Trembling, he clutched the sphere, this small thing that barely filled his palm.

His own face reflected on the surface.

Carefully, as if the polished sphere might break with one wrong move, he let his fingertips dance along its curves.

It felt cold to the touch.

Heimdall knew that enchanted objects grew warm because of magic.

Unless the spell dissolved. But there were only two reasons why magic dissolved. Either the caster of the spell ordered it to vanish themselves or the host on which the curse lay died.

He could hardly breathe.

No, it crossed his lips in a shaky breath.

He did not know what to do.

He had never tried to break the power of Odin before. He didn't even know what kind of spell it was.

Everything the All-Father touched could end in two ways.

What if he chose the wrong spell to dissolve?

Maybe the magic of Odin would turn against him and you could get hurt. Or even die.

Hastily he shook his head.

No, he didn't want to think about that.

Restlessly, he let the tips of his fingers rub the surface.

With each touch it felt like your hands were pressing against the sphere, calling out to him.

Not a single idea came to his mind to break the spell.

His gift also failed him. The future was like a dark tunnel, no lamps or a small clue to guide him in the right direction.

What could he do?

He did not know.

What if he dropped the bullet?

Would you die instantly?

Could the spell be dissolved like that?

Probably that would have been far too easy. But he had no other option.

You would not be able to wait forever. At some point your time would be over, even if you had left in a magical environment.

In the end you were of mortal blood. And it would be your end in case he would fail to set you free.

"Curse these realms!", Heimdall growled and squeezed his grip around the orb until his knuckles turned white. "How am I supposed to?!"

Frustrated, he slammed his fist into the floor.

Shock chased through his entire body like lightning, then through the bone, making it tremble as if it would break into a thousand pieces.

The sound of something breaking rang out.

His heart stopped.

Now it had happened.

In his blind rage and the helplessness of not being able to see the future, he had ruined everything.

With trembling hands he lifted the orb.

Blood poured through his fingers in streams. Like rivers, it dripped onto the floor and spread the scent of iron.

Cracks ran through the polished surface. And from these cracks blood welled.

"No...", he whispered, desperately trying to squeeze the ball back together with the pressure in his palm.

But it was no use any more.

As if it had suddenly been made of sand, the little thing disintegrated into a thousand pieces. With every gap that got bigger, more blood came out.

It was everywhere, running down his arms, dripping onto his knees and wetting his trousers.

He was shaking all over as the orb fell apart.

What emerged was a stain so dark that it swallowed the pale glow of the candles.

His hands trembled.

The blood was so cold.

Like glue and yet like something he had never felt. The smell drove nausea up his nose.

All at once red turned black.

The stain leaked out as if the vessel it had been trapped in had broken. Warmth filled his hands.

Then it turned hot. So hot that he dropped the shards in pain.

With his throat tight with fear, Heimdall kept his eyes fixed on the prison from which you would probably never escape.

For nothing. Everything had been for nothing.

Anger rose in him.

Fury burned on his tongue.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw himself on the ground and press the blood back into the orb.

He wanted to undo his mistake. But he couldn't.

"It was all for nothing!", he growled through clenched teeth. "For nothing!"

As his voice began to tremble with emotion, the black smoke became golden sparks.

Like fireworks, it sprouted from the shards and filled the air.

With trembling eyes he stared at the sparks.

All at once everything was so bright.

The world blurred before him.

Candles flickered.

The world became heavier.

Air was forced from his lungs.

Magic filled the entire room.

It was so much, Heimdall could feel how powerless he was against it. If he ever had to fight against such a power, he would lose.

The brightness faded.

All at once it was so cold.

Desperately he blinked the pain out of his eyes.

His breath hitched.

"(Y/N).", on all fours he crawled over to your body.

You lay motionless, surrounded by blood.

Your eyes were closed. When he touched you, you did not react.

"Wake up.", he whispered while pulling you into his arms so he could carry you.

He managed to get to his feet.

You were breathing.

All at once pressure fell off his chest. It felt like as if an entire mountain was off his chest.

With a deep sigh, he couldn't help but chuckle.

"By Ragnarök.", Heimdall sighed. "Thank all the gods..."

Slowly he started to move so as not to endanger you.

But a few steps later he stopped.

There was a man lying on the ground. His open eyes were stained with blood.

Heimdall recognised him.

It was the man named Erik.

"So your arrogance has caught up with you after all.", he muttered and stepped over the corpse.

He knew there was a portal to all realms in the back room.

Odin always liked to keep an option open, despite his power.

At that moment it was quite useful. At least for transporting a human being.

He was already standing in the portal's circle.

Blue sparks rose from the ground.

"Heimdall?", a tired voice suddenly asked.

His gaze wandered downwards.

Your (E/C) eyes met his.

"Good morning sunshine.", he whispered with a gentle smile. "Can you stand?"

You nodded with difficulty.

Carefully he lowered himself to the ground and grabbed his belt.

"What are you doing?", you asked.

Blue magic enveloped your bodies.

"I still have a part of my deal to fulfil.", he said and lifted Gjallarhorn to his lips to blow it.