It had been an age since Westley rode the waves.
In a snap decision, Westley padded softly to his door and wrenched it open. To his surprise, no guards lingered outside his rooms. He meant to ask them for the closest route to the ocean but instead took the opportunity to explore the sleeping palace.
Moonlight seeped in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, calming Westley’s restless heart, the torrent of energy in his blood soothed by the peace he’d found here.
No wonder Solveig had been lighter, despite her heavy and endless duties. Asgard fed her soul.
A strange sense of welcomeness enveloped him. Instead of feeling like he was sneaking around, it was as though the palace urged him to find what he was looking for.
After an hour of poking his head into vacant rooms, he stopped in front of white stone doors decorated with gold and silver designs.
Golden handles gave way under his grip as he pushed the doors open, greeted by the grandest library he’d ever seen. Three stories of bookshelves lined the walls, stretching to the ceilings, not an empty spot to be seen amongst the vast collection.
Each level had a platform with white staircases leading up, with rolling ladders fixed to the shelves. Westley marvelled at the intricate maze of standing bookcases that wove through the room. Tables, comfy chairs, and sofas decorated the space.
Friends could gather for lively discussions in more open parts of the library, while readers and scholars could find solace, absorbed in their books, in more secluded areas.
A stone pedestal had been placed in the centre, tall and proud.
Westley’s heart thumped in his chest as something inside him whispered,Look. Intrigued, he found a large tome already open on the platform, the pages coloured with age. Westley glanced around to see if anyone was watching before he carefully picked it up, closing it gently to study the cover.
In the ancient language of Odin himself read the wordsThe New World, Vol. I. Westley’s heart lurched as he ran his fingertips over the words as carefully as he could, flipping to the first page to see the date the book was written.
One day after Ragnarök.
His head spun.
Never before had he heard even a hint of such a text existing. Could it be a trick? It lay out in the open for anyone to see. Clearly the palace had wanted him here—he’d been drawn to it.
Westley picked it up carefully and brought it over to a chair. He hesitated before opening it again, as if he knew that the moment he did, his world would change.
Reading was slow at first. His ancient language lessons as a faeling seemed distant, but eventually he found a rhythm. With each passing line, his eyes widened, as if that would help him understand. He couldn’t believe what was written.
Stories he’d never heard of, contradicting everything he thought he knew.
Everything he’d been taught.
Day one after Ragnarök
It is I, Bragi, god of music, though for posterity’s sake, god is a loose term for what I am. I was given the title after my writings and songs caught the ears of Freyja. The beloved goddess accepted me into the halls of Asgard. I was but a lone Light Elven living amongst the Aesir.
To begin a tale such as this, I must entreat the reader to bear with me. I do not know all yet—Odin once said that wisdom comes from knowing that there is much we do not know.
I only know what I have experienced with my eyes and must write what I witnessed just now. The rubble has not yet settled from the destruction of the gods. I can still hear their screams.
Ragnarök came, as was foretold, and obliterated the Aesir.
The screams I hear are those of the gods and goddesses.
I, myself, was given ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, tying my soul to theirs so that they could always hear my music.
From what I can see, I awoke alone. I cannot feel but a spark of light, which may very well be my own. If the prophecies are to be believed, the Aesir no longer exist, not even in Valhalla.
Only moments ago I watched worlds fall from the sky. I felt the ground beneath me shake before I became enveloped in an orb of blinding light. When I awoke, it was like a dream, standing in the halls of Odin’s palace, empty, save for me.
Had I died? Was this Valhalla?
I walk the empty halls, marvelling that the palace that had been in ruins now stands in full glory.
