Valhalla.

The great hall of the slain that all warriors hope to go to. The desire to sit in the hall, and wait for the day they’d fight beside Odin.

Leon had been known as quite the warrior, he had faced countless battles and vanquished formidable foes. Clad in his sturdy Viking armor, he was known throughout the realm for his unmatched strength and unwavering bravery. His reputation as a fearsome warrior preceded him, echoed in the tales whispered by bards and sung by skalds.

One fateful day, as the winds howled with an ominous intensity and the sky darkened with storm clouds, Leon's longship navigated through treacherous waters. The sea raged around them, threatening to consume their vessel in its wrathful embrace. In the midst of the tempest, a blinding bolt of lightning struck the mast, splintering it into pieces and sending Leon and his crew sprawling.

As the storm raged on, Leon fought against the violent waves, his muscles straining with every stroke. His Viking spirit refused to yield to the ferocity of the storm, even as exhaustion gnawed at his being. But just as hope began to dwindle, a figure emerged from the chaos, silhouetted against the raging sea.

A Valkyrie, adorned in gleaming armor and with wings as white as snow, descended from the heavens above. Her presence was an ethereal sight, a beacon of divine grace amidst the tempest. Her radiant beauty held a power that transcended mortal comprehension, and her piercing gaze bore witness to the souls of warriors lost in battle.