I grab the blade Dad gave me on my seventh birthday and press the tip to my finger, a sharp sting.
“He’ll never find me here,” I whisper, grinning mischievously, just as the runes drink the drop of blood.
I stopin front of this massive needlework, lightheaded from the vision. Looking around, making sure there are no students behind the closed-by shelves before lifting the heavy material. Before reaching the wooden door hidden under, I pull out the dagger from my belt and slice my palm; the cut burns sharply, and I welcome it. Pressing my wet skin flat against the runes. Those flare to life as soon as the word is out of my mouth, “ftah.”
The soft click echoes in the silence, and the door opens slowly. Slipping in, I swing it shut, swallowing myself in total darkness. I can’t see a damn thing. Taking a careful step is not enough; my foot slips, and down I go, landing hard on my ass. Ego bruised along with my tailbone, my fingers dig into the cold stone wall for balance. Slowly, I move forward, tracing the rough surface, hunting for even the faintest hint of light. Then, finally, a torch.
“Thank God,” I whisper.
Or maybe Kvirr is more fitting, since I summon its magic. Flames burst to life all along the spiral staircase, lighting the way. Relief floods my lungs before I slowly go down the stairs, the sound of flowing water growing louder.
White columns rise, circling an underground cavern. The bluish light from the worms casts an eerie hue over the water. Pooling around what seems to be a temple. At its center, a fountain stands proud, pegasus flanked by its valiant warriors,and it hits me then. This is one of the sacred havens of valkyries. They’re usually built where the veil is thinner between the pantheon of the Gods and Elgar.
No wonder this place is so vast, with ceilings that stretch high above. It must be buried beneath the mountain that surrounds the Institute. At the center, a golden suit of armour, coated in dust, stands on display. The helmet resting atop it, metal wings spread wide, as if it’s ready to take flight. The statue’s palm is raised, holding a sword lying flat.
Looking at it more carefully, I notice that it isn’t a simple weapon but a katana; the blade glints a light purple. This has to be the late Queen’s armour. Only the strongest valkyries have their shields showcased. Circling the display, a small light flickers in front of me. It blinks slowly, then starts spinning around me before darting off. It’s faster than a pixie and doesn’t have a definite form.
Am I supposed to follow it?
Fuck it, I’m following the small flame thing. It reappears a bit farther down and suddenly stops in front of a piece of art on the wall. The painting displays a valkyrie floating mid-air with bloodied wings. Her head is down in defeat. The light moves closer to the wall to display its writings.
In the realm of Elgar, one day darkness will reign,
A fallen angel shall awaken from its dream.
With wings of fire and a heart burdened with plight,
Its blood shall wield power to set things right.
Through the veil of time, its return is foreseen,
To restore the balance and mend what has been.
With each drop of its blood, evil shall be undone,
And the stolen peace of Elgar shall be won.
So mark this prophecy, let its words resound,
For the lost valkyrie's return shall be unbound.
With its blood as the catalyst, evil shall cease,
And the harmony of Elgar shall find its release.
“What thehellis this?” My voice sounds foreign to my ears, shaken with fear.
What’s that cryptic nonsense?
The only clear message is the one of evil and blood. Sure, the whole dream thing feels a little too precise to be a coincidence. But I don’t have wings, literally or figuratively. Even less flamed ones…
I’m going to be sick. My breath comes in fast, my head spins. I need out—now. I step back, eyes distant, mind running wild, trying to grab at anything, any solution.
Wait…
Who says it’s me?
I need to calm my stupid nerves. Closing my eyes, I take a deep inhale. That light might have led me here to make me aware of the prophecy. To share that the key to ending evil lies with the valkyries, not me, per se. But it resides in the angel warriors reclaiming their place, their stolen honour.
