"Ladies..." Professor Elliot Randolph forced a stiff smile onto his face. "That’s a rather unusual question."
"In the old myths, the Asgardians are fearless gods."
"And gods don’t have deserters."
Outwardly, he remained composed.
Inside, alarm bells were ringing.
How could they possibly know?
He’d been careful for centuries.
Professor Elliot Randolph was only his latest identity. Before that, he’d worn dozens of names across eight hundred years.
Behind every one of them was the same truth.
He had once been a soldier of Asgard’s Berserker Legion.
It had happened near the end of the twelfth century.
A detachment of Berserkers had descended to Earth on a routine mission.
Most returned home once it was complete.
One did not.
Earth had proven... irresistible.
He deserted.
He stayed.
Calling him a deserter was, by Asgardian standards, entirely accurate.
Ever since then, he’d lived cautiously, changing identities every few decades and avoiding any display of strength that might expose him.
As the modern world became increasingly interconnected, that caution only deepened.
For generations, he had lived as nothing more than an ordinary scholar.
Well...
Mostly ordinary.
He’d never managed to give up drinking.
Expecting an Asgardian to abandon alcohol was about as realistic as expecting Tony Stark to lose interest in women.
Still, enjoying liquor wasn’t exactly proof of divine ancestry.
Otherwise, half of Russia would be claiming Odin as a distant relative.
"I suppose the myths wouldn’t mention something like that."
Alythess frowned thoughtfully, as though disappointed by his answer.
Then her eyes brightened.
"In that case..."
"Let’s use Viking tradition instead."
"I’ve heard deserters were sometimes hung from a ship’s mast and left for the crows."
She smiled pleasantly.
"Professor..."
Salysra sighed with theatrical sympathy.
"...you’re in serious trouble."
Truthfully, Randolph probably could have hidden forever if fate hadn’t intervened.
His mistake hadn’t been desertion.
It had been showing off.
After the New Mexico incident revealed the existence of Asgard, the World Security Council urgently consulted every respected expert on Norse mythology they could find.
Randolph, naturally, topped the list.
Most scholars stayed within the boundaries of mythology.
They debated symbolism.
Quoted the Poetic Edda.
Argued over conflicting legends.
Randolph...
Didn’t.
Whether tempted by generous compensation or simply eager to demonstrate his expertise, he casually offered details no mythology professor should have known.
For example...
He correctly stated that Loki was Thor’s brother.
Not his uncle, as many medieval sources claimed.
He also explained that Lady Sif was not Thor’s wife.
Historically accurate.
Mythologically heretical.
The academic community erupted.
To every other expert, Randolph wasn’t merely disagreeing.
He was threatening the foundations of their entire field.
The Council watched the arguments unfold with growing confusion.
Randolph sounded convincing.
His critics sounded furious.
Eventually they reached a very bureaucratic conclusion.
Forget the historians.
Ask the man who actually talks to Asgardians.
From then on, anything involving Asgard went directly to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Special Affairs Consultant.
Evenson Richter.
The scholars’ reports were archived.
Nearly forgotten.
Nearly.
During one conversation, Nick Fury casually mentioned that one professor possessed surprisingly accurate knowledge of Asgard.
The comment lodged itself in Evenson’s mind.
Something about it felt wrong.
Using his authority as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s resident Asgard specialist, he requested every report.
Randolph’s immediately caught his attention.
The details were too precise.
Too accurate.
Too firsthand.
There were only two possibilities.
Either the professor maintained close contact with Asgard...
...or he was Asgardian.
Evenson vaguely remembered hearing about an Asgardian deserter hiding on Earth.
He decided the second possibility was far more likely.
"...Trouble?"
Randolph’s voice tightened.
"What exactly does any of this have to do with me?"
Alythess leaned forward.
"You truly believe you’ve hidden from Heimdall forever?"
There was no point dancing around the issue anymore.
She spoke plainly.
"Lady Sif is currently on Earth."
"She’s ordered us to return you to Asgard."
Oddly enough, hearing everything laid out so directly calmed Randolph instead of frightening him.
"So..."
He folded his hands.
"Lady Sif sent you?"
"You could say that," Salysra answered evenly.
Randolph chuckled.
"No."
"That’s impossible."
"If Asgard wanted me back..."
"...they would send Asgardians."
"Not humans."
Alythess snorted.
"You’ve lived on Earth for centuries and still don’t understand?"
"This is Earth."
"Not Midgard."
"Humans govern this world."
"Not Asgard."
Salysra nodded.
"You’re one of theirs."
"But you’re standing on human soil."
"So we’ll arrest you here..."
"...and hand you over afterward."
"An extradition agreement?"
Randolph frowned.
At first, the idea sounded absurd.
Then he remembered Odin’s respect for humanity.
Perhaps...
Such an arrangement wasn’t impossible.
He sighed.
"So this is finally the end."
He slowly looked around his office.
Every bookshelf.
Every photograph.
Every reminder of the life he’d built.
"I’ll go with you."
Opening a desk drawer, he removed a silver flask.
He emptied it in one long swallow.
"I really don’t want to leave."
He had considered resisting.
But if Heimdall had truly found him...
Running would accomplish nothing.
Escaping two human women only to be hunted by Lady Sif herself was hardly an improvement.
"I’ll gather a few belongings," he said.
"Then we can meet Lady Sif."
"No."
Alythess dismissed the idea immediately.
"Lady Sif instructed us to bring you directly to the rendezvous point."
"Then you’d return through the Bifrost."
Randolph paused.
"...Those were her exact instructions?"
"Of course."
Salysra answered without hesitation.
"Asgard has very little patience for cowards who run."
"...I see."
Randolph lowered his head.
Then...
He smiled.
A genuine smile.
"It seems I won’t be leaving after all."
He looked up.
"You aren’t working for Lady Sif."
For the first time, genuine confusion crossed the twins’ faces.
Had they slipped?
Where?
Randolph laughed softly.
"I served in the Berserker Legion."
"One of Asgard’s elite forces."
"But before that?"
"I was just a stonemason."
He mimed swinging a hammer.
"I broke rocks for a living."
"It was the Berserker Staff that transformed me into a warrior."
His eyes grew distant.
"For every Berserker, the Staff is more valuable than the soldier carrying it."
"It awakens the rage buried in the heart and grants unimaginable strength."
"When I remained on Earth..."
"...the Staff remained here as well."
He looked directly at the twins.
"If Lady Sif truly wanted me back..."
"...recovering the Berserker Staff would have been her first priority."
"She would never ignore it."
"The Staff is far more important than I am."
Alythess sighed dramatically.
"Well..."
"So much for the elegant approach."
She shot her sister an exasperated look.
"You should’ve listened to me."
"We should’ve knocked him unconscious the moment we walked in."
"Much simpler."
Salysra answered with icy disdain.
"Must you imitate those filthy pit lords?"
"We’re Eredar."
"Cultured."
"Refined."
"Solving everything through brute force is terribly inelegant."
She rose gracefully from her chair.
"...Although..."
"It appears we’ll have to make an exception.""Ladies..." Professor Elliot Randolph forced a stiff smile onto his face. "That’s a rather unusual question."
"In the old myths, the Asgardians are fearless gods."
"And gods don’t have deserters."
Outwardly, he remained composed.
Inside, alarm bells were ringing.
How could they possibly know?
He’d been careful for centuries.
Professor Elliot Randolph was only his latest identity. Before that, he’d worn dozens of names across eight hundred years.
Behind every one of them was the same truth.
He had once been a soldier of Asgard’s Berserker Legion.
It had happened near the end of the twelfth century.
A detachment of Berserkers had descended to Earth on a routine mission.
Most returned home once it was complete.
One did not.
Earth had proven... irresistible.
He deserted.
He stayed.
Calling him a deserter was, by Asgardian standards, entirely accurate.
Ever since then, he’d lived cautiously, changing identities every few decades and avoiding any display of strength that might expose him.
As the modern world became increasingly interconnected, that caution only deepened.
For generations, he had lived as nothing more than an ordinary scholar.
Well...
Mostly ordinary.
He’d never managed to give up drinking.
Expecting an Asgardian to abandon alcohol was about as realistic as expecting Tony Stark to lose interest in women.
Still, enjoying liquor wasn’t exactly proof of divine ancestry.
Otherwise, half of Russia would be claiming Odin as a distant relative.
"I suppose the myths wouldn’t mention something like that."
Alythess frowned thoughtfully, as though disappointed by his answer.
Then her eyes brightened.
"In that case..."
"Let’s use Viking tradition instead."
"I’ve heard deserters were sometimes hung from a ship’s mast and left for the crows."
She smiled pleasantly.
"Professor..."
Salysra sighed with theatrical sympathy.
"...you’re in serious trouble."
Truthfully, Randolph probably could have hidden forever if fate hadn’t intervened.
His mistake hadn’t been desertion.
It had been showing off.
After the New Mexico incident revealed the existence of Asgard, the World Security Council urgently consulted every respected expert on Norse mythology they could find.
Randolph, naturally, topped the list.
Most scholars stayed within the boundaries of mythology.
They debated symbolism.
Quoted the Poetic Edda.
Argued over conflicting legends.
Randolph...
Didn’t.
Whether tempted by generous compensation or simply eager to demonstrate his expertise, he casually offered details no mythology professor should have known.
For example...
He correctly stated that Loki was Thor’s brother.
Not his uncle, as many medieval sources claimed.
He also explained that Lady Sif was not Thor’s wife.
Historically accurate.
Mythologically heretical.
The academic community erupted.
To every other expert, Randolph wasn’t merely disagreeing.
He was threatening the foundations of their entire field.
The Council watched the arguments unfold with growing confusion.
Randolph sounded convincing.
His critics sounded furious.
Eventually they reached a very bureaucratic conclusion.
Forget the historians.
Ask the man who actually talks to Asgardians.
From then on, anything involving Asgard went directly to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Special Affairs Consultant.
Evenson Richter.
The scholars’ reports were archived.
Nearly forgotten.
Nearly.
During one conversation, Nick Fury casually mentioned that one professor possessed surprisingly accurate knowledge of Asgard.
The comment lodged itself in Evenson’s mind.
Something about it felt wrong.
Using his authority as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s resident Asgard specialist, he requested every report.
Randolph’s immediately caught his attention.
The details were too precise.
Too accurate.
Too firsthand.
There were only two possibilities.
Either the professor maintained close contact with Asgard...
...or he was Asgardian.
Evenson vaguely remembered hearing about an Asgardian deserter hiding on Earth.
He decided the second possibility was far more likely.
"...Trouble?"
Randolph’s voice tightened.
"What exactly does any of this have to do with me?"
Alythess leaned forward.
"You truly believe you’ve hidden from Heimdall forever?"
There was no point dancing around the issue anymore.
She spoke plainly.
"Lady Sif is currently on Earth."
"She’s ordered us to return you to Asgard."
Oddly enough, hearing everything laid out so directly calmed Randolph instead of frightening him.
"So..."
He folded his hands.
"Lady Sif sent you?"
"You could say that," Salysra answered evenly.
Randolph chuckled.
"No."
"That’s impossible."
"If Asgard wanted me back..."
"...they would send Asgardians."
"Not humans."
Alythess snorted.
"You’ve lived on Earth for centuries and still don’t understand?"
"This is Earth."
"Not Midgard."
"Humans govern this world."
"Not Asgard."
Salysra nodded.
"You’re one of theirs."
"But you’re standing on human soil."
"So we’ll arrest you here..."
"...and hand you over afterward."
"An extradition agreement?"
Randolph frowned.
At first, the idea sounded absurd.
Then he remembered Odin’s respect for humanity.
Perhaps...
Such an arrangement wasn’t impossible.
He sighed.
"So this is finally the end."
He slowly looked around his office.
Every bookshelf.
Every photograph.
Every reminder of the life he’d built.
"I’ll go with you."
Opening a desk drawer, he removed a silver flask.
He emptied it in one long swallow.
"I really don’t want to leave."
He had considered resisting.
But if Heimdall had truly found him...
Running would accomplish nothing.
Escaping two human women only to be hunted by Lady Sif herself was hardly an improvement.
"I’ll gather a few belongings," he said.
"Then we can meet Lady Sif."
"No."
Alythess dismissed the idea immediately.
"Lady Sif instructed us to bring you directly to the rendezvous point."
"Then you’d return through the Bifrost."
Randolph paused.
"...Those were her exact instructions?"
"Of course."
Salysra answered without hesitation.
"Asgard has very little patience for cowards who run."
"...I see."
Randolph lowered his head.
Then...
He smiled.
A genuine smile.
"It seems I won’t be leaving after all."
He looked up.
"You aren’t working for Lady Sif."
For the first time, genuine confusion crossed the twins’ faces.
Had they slipped?
Where?
Randolph laughed softly.
"I served in the Berserker Legion."
"One of Asgard’s elite forces."
"But before that?"
"I was just a stonemason."
He mimed swinging a hammer.
"I broke rocks for a living."
"It was the Berserker Staff that transformed me into a warrior."
His eyes grew distant.
"For every Berserker, the Staff is more valuable than the soldier carrying it."
"It awakens the rage buried in the heart and grants unimaginable strength."
"When I remained on Earth..."
"...the Staff remained here as well."
He looked directly at the twins.
"If Lady Sif truly wanted me back..."
"...recovering the Berserker Staff would have been her first priority."
"She would never ignore it."
"The Staff is far more important than I am."
Alythess sighed dramatically.
"Well..."
"So much for the elegant approach."
She shot her sister an exasperated look.
"You should’ve listened to me."
"We should’ve knocked him unconscious the moment we walked in."
"Much simpler."
Salysra answered with icy disdain.
"Must you imitate those filthy pit lords?"
"We’re Eredar."
"Cultured."
"Refined."
"Solving everything through brute force is terribly inelegant."
She rose gracefully from her chair.
"...Although..."
"It appears we’ll have to make an exception."
...
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