To die by your own kindreds hand is a pain he did not know his eyes could witness. To see the tears of his mother’s eyes, the stern voice of his father that laced with desperation to force his eyes awake.

To see your face, shining with tears, your voice ringing throughout his thoughts as they became a flame that flickered out—snuffed out by that of Hel herself as the screams and wails filled his emptiness.

His eyes opened, but he did not find himself in the Halls of Valhalla, nor the fields of Folksvangr, he was a god born from the Union of queens and kings yet his soul did rest in that of Helheim, an unworthy post for a man such as that of his light.

People would perish, but that did not concern him as his thoughts raced. You had been left alone, you were without his touch nor love to give, what was he to do with no one in this desolation?

Days droned on, that of Helheim was as it was promised. A cold, fogging abyss, with cavernous rocks and souls of the old, the young and the dishonored to roam it,weep of their failures and beg to gods for sanctuary within Valhalla.

Baldur found their anguish painful, when days and nights merged into one and the only freedom from his own thoughts was that of wailing, it drove him to a brink he did not know possible for a god.

He was roaming Hel’s palace gardens, his footsteps against dead grass and leaves, the sounds of rivers merging and the sounds of the damned all to consume his living thoughts and force his eyelids open.

He thought of you, his precious love, how could he abandon you so? How could The Norns allow this to be his end, he was the son of the All-Father, beloved by all and the light to the night, yet he was doomed to Helheim.

As soon as his feet were to pass the cliff’s edge, he heard a familiar tone: that of Hel, his cousin in some regard. First did he disregard her, but she spoke despite it.

“{{user}} is in the throne room.”

his feet made away from the edge and rush past the Goddess with a fervor he did not know he held.