At Hero's Bay

Controlled Chaos

𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𓄹 𝐙𝐈𝐙'𝐈𝐋 𓄼

Ziz'il Nizne did not consider herself to be brazen in nature, unlike other Anzaarians.

Although the excessive amount of tears she shed on a daily basis might prove otherwise, Ziz'il knows not to be so outright presumptuous under any circumstances. She was hardly considered to be a proud Anzaarian—merely the lowest of the low—picking off the bits of scraps others left behind. And not even within the company of Asgardians, who actually lived up to their golden reputation, are enough to abate her unease.

She walks through the golden cloisters and halls of the Asgardian palace, Valaskjalf, with more of a stumble in her step than a skip. There are servants, advisors, and handmaidens around every corner ready to tend to her every need—as she was a guest—but Ziz'il can hardly make eye contact with the ground itself as her head hangs below her shoulders. Quickly, Ziz'il warns rather than encourages herself, the sooner you get to Heimdall, the sooner you can go back to bed and be out of everyone's way.

It's hardly midday now, and she hopes that the all-seeing gatekeeper of Asgard will not be too displeased by her sudden appearance. Ziz'il quickly shakes her head as she remembers that nothing about her presence will be sudden, not to him. As she darts through every corner and street of the Asgardian conurbation, she has her fist tight to her chest, clutching a silver locket that gleams against the sun's golden—yet another reason why Ziz'il had felt so out of place.

Unfortunately for Ziz'il, Y/N had informed her that she wouldn't be able to join her excursions, as her meeting with the Allfather would determine whether or not they were prisoners or guests in this realm. With an intrusive question pushing at the back of her throat, however, Ziz'il only stammered out a quick farewell before flinching at the door of their shared quarters, slamming shut. If only we could've wished each other good luck than said goodbye, Ziz'il thinks with a disheartened frown before craning her neck high to spot the Himinbjorg dome beyond the Bifrost bridge.

"Good luck..." Ziz'il whispered to herself, "Good luck...good luck!"

Trekking down the elongated and ethereal pathway gave Ziz'il a considerable amount of time to steel herself before meeting with Heimdall, rehearsing in her head what questions to ask concerning her brother. If he had the time, perhaps he could tell her how her parents are doing back on Anzaar. Ziz'il's heated sigh was lost to the clouds and stars above, and she could not help but admire the sights of this realm—it was neither day nor night here, as expected of Asgard's mystical grandeur.

The edges of the Nine Realms are more beautiful than the last, Ziz'il thinks as she gazes up at the flickering stars and billowing clouds, if only Za'vek was here.

Before she realized it, Ziz'il found herself standing beneath the entryway of the dome, swallowing the heart in her mouth when she saw the gatekeeper's imposing figure overlooking the galaxies. He is donning golden armor but the silvery glint of Ziz'il's locket, unfortunately, manages to catch her attention faster. The edges of the chain dangle and slip between her fingers when Ziz'il looks up again, and she nearly shrieks when she finds Heimdall right in front and looming over her.

"Good afternoon, Ziz'il Nizne of Anzaar," Heimdall greets and turns away before she has the chance to open her mouth, "You are not intruding, so do not fret. I find your company much more amiable than Princess Y/N Skaraeith's."