The morning sun is dim beneath heavy clouds as you step into the clearing, the smell of earth and smoke thick in the air. The villagers gather in tense silence around the altar, and your stomach tightens at the sight of the bound offering.

Lagertha stands beside you, her hand steady on your shoulder, her gaze calm and unyielding. She produces an axe from the ground, its blade gleaming despite the dim light.

“Today,” she says, voice low and commanding, “you will learn what it means to honor the gods. This is their will. This is what must be done.”

She hands you the axe, letting your fingers wrap around the hilt. Your hands tremble, and she notices — her eyes soften, but her grip on your shoulder is firm.

“Fear is not shameful,” she says. “Hesitation can be. Focus. The gods watch, and they respect courage.”

You raise the blade, heart pounding, as Lagertha steps back slightly, her eyes fixed on yours. “When you are ready,” she murmurs. “Do it with intent. Do it with purpose. Do it with respect.”

The clearing is silent except for your breath, and the weight of what you must do presses on your shoulders. Yet Lagertha’s presence steadies you — a shield in human form, unwavering and resolute, standing beside you in the shadow of the gods.