The torches flicker, casting dancing shadows across Odin's face as he rises—radiating power that makes my head spin.
"My son..." His voice rumbles. "Stolen from us, while a serpent wore his face."
More tears fall as Frigg weeps. The sound of a mother's grief tears at something in my chest, and I have to look away. Because if I don't, I might start bawling myself. And wouldn't that be a sight? The prophesied savior, reduced to a blubbering mess in the halls of Ásgard. Loki would be laughing his ass off.
Odin's eye closes, the weight of loss bowing even his immortal shoulders.
"Brynhildr." Odin's voice softens. "Rise, child of mine."
Bryn stands, shoulders still bowed under invisible weight. Odin's weathered hand reaches out, gently tilting her chin up until their eyes meet. The gesture reminds me of a father with his daughter, not an AllFather with his Valkyrie.
"You carry no shame here." His eye flicks to Erik, whose hand is now wrapped around Bryn's waist, then back to Bryn's face. Something shifts in Odin's expression—understanding, perhaps. Or acceptance. "The path before you is your own now." His words echo with the weight of divine blessing. "Walk it with the same strength that has always made these halls proud."
He bends, pressing his lips to her forehead. Bryn's breath catches, her eyes widening as centuries of duty dissolve in a single touch.
Without another word, Odin turns, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strides from the hall. The sound of his footsteps fades, leaving behind a silence that feels lighter somehow.
Frigg rises from her throne, gliding toward me. Despite her tears, she radiates power that makes my teeth ache. Her hands cup my face, calm as moonlight against my skin.
"You freed us from the serpent's coils, Lightborn. But beware—one shadow falls only for another to rise. When darkness comes, remember—light shines brightest in the deepest night." Her thumbs brush my cheeks. "You carry more than just prophecy in your heart. You carry hope."
She kisses my forehead, just as Odin did to Bryn. For a moment, I smell summer flowers and taste honey on my tongue.
"Remember," she breathes against my skin. "The darkest night comes before the brightest dawn."
Before I can ask what the hell that means, she's gone.
The mead hall of Valor's Watch echoes with ancient stories, though the only tale I care about is how long it will take Bryn to pack her suitcase. She's gathering her "treasured possessions," which in Valkyrie-speak probably means an arsenal of weapons and maybe a few hair ties.
I can't help the ridiculous grin spreading across my face. My sister—my actual, honest-to-gods sister—is coming home with us. Like, to the mortal realm.
Home.
The word makes me want to do a happy dance right here on these hallowed floors. Sorry, Odin, but your blessing translated to "go forth and get that vampire D."
I mean, let's be real. Long-distance relationships are hard enough when your boyfriend lives in another city. Try making it work across different realms of existence. "Sorry, honey, can't make date night. The Bifrost is down for maintenance." Yeah, no.
I can't wait to introduce her to all the wonders of modern life. Netflix binges, where we can watch an entire season of something in one sitting without any divine interruptions. Spa days with actual hot stone massages, not whatever passes for relaxation when you live in the clouds. Online shopping—because something tells me Valkyrie armor isn't exactly comfortable for casual Fridays.
And Erik? Mr. "I-Never-Met-An-Emotion-I-Couldn't-Suppress" is practically glowing. Well, as much as a vampire can glow without bursting into flames. I've seen him crack more smiles in the last few hours than in all the time I've known him. It's almost unsettling, like watching a gargoyle do stand-up comedy.
Though if he keeps up with the lovey-dovey eyes, I might have to start calling him Sir Smitten instead of Sir Stoic. And won't Lucian love that little nugget of ammunition?
God, we have so much to cover—yoga pants, Starbucks, reality TV, and brunch. My sister's about to get the whole mortal experience, which will be epic.
And, can we take a moment to appreciate that we took down Loki? Like, the actual God of Mischief and Lies? I mean, I know I've got this whole 'savior blood' thing going on, and Rhyland's a demigod powerhouse, but still. We tag-teamed a god and won. That's got to earn us some serious cosmic brownie points, right?
Though I guess you get one hell of a cocktail when you mix savior juice with demigod mojo.
Even Loki didn't see that one coming. And speaking of things I didn't see coming—I can go full Storm from X-Men now? That was terrifying and exhilarating, like riding a hurricane while trying not to pee your pants. Definitely need to practice that particular party trick before I accidentally create a tornado in the living room.
I still remember Loki's taunts to Rhyland about "staying dead." It got me thinking—Loki's clearly been playing the long game here. He knew about Rhyland's resurrection, about my whole destiny schtick. He's been lurking in the shadows like a creeper, just waiting for the perfect moment to hitch a ride back to Ásgard and throw a wrench in the cosmic gears.
All those "coincidences," all those perfect moments of chaos—he was moving pieces on a board we didn't even know we were playing on.
The Zephyrite stone pulses against my head, agreeing with my anger. Or maybe it's just reminding me not to accidentally summon a thunderstorm while I'm brooding. Being a savior really needs to come with an instruction manual. "How to Handle Your Godly Powers Without Destroying the Weather System: A Beginner's Guide."
Bryn resurfaces with an energetic grin, leather satchels slung over her shoulders like some mythical bag lady. Erik's on her in a hot second, playing the gallant knight and relieving her of her burdens.
