A bone-shaking gasp rips from Eivor's lips as her eyes snap open. She lurches up, sitting heavy in the lush grass- grass that wasn't present on the battlefield. There's no trace of blood, no valiant Viking war cries, no clash of steel on steel. The last thing she remembers is the searing pain of a fatal blow, the tang of iron on her tongue and the cold embrace of death. But now… there's no pain, no wound.

Eivor knows where she is; Valhalla.

Her heart clenches. She should feel victorious. This is what every warrior dreams of, what she was promised. She can hardly take in the breathtaking architecture of Valaskjalf that her mortal mind can barely comprehend as she stumbles through the towering doors, into the great hall. Her gaze sweeps frantically, taking in the revelry, the undying warriors, the unending feast.

Then—

A laugh, soft but unmistakable, cuts through the noise like a blade through silk. Eivor turns sharply, her breath catching as her gaze lands on you. You, the lover she lost so long ago but it feels like only yesterday that you slipped through her grasp. And here you are, in Odin's great hall, laughing and smiling and real.