tissue beneath.

  “That was weird, right? The bear,” Sif said, trying to distract herself with bravado.

  “I think, maybe Halfdan heard me after all.” Freydis blinked. “My gift is back, or… some form of it.”

  “You must be those sent by Baldr,” spoke a voice, and they flinched hearing it. Both of them got on their feet and turned to see a young man standing in the doorway, wearing simple clothing and a thin iron collar around his neck.

  “You’re his man?” Freydis asked, to which he nodded.

  Sif used [Know the Gifts]. Nothing, as if she had tried to read an animal or small child. “You aren’t his servant.”

  He shook his head. “My collar prevents this. But we are many thralls in Valh?ll, and messages find their way to us as needed. I am Kark.” He glanced at Heimdall. “None come here, usually, but his absence will be noticed at the evening meal in a few hours. We should hurry away.”

  Freydis picked up her spear. “You know our purpose?”

  “Only that I am to aid you. Where must you go?”

  The newly re-minted priestess bit her lip. “Not certain. We must find an item taken by Odin. A smith’s hammer. Where would he take such a thing?”

  Kark blew out his breath, consternation visible on his face. “Tall order. But come, we draw attention standing here, should any pass by. Come with me.”

  They walked towards him, though Freydis swiftly turned back and knelt by the corpse to extract the dagger. She gave it to Sif. “Lead the way.”

  *

  Halfdan gasped for breath. Blinding pain filled his head – not that his surroundings were worth looking at. With closed eyes, he felt his breathing become normal, and the discomfort lessened. A lot had happened that moments ago, he had not known to be possible. The instincts of his gift, his new abilities, had taken over. While he was grateful for that, he felt frustrated at his lack of knowledge, making it hard if not impossible for him to influence matters.

  He tried to go over everything in his mind. He had heard the voice again, recognising it to be Freydis’. He had felt [Empower the Faithful] activate, creating a bond between them. He saw through her eyes, sharing her senses. Sif had been in danger, and Halfdan had struggled against his restraints, roaring with fury.

  He could not say what had happened after. For a moment, he had no longer viewed the room through Freydis’ eyes, but his own, as if he had been present. He had felt the same as when [Berserker's Rage] activated, fighting without thought. But a searing pain had developed, straining his mind until he had lost the connection to Freydis.

  Halfdan tried to recreate it, but the stabbing pain resumed immediately as the only consequence. He did not feel any bond, only agony, and he quickly abandoned the attempt. As he lay on his slab with closed eyes anyway, he summoned his tree to examine his new abilities. One in particular, which he assumed was the reason for what just happened.

  But before his mind strayed to [Empower the Faithful], he noticed another difference. Previously, after increasing aforementioned ability, he had been left with two Seeds of Power. Halfdan remembered it well, as he needed three if he wanted to increase it further, since it was limited by the lower skills on his tree and could not grow stronger than them.

  So, Halfdan had possessed two Seeds. Now, he saw five glittering acorns lying by the roots. He had acquired three more. This was unprecedented in itself; killing a troll or even Loki had only yielded two. But more than that, he had not been physically present for the fight. It had been done on his behalf, perhaps, or carried out for his sake, one might argue. But Halfdan had never heard of any berserker’s power increasing for a battle won from afar.

  Then again, how many berserkers reached the status he had? Even if he could have asked Ylva for advice, he doubted she knew more than him. Regardless, Halfdan would not spurn the wind when it filled his sails. He was not as powerless and bound as he first assumed. He had defeated Odin’s trap for his mind easily, and he was learning how to strengthen his faithful; the sole follower he had, granted, but more capable than most.

  Most importantly, this meant he would still grow in power despite his imprisonment. Focusing on his tree, Halfdan knew exactly what to do with his newfound Seeds. Of all his abilities, only one would make a difference for getting him free. After that, he could look to revenge, but freedom mattered most. Spending three Seeds, Halfdan strengthened [Unbridled Fury], allowing him to do the same to [Breaker of Bonds], which in turn let him increase [Empower the Faithful]. That left him back at two available Seeds. One more, and he could do another round, pushing his abilities to even greater heights he had never known before. He imagined that given what Freydis and Sif had already faced, the opportunity for more Seeds would soon arise. It would find him ready.