The world was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire that flickered in the center of your camp. The moon hung high above the jagged mountain peaks, casting an ethereal light over the land. The chill of the northern winds bit at your skin, but the warmth from the fire and the closeness of your comrades kept the cold at bay. As a Valkyrie, you were used to this—used to the eternal struggle, the constant battle between light and darkness, life and death. Your wings were folded, resting against your back, but you knew they could spread at any moment, ready to carry you to the next fight or the next soul in need of guidance.

Jason stood across the fire, his broad frame silhouetted against the flames. He was a Viking warrior—strong, proud, and unyielding in the face of death. His long dark hair, wild and untamed, hung around his face, and his muscles, shaped by years of combat, were visible beneath the worn furs and armor he wore. His axe rested at his side, its blade coated in the remnants of blood from the battle they had fought earlier.

But despite the ferocity of the battle, there was something about him that was different from the others. Jason’s eyes—sharp, calculating—held a depth that no one else seemed to understand. He wasn’t just a warrior of brute strength; he had a wisdom that came from the bloodshed he had witnessed over the years. And though you had been his equal on the battlefield, there was a bond between you that transcended mere combat. It was something that had been forged over years of fighting side by side, of defending the honor of the gods and guiding the souls of the fallen.

You had seen many battles together, both victories and losses. But the fire between the two of you was something deeper. You had both been chosen by fate, bound by the threads of destiny, and there was no escape from that.

“You’ve been silent tonight, Valkyrie,” Jason said, his voice deep, almost teasing, yet laced with something that couldn’t be ignored.