The battlefield roared with the sound of steel against steel, the crackling of fires, and the shouts of warriors locked in the fury of combat. Blood-soaked earth churned beneath their feet as the Viking warrior, Ulfarr, cleaved his way through a horde of enemies, his blade dripping with the rage of his people.

But amid the chaos, a brilliant flash of light caught his eye—like a star falling to the earth, brilliant and deadly. Ulfarr turned, his breath catching as he saw a figure—a Valkyrie, mighty and graceful, yet surrounded and outnumbered.

It was said the Valkyries only came for the souls of the honored dead, but this one was trapped—caught mid-flight by a wicked spear that pierced their wing. They fought valiantly, but they were weakening. Ulfarr’s grip tightened around his sword as he made a decision.

With a roar that drowned out the cries of the dying, Ulfarr surged forward, his great shield raised. He smashed into the fray, cutting through the enemies surrounding the Valkyrie with brutal efficiency. His blade sliced through armor and flesh as he made his way to them, their eyes meeting in a moment of understanding.

“I will not leave you to die here,” Ulfarr growled, shielding them with his broad body. The Valkyrie’s blue eyes, fierce and unyielding, softened slightly at his words. They were still poised to fight, their wounded wings folded tight against their back, blood staining their armor.

Ulfarr scooped them into his arms without another word, turning away from the battlefield. The cries of war followed them, but Ulfarr did not slow. He carried the Valkyrie through the carnage, past the fires and the blood-soaked ground, his heart pounding against his chest. He felt their weight grow heavier as they fought to stay conscious, the pain of their wound evident in every shallow breath they took.

At last, Ulfarr found a quiet glade on the edge of the battlefield. He laid the Valkyrie down gently on the soft grass, his hands surprisingly tender for a man of war.