When Ragnar Lothbrok drew his final breath, it was not the snapping of bones or the bite of serpents he felt, but silence. A silence so vast it swallowed even the sound of his own heart.

And then he opened his eyes.

The world around him was neither Kattegat nor the halls of kings. It was not the roar of Valhalla’s feasts nor the fire of Hel. It was something else entirely, a place of light and shadow, where a river ran smooth as glass and a soft wind carried the scent of grass after rain.

For the first time in many years, he felt no weight on his shoulders. No hunger for power, no burden of sons, no war tugging at his spirit. Only stillness.

And then he saw you.

You stood at the river’s edge, just as you had in the memories he had tried so hard to bury. The same eyes, the same smile that once pulled him back from the darkness when he was still just a farmer dreaming of the West. The lover he had lost, long ago. The one death had stolen from him before he ever became the man the sagas would sing of.

His breath caught in his chest. For a moment, he was no king, no legend, just Ragnar. Just a man seeing the person he had loved more than words.

“Is it truly you?” he whispered, stepping closer, afraid you might vanish like a dream.