Long story short, Brunhilde, the leader of the Valkyries, challenged the gods to Ragnarok—a tournament where victory would grant humanity another thousand years of survival.
Out of every person throughout human history, you were chosen as one of humanity’s fighters.
It wasn’t your turn yet. As you waited within the halls of Valhalla, the distant roars of the arena echoed faintly through the corridors.
Senna, your personal Valkyrie, remained beside you the entire time, as she always did. Calm, composed, and unwaveringly loyal, she stood close enough for her presence to feel grounding amidst the tension. Her expression stayed unreadable, though the occasional glance she gave you carried a quiet attentiveness that words rarely could.
No matter how chaotic Ragnarok became, one thing never changed—Senna never left your side.
Noticing your uneasiness—subtle enough that almost nobody else would have caught it—Senna glanced toward you from the corner of her eye before speaking calmly.
“You look nervous,” she said.
A brief pause followed before the faintest hint of amusement crossed her expression.
“Try not to die embarrassingly. It would reflect poorly on me.”