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𝖛. still, a gilded cage
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IT TOOK AN ALARMINGLY LONG TIME FOR THE BIFROST TO APPEAR. The group stood at the summoning site, their voices sharp with urgency as they called out to Heimdall, their words carried away by the howling wind. But the sky remained silent. No shimmer of light, no hum of ancient power. Just the vast emptiness above them, stretching endlessly.
Vivica’s heart pounded against her ribs. Heimdall never hesitated. Never failed. The absence of his swift response sent a shiver of unease through her, and she wasn't alone in it — Thor’s grip on Mjolnir tightened, his expression darkening as the seconds crawled by.
Then, finally, the Bifrost roared to life. A prismatic rift split the sky, swallowing them in its celestial embrace. The relief should have been instant, but Vivica couldn’t shake the gnawing dread clinging to her bones. Something was wrong. She could feel it.
Her fears solidified the moment they landed in Asgard. The golden city, usually vibrant and imposing, felt strangely muted under the hazy light. And then they saw him.
Heimdall lay motionless on the bridge, his ever-watchful eyes closed. The sight was so unnatural, so wrong, that Vivica’s breath hitched in her throat.
"Get him to the Healing Room," Thor commanded, his voice sharp with urgency. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three moved without hesitation, their concern evident as they carefully lifted the unconscious guardian.
Thor turned to Vivica, his demeanor softening ever so slightly. “Leave our brother to us,” he assured her. Then, with a swift motion, he spun Mjolnir, and the air crackled as they lifted off the ground.
They soared through Asgard’s sky, the towering spires and shimmering halls of the palace rising to meet them. Vivica barely registered the beauty of it. The weight of Heimdall’s collapse, the unshakable certainty that something darker loomed ahead, clung to her like a vice.
