Chapter 20 Danica #2
The fact that I even care makes me want to punch something. Here I am, getting all emotional over a father who couldn't be bothered to lift a celestial finger when I needed help. It's like having a paper cut that won't heal—this tiny, persistent ache that shouldn't hurt as much as it does.
And then there's my mysterious sister—the original chosen one who didn't make the gig.
I'd been secretly hoping to meet her, to find someone who understands what it's like to have the world's most emotionally unavailable deity for a father.
But it looks like that particular family reunion will have to wait.
Awesome.
"What do you mean gone?" Rhyland demands, his voice echoing off the ancient walls.
Heimdall glides toward us with the grace of a predator, each step making his armor sing.
"As in Elysium returned to his realm, Odin went back to ásgard, and Bryn returned to the Valors Watch.
" Those eerie green eyes lock onto me like targeting lasers.
"You must be Danica." His gaze slides to Erik. "And who is this?"
Well, I might as well jump right into the deep end of awkward introductions. I peel off my snow-crusted glove and thrust my hand toward him like I'm meeting a new coworker instead of an ancient godly guardian. "Hi, it's Dani. It's nice to meet you."
He stares at my outstretched hand like I'm offering him a live grenade but eventually wraps his massive paw around mine with surprising gentleness. "And this is Erik. My friend and Rhyland's brother," I add, trying to diffuse the tension that's thick enough to cut with a knife.
A ghost of a smirk tugs at Heimdall's lips like he's both amused and baffled by my complete lack of proper divine etiquette. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lightborn."
My chest tightens. Lightborn. I haven't heard that title since Adrian used it on that stone Golem.
The memory hits like a sledgehammer, and I physically shake my head to dislodge it.
Nope, not going down that particular angst-ridden rabbit hole today.
I've got enough on my plate without taking a stroll down traumatic memory lane.
"Just call me Dani." I flash my best 'let's-all-be-friends' smile while Erik starts his typical security sweep, probably cataloging every possible exit and threat like the strategic vampire boy scout he is.
"How do we get to ásgard from here?" Rhyland demands, his alpha-male energy practically radiating off him. "We need to speak to him, to find the—"
"Stone?" Heimdall interrupts, looking way too pleased with himself.
"Yeah, about that..." Rhyland's voice drops to that dangerous growl that usually means someone's about to have a very bad day. "What the fuck possessed you ancient assholes to skip the part about this being the same goddamn realm as the air stone?"
Heimdall's lips curl into a smirk. "What was more pressing at the time, Godborn? Your cosmic destiny or a geography lesson?"
I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling. Who knew the Norse watchdog had such a sharp wit? Judging by the muscle ticking in Rhyland's jaw, he does not appreciate his answer.
"Besides," Heimdall says condescendingly, "it isn't our responsibility to guide the saviors through their quests. You two are supposed to figure these things out on your own." His precise tone suggests he's explaining basic math to particularly slow students.
I roll my eyes. Oh, for the love of GOD.
If I have to hear one more person spout this "figure it out yourself" garbage, I will lose it.
Who came up with this brilliant rule anyway?
Some sadistic deity sitting on their throne thinking, "You know what would be hilarious?
Let's make them solve deadly riddles and hunt for magical rocks across multiple realms without any actual guidance! "
Because heaven forbid they give us a straight answer for once. No, that would be too easy. We've got to earn our apocalypse-preventing merit badges the hard way.
"But it seems," Heimdall's voice carries the smug satisfaction of an immortal who's seen it all, "that your mate is quite the clever little thing. Figured it out in no time at all."
Yeah, except it was Seraphina who connected those particular dots. But I'm not about to correct this behemoth of snark.
"You still haven't answered my question.
" Rhyland's patience evaporates like water on hot coals.
"How do we get to ásgard?" His hands curl into fists, and the air around us dances with electric potential.
Through our bond, I feel his power surge like a gathering storm, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
"I suggest you keep those sparks under control, Godborn." Heimdall's tone drops to a deadly warning. "Unless you fancy testing if lightning can bring down a sacred spire."
Rhyland exhales forcefully as if physically wrestling his power back under control. I know that feeling all too well—Luminara's magic had me buzzing like I'd mainlined a dozen magical espressos. And now, it seems this realm is cranking Rhyland's divine mojo up to maximum levels.
"But I'm so pleased you asked," Heimdall says. "Odin, in his infinite wisdom, anticipated your return. He has graciously provided you with a means to traverse the realm." He motions for us to follow, leading us to the rear of the Spire.
With a flourish that's entirely too dramatic for my taste, Heimdall throws open a massive door, revealing a sight that takes my breath away.
What in the actual hell?