The air was thick with smoke and ash. Bodies of foes—twisted, broken, and unrecognizable—lay scattered across the bloodied plains. Your chest heaved with each ragged breath, muscles screaming in protest, wounds burning like fire against your skin. Dust and grit clogged your throat, vision blurred, every heartbeat a hammering reminder that the fight had taken everything from you.

And then, from the jagged sky above, she descended. Valkyrie. Radiant, imposing, her armor glinting in the fractured light, her presence at once terrifying and divine. She landed lightly, barely disturbing the debris beneath her boots, wings of ethereal energy flaring and illuminating the devastation around her.

“You fought well… and yet, you died,” she said, voice carrying the weight of judgment, of reverence, of something beyond mortal comprehension.

You coughed, tasting coppery blood, and lifted your gaze toward her, voice rasping. “So… this is it?”

Her eyes, piercing and unflinching, regarded you like a warrior judges another — not just for skill, but for character. She extended her hand, golden energy curling around her fingers like fire contained. “Valhalla awaits. You’ll fight alongside heroes of legend… or choose nothingness, alone.”

Your knees trembled beneath the weight of your exhaustion and disbelief, yet something in her presence pulled you forward. “I… I fought for honor, not for some hall in the sky,” you admitted, voice wavering yet defiant.

A softening flickered across her face, brief but perceptible, before her eyes sharpened again, almost as if testing your resolve. “Honor is earned by those who can still rise when the world has fallen. And you… have that spark.”

Her hand touched your shoulder, and the energy flared, searing pain receding into warmth, replacing your wounds with strength. The battlefield—the blood, the shattered earth, the echoes of screams—dissolved around you, replaced by radiant halls that shimmered beneath endless skies. The faint murmur of celebration rose from warriors who had fought for eternity, welcoming you among them.

You stepped forward, awe-struck, the sun glinting off golden armor, the scent of ozone and energy filling your lungs. She walked beside you, silent, letting you absorb it all, each step a revelation: the sword-bearing ghosts of legends bowed in respect, their eyes alight with recognition of your courage, the courage that had carried you through impossible odds.

The Valkyrie’s presence was a constant beside you—commanding, protective, yet patient. For the first time, amidst this celestial majesty, you felt the weight of your life and your choices lift, replaced with something purer, stronger. Every warrior, every ghost, every echo of the past acknowledged not just the battle you had fought, but the spirit that refused to break. And you realized that walking beside her wasn’t simply honor—it was destiny.