Between Sodull pulling and Wolfsted yelling "Go, go, go!" from behind, Blader managed to climb up through the tunnel. Dirt crumbled down from the walls, dusting them as they climbed, and the walls vibrated from the collapse of Helheim.

The light above grew greater the closer to the surface they got. Blader could only hope that they weren't too late, that Skalfi wasn't dead yet. Hopefully the seers regain control so we can get out of this Reenactment and Skalfi can get medical attention. Please, please, please.

Finally, the three recruits reached the end of the tunnel, Sodull pulling Blader out into the light. He looked around the root basin to see the fire had gone out and the smoke had cleared from the air, the dimly lit stars above providing the only light.

"Skalfi," Blader panted, the ground trembling beneath his feet. Without a word, Sodull looped his arm around Blader's back and as Wolfsted left the tunnel and clambered to his feet, the Aldrian also helped to support Blader.

The three of them made their way across the basin in the direction of Vandri and Skalfi. The recruits around them parted to make way for them, gaping at the wounds in Blader's leg and shoulder.

It was only then that Blader realized that, while he still had his father's shield strapped to his back, he had left his sword, gifted to Karl by Aetlun Thrym, back in Helheim. Skalfi's dagger, on the other hand, was in his belt.

Skalfi, please, let me be able to give this back to you.

"Blader!" Vandri screamed, racing across the grass towards the three boys. Flinging herself at him, she wrapped her arms around his neck as Blader groaned. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," Vandri apologized hurriedly, pulling back and frowning worriedly at Blader's shoulder wound. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"How's Skalfi?" Blader asked, and Vandri looked more worried, just shaking her head. She turned and hugged Wolfsted as Sodull helped Blader over to Skalfi's side, where he knelt down.

"You're safe, you're safe," he heard Vandri murmuring over and over again as she gave Sodull a hug. Blader used his good hand to gently touch Skalfi's cheek, and her eyes flickered open. He could tell by the amount of blood soaking into Wolfsted's tunic that unless the Reenactment ended within minutes, Skalfi would be beyond saving.

"Hey," Skalfi said quietly, her voice barely audible.

"Skalfi, just stay with me," Blader said. He pulled the dagger from his belt and pressed it into her hand. He had to curl her fingers around the hilt to get her to hold it. "I brought this back. It really helped me."

Skalfi's fingers tightened around the hilt as her other hand found his, her fingers intertwining with his. A twinge of pain moved through his arm but he didn't protest. "Funny," she whispered, her eyes growing distant. "My father died by this dagger, and now I will die with it in my hand."

That must be why the dagger is so important to her. It was her father's.

But why treasure it so much when he must have killed himself with it?

Blader could hear Wolfsted, Vandri, and Sodull moving up behind him, trying not to intrude. He swallowed, fighting back tears. He couldn't lose Skalfi, not after everything they'd been through together.

White mist began to fill the root basin, thick and silent. Blader kept holding Skalfi's hand, his other hand cupping her cheek. "I'm not leaving you," he promised her. "I'll never leave you."

Before the mist completely obscured her face from him, Blader thought he saw Skalfi smile.

[----]

When Blader opened his eyes, he was staring at a dark ceiling. For a long moment, he was very confused, drawing his brows together quizzically.

Where am I?

He strained his ears for some sound but heard nothing. There was silence in the room, only broken by the slight humming of some quiet machine. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Blader saw he was in what appeared to be some kind of hospital room. The walls were a neutral shade of grey, the same as the ceiling, and the two oblong lights in the ceiling were dim, filling the room with shadows cast by the scarce furniture and medical equipment.

Blader attempted to sit up on his cot, the white sheet falling into his lap as he groaned, pain slicing through his shoulder. He glanced down at the wound to see thick bandages wrapping around his upper chest and back, holding his arm still against his side, which was also bandaged on his forearm. Slowly, carefully, he twisted so he could pull the sheet back from his leg and see the extent of the damage there. But his calf wound too was swathed in bandages and veiled from his eyes. In his left arm there were marks from where tubes had been hooked up to his veins and they were slightly sore.

His head ached and his ribs were sore and Blader laid back down, placing his head on the thick pillow and gazing up at the ceiling. He wondered what he was doing here.

Skalfi.

Then everything came rushing back to him, the Reenactment, Ragnarok, Helheim, and Skalfi's mortal injury. Blader jerked back into a sitting position, crying out in pain as his vision swam, but he nevertheless kicked away the sheet and attempted to climb out of bed, needing to find Skalfi, needing to find her and Wolfsted and Sodull and Vandri to make sure they were all right, that they had made it out.

The door to his room opened and a healer hurried in, the rune in her forehead glowing in the dim light. "You need to rest," she said soothingly, stopping at his bedside and placing her hands on his shoulders, preventing him from continuing. "Skera, please, stay in your bed."

Confused, Blader allowed her to gently help him back into the cot, trying to figure out what she'd called him. Skera. He wasn't Skera, he was Blader, Blader Thrym.

Wait. Isn't skera an einherjar rank? The first one recruits take after the Reenactment?

Then the significance of the title struck him. I made it! I'm einherjar! I can see my family again!

The thought of Freyja, Hilda, Ivan, Gunil, and Karl made him smile, and he looked up at the healer, renewed energy flowing through him. Then he felt his stomach plummeting as he thought of the visions he had seen running in the mist, crying out for him and never hearing his response. Fear froze the blood in his veins. They can't be dead. They just can't be. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"The Reenactment is over," the healer said. "Your injuries are being tended to currently. But everything is going to be all right, don't you worry."

Blader narrowed his eyes. He was flashing back to Thor's Bridge and the way he had been forced to sit for hours, worrying about Hilda and not being told anything. That will not happen here. "Is Skalfi all right? Is Skalfi Vekja all right?"

"Just calm down," the healer requested. "Skera Thrym, you need to rest so you can heal."

Blader wanted to yell at her, wanted to demand news of Skalfi's condition, but he just nodded and lay back on the pillow. The healer smiled and pulled the sheet up around him, glancing over to check the monitor near his cot before turning and exiting the room. He waited a minute, counting out the seconds, and then shoved the sheet back, using his good leg to kick it away from him.

A stab of pain traveled up his injured leg the second he put weight on it and Blader hissed between his gritted teeth but refused to stop moving. Limping toward the door, ignoring the cold tiles on his bare feet, he made it to the door and looked for a sensor to open it. It took him a moment as it blended in with the wall panels, but he finally found it and touched it, willing the sensor to not be locked.

To his surprise, the door slid open and Blader stepped out into the brightly lit corridor. Blinking furiously in the light, he glanced up the hallway and then down it, trying to figure out which direction to go in first.

I don't have much time.

Dressed as he was in a loose light grey tunic and darker grey loose trousers, Blader knew any healer or other medical personnel would instantly know him as a patient. So he had to be quick, had to find Skalfi, Wolfsted, Sodull, and Vandri before he was caught and escorted back to his room, most likely to be locked in.

Moving swiftly and silently over the cold grey floor tiles, Blader glanced at the doors he passed, reading the names on the medical cards held in the doors' information slots. He didn't recognize any of the names and his pace grew more frantic as the names continued to mean nothing to him. Skalfi, Wolfsted, Sodull, Vandri. Skalfi, Wolfsted, Sodull, Vandri.

Footsteps sounded up ahead, coming from around a corner, and Blader stopped. I can't go back. I can't go back. Turning, he glanced around for the nearest doorway and palmed the sensor, stepping inside and plastering himself up against the wall by the door, praying to the gods that the healer wasn't planning on coming in this door.

The person lying on the cot was asleep, his arm in a sling, and Blader hoped he stayed that way. Holding his breath, he waited for several long minutes before opening the door and slipping out into the again empty corridor, continuing his search for his comrades.

As he reached the left bend in the hallway, Blader slowed his pace, moving over and staying close to the left wall. Maybe, just maybe, he could surprise anyone coming around that bend and knock them out, give him even more time to search the rooms.

What are you thinking? They're healers. They're not your enemy.

You don't know that, whispered back a little voice in his mind. They could all be your enemies.

Blader came to the corner, stopping and listening intently. He heard no noise of footsteps, no breathing or other sound of life. Sighing inwardly in relief, he glanced at the door across from him, the door to the corner room, and his eyes widened.

Vekja, Skalfi.

Blader dashed across to the door, touching the sensor and waiting impatiently for the door to slide open. As soon as there was a gap big enough for him to squeeze through, he did, wriggling through and glancing up at the cot holding Skalfi.

She was unconscious, or maybe just sleeping, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Blader stole softly across the room, moving to her bedside and staring down at her, feeling a tightening in his chest. She's alive. Skalfi's alive.

Blader couldn't see the wound in her stomach, the bandage obscured by the white sheet pulled up over her abdomen. Tubes were hooked up to her arm and the monitor beside her displayed her vital signs, which seemed okay as far as he could tell. Her breathing was steady, her heartbeat strong.

Gently, he touched her cheek with his fingertips, scarcely daring to believe that she had survived. Somehow, the healers had saved her, had prevented her from bleeding out and had repaired the sword slash in her abdomen. Skalfi was alive and had made it through the Reenactment. Like Blader, she was skera now, real einherjar.

Blader didn't know how long he knelt beside her bed, running his fingers softly through her tangled hair. His heart was overflowing with emotion, gratitude and relief and several other emotions he couldn't identify. But he didn't try too hard, either. It was enough just to be here. Eventually he fell asleep, dozing off on the floor beside her cot. The tiles were cold but he was too relieved and happy to be bothered by that.

But sleep brought dreams, and the dreams were fire-lit montages of Ragnarok and Helheim. Screams, blood, and death surrounded Blader as he was unable to move, stuck in the ashes around his boots as he desperately tried to reach his sword, floating in the air before him, always just out of reach. Arrows and spears filled his body as he screamed, still reaching for a sword that was too far away to grasp.

Blader woke up gasping, his throat dry and constricted. It took him several moments to realize where he was and remember that the Reenactment was over; he was safe and so was Skalfi.

But the war has just begun.

Pushing himself up onto his feet, Blader started at the sight of a healer standing on the other side of Skalfi's cot, watching him stand. Reaching up to his back, Blader felt horror flood him at finding his weapon wasn't there.

"Easy, easy," the healer said, holding her hands up and to the side. "I'm not here to hurt you, just to check on Skera Vekja."

Blader looked down at Skalfi, lying so quietly and almost peacefully on the cot, and then back up at the healer, eyes narrowing suspiciously. His eyes noted the rune on her forehead, the white tunics she wore, but his body still wouldn't relax, still wouldn't accept that she wasn't there to kill both him and Skalfi.

The healer didn't move, just kept her eyes on him warily, like he was a feral animal about to attack. "May I check on Skera Vekja?"

Blader glanced down at Skalfi again, swallowed against the fear in the back of his throat, and nodded. The healer's rune began to glow as she pulled back the sheet and removed the bandage, showing the thick line of stitches in Skalfi's stomach.

Blader heard himself inhale, his mind conjuring up the images of blood that had covered her before. "How did you save her?" he asked, unable to believe that she had survived. Miracle of miracles.

The healer glanced up at him. "Medicinal magic and the healing art," she said simply. "We had to give her a blood transfusion, as she'd lost a lot of blood. But we were able to repair her internal structures and then stitch her up. She'll need bedrest for a while but she will be all right." She seemed to be studying him. "Are you another einherjar?"

Blader nodded but didn't volunteer any more information.

"Her boyfriend?"

He shook his head, remembering Wolfsted's joking comments about being the "second shield" among the three of them. "A friend."

The healer nodded. "Would you like to go back to your room?"

Blader shook his head again. "No." He nodded down to Skalfi. "I want to stay with her."

"Skera, I'm not sure if I can allow that, but I will see," the healer said, her words low and spoken calmly. "Skera Vekja needs her rest, and so do you." She gestured to his shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll be reunited before long, and it will be a joyous occasion."

Blader hesitated, not wanting to leave Skalfi's side. He didn't want to go back to his empty, dark room where there was nothing, no one but himself. He wanted to stay with Skalfi, with a friend, a comrade. But then he saw the faintest trace of fear in the healer's eyes and realized that she was afraid of him. Him, Blader Thrym.

What have I become?

"All right," he said quietly, bowing his head. "I'll go back to my room. Just...take care of her."

The healer nodded and watched as Blader walked slowly to the door, casting one glance back at Skalfi before he left.

[----]

Back in his room, Blader paced back and forth, ignoring the pain in his leg as he limped. His shoulder was aching and his headache had gotten worse, his throat parched. But he couldn't stop pacing, he didn't want to. To stop was to die.

He had no idea where his weapons were. His shield was gone, and so was his sword. Their absence from their place on his back made him feel cornered, with no options left but to fight or die. As he paced, Blader marked out several pieces of equipment in the room that could be turned into weapons, should the need arise. I could strangle someone with the bedsheet....I could use the monitor as a shield, deflect them with that and then a crushing blow to the back of the neck....

Blader shook his head. He didn't like thinking this way, like the entirety of the Nine Worlds was now a threat to him. He may be einherjar, but he did not need to let his fireshock run away from him. He had fought and conquered it once before, and he would do so again.

Breathe. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Breathe. Breathe. Focus on the air, on the muscle movements. In, hold, out, in, hold, out. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Think of something else.

How do I know the Transriot driver's apprentice?

Blader knew the answer, he felt it in his gut, but he didn't want to admit it. He knew who the apprentice was. It just...didn't seem possible.

But then again, he has changed.

The door opened and Blader glanced up, losing his train of thought. A healer stood in the doorway, frowning at him. "Skera Thrym?"

Blader nodded, his body tensing for fight or flight. The healer walked forward, his own body language displaying his wariness. "Please, take a seat on the cot."

Blader walked over to the cot, sitting down on the edge and watching the healer approach him. The rune began to glow as he cut through the bandage on Blader's shoulder to examine the wound.

He sat stiffly through the entire examination, refusing to look at his wounds. The healer worked silently and quickly, putting on clean bandages over the rows of stitching. Then he left, returning shortly with a cart holding a tray of food and water.

Blader ate without saying a word, devouring the buttered bread and bowl of soup and draining the glass of water. The healer took the utensils away once he'd finished and the door slid closed behind him.

The last thing Blader remembered was lying back on his cot, closing his eyes, and drifting off into sleep.

[----]

The next several days Blader spent either on his cot or pacing about his room. After his first escape, his door was locked and he was unable to leave, which led to Blader mulling the events of the days of the Reenactment over in his head. When he slept, dreams featuring Loki, the Transriot driver, Erik's death, and the complete chaos of Ragnarok filled his mind until he woke up panting and casting around for a weapon that wasn't at hand.

Finally, in the middle of the third day, a female healer arrived and beckoned for him to follow her. Rising from his cot, Blader walked down the bright grey halls, his muscles tense as he waited for some threat to show itself. The healer led him out of the corridor into a large reception room, where Loqé was sitting on a chair waiting for him.

The Valkyrie instantly rose to her feet, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Blader and she smiled at him. The healer stepped aside as Loqé approached him, her steps firm but calm, making an effort not to startle him.

"Blader," she greeted, stopping in front of him. He took a breath and then a step toward her. She's alive. I saw her in the mist but here she is, alive. My family must be safe as well, then.

"Loqé."

Then he was hugging the Valkyrie and she returned his embrace, seeming startled by his motion. When he pulled back, he attempted a smile, hoping it looked better than it felt, hoping he looked better than he felt, for he felt terrible.

"Are you all right?" Loqé asked, studying his face.

Blader didn't know how to answer that. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know, Loqé."

"I'm sorry," Loqé said softly. "I really am, Blader."

"Do you know anything about Wolfsted, Vandri, or Sodull?" Blader asked. "I don't know where they are. I've only seen Skalfi, and then they locked me in."

Loqé pursed her lips. "They're all right. Deila has spoken with Sodull already; he's in a different wing with Wolfsted and Vandri. Their wounds were less severe than yours and Skalfi's. I've been fighting to get you transferred there."

Blader felt a burst of relief, thinking of seeing his friends again. "When?"

"Hopefully I can have everything finalized by tonight and you will be moved in the morning," Loqé told him.

"What happened?" Blader asked her, lowering his voice. "Why are they holding us like this?"

Loqé tilted her head, looking frustrated. "I'm sorry, it's classified. I would tell you otherwise. There are always injuries to attend to, but this year was worse. With...everything that happened, we had to confine the recruits afterwards while we handled the aftermath. I can't say anything more but, going by the fact that you were heavily involved in it, you'll probably be debriefed by a higher up soon."

"Did you know," he started, then paused and began again. "Did you know that the leader of the hijackers was the Transriot driver who spoke to us on our trip to the Bifrost?"

Loqé tilted her head. "What?"

Blader nodded. "He is. I do not know his name, just that he was the one on the Transriot. He also has an apprentice."

Loqé just stared at the floor tiles for a moment, her gaze troubled. "I will inform my superiors of this fact," she told him.

"When do they let us go?" Blader asked. Loqé just shrugged and he tried again. "What day is it?"

"Freyjadagr," Loqé answered. "The Reenactment ended late Soldagr."

It's almost been a week.

"Any news from Deila on Skalfi?"

The Valkyrie nodded. "She's doing better, from what I heard. Deila's been petitioning for them to release her to the other wing, too. Keeping recruits hidden away from their comrades isn't doing them any good, not after what they went through, and the Valkyries have been doing our best to get them released, but it's like a fighting a war."

Blader was hustled back to his room when the visit ended, buoyed up by the hope of seeing Wolfsted, Vandri, and Sodull again soon, and possibly even Skalfi. That night he slept better than he had for a while, the dreams small and flitting away as soon as he awoke. Anxiously, he awaited the healer's apprentice who would bring his breakfast and check his wounds to hear if he could move today.

When his door slid open, Blader hopped off the side of his cot, watching in anticipation as the apprentice entered the room. Unlike the healers, the apprentices had no runes in their foreheads to display their training status.

He rolled the cart with the tray seated on it across to Blader. "Eat up," he said. "After I check your injuries, you're being transferred to secondary."

[----]

Blader felt better than he had in several days, walking down the hall flanked by two apprentices as they escorted him to the secondary wing. Sodull, Wolfsted, and Vandri would be there and he could be with people again until the gods or the seers or whoever was trapping them there in the hospital decided to let them go.

The apprentices escorted him through the reception area where he had met Loqé the day before and into the secondary wing, stepping through sliding glass doors. Another apprentice there, serving as a receptionist, took his information and Blader's escorts left, another apprentice appearing to lead him to his quarters. "Right this way, Skera."

Blader followed the apprentice down the hallway, the lights less harsh and bright here but the tiles still cold on his bare feet. The girl led him through a thick glass door into what appeared to be a residential wing, lined with doors each labeled with two names. Females on the left, males on the right.

He passed doors labeled Merki, Vandrilla, Trautt, Sodull, and Kyll, Wolfsted. Sodull and Wolfsted were roommates, but Blader frowned to see some kind of note written in red runes on Wolfsted's card. He didn't get a chance to read it, however, for the apprentice directing him was walking too quickly.

"Here you are," she said, stopping at a door with his name already on it. Thrym, Blader, was resting next to Doell, Sjon. Blader frowned, not recognizing the other recruit's name, as the apprentice opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

The room was empty, with two cots on opposite sides of the room. A window of thick glass looked out into a garden from between the cots, light grey curtains pulled to the sides to allow in the sunlight, which seemed very cold and sterile on the grey floor tiles. A low table sat under the window, holding a pitcher of water and twin glasses. Besides that, there was nothing else in the room.

The apprentice gestured to the cot on the right side of the room. "That one's yours, Skera Thrym. A fresh pair of clothes and a pair of moccasins are provided for you. Down the hall is the recreation room where most of the patients spend their time. Meals are at seven, one, and six in the dining hall. Your fellow einherjar will know where it is. If you need any assistance, just ask." With that, the apprentice left him standing in the middle of the room.

It took Blader only a moment to change into the clean but identical tunic and trousers, slipping the thin, grey leather moccasins on. Then he left the room, heading down the corridor towards the recreation room.

When the doors slid back, Blader scanned the room for any sign of his friends. Within moments, he had located Wolfsted, Sodull, and Vandri sitting on a couple of couches in the corner, Wolfsted and Sodull playing a game of hugr while Vandri watched and made suggestions. Quickly, he crossed the room toward them, exhilaration filling him as he did so.

We made it out. We made it out.

"Blader!" Vandri called, glancing up from the boys' game and spotting him. She jumped up, running across the room lightly and embracing him, being careful of his injured arm. Wolfsted and Sodull climbed to their feet, grinning as they made their way towards him. Wolfsted was paler than normal, Sodull had dark circles under his eyes, and Vandri seemed tenser than normal, as if there might be traitors hidden throughout the room. But there were no serious injuries to be seen and they were here, alive, and that's all Blader could hope for.

"Good to see you," Sodull said, clapping Blader's good shoulder as Vandri released him. Wolfsted nodded.

"We've been waiting for you and Skalfi to arrive. Now it's just Skalfi who's not here."

The four friends trooped over to the couches, talking about their time in the hospital. Vandri and Sodull, not having sustained any major injuries in the Reenactment, had been moved to the secondary wing the past Tyrsdagr. Wolfsted, although not being injured, had been held further for a couple days for observation purposes due to his actions in knocking out a healer who had come to check on him.

"How did you do that?" Blader asked.

Wolfsted shrugged. "Heard them coming, so I stood beside the door and punched them the second they stepped through the door, knocked them out cold. I just got released yesterday."

No one wanted to talk about the Reenactment itself, so Wolfsted and Sodull went back to their game of hugr, Vandri and Blader watching and cheering them on. As the pieces moved across the board, Blader pulled his tags out from under his tunic and rubbed them between his fingers. So much had happened since Loqé had given them to him, back when he first enlisted. He'd gone from a boy seeking to maintain his honor to a man fighting for his life. How things change.

Eventually, a familiar voice saying "Hey" startled the four and they looked up to see Skalfi standing there, grinning down at them.

"Skalfi!" Blader exclaimed, jumping up and giving her a cautious hug. "I'm so glad you're here."

Skalfi hugged him back. "I'm so happy to see you guys again," she said, pulling back from Blader and getting wrapped in a hug from Vandri. "Can anyone tell me what happened? The healers were pretty close-mouthed about it and the only things I remember are Munin stabbing me and then nothing until Blader returned my dagger."

Slowly, Vandri, Blader, Sodull, and Wolfsted pieced together the events of last Soldagr night, the final event of the Reenactment. Munin's betrayal, Blader going down into Helheim and fighting the rekkr, Wolfsted and Sodull heading down to help. Then the Reenactment ending and them all waking up in the hospital.

"What happened?" Skalfi asked, furrowing her brow. "It was faulty, right? Who was behind it, do we know? What do we know?"

Blader felt a twinge of pain. He did know, didn't he? At least the identity of the apprentice. It made sense, anyway.

"The Valkyries aren't allowed to speak about it," he said instead. "No one's saying anything to anyone, apparently."

Skalfi groaned. "I just spoke to Deila and she refused to say anything. I want to know what's going on!"

But no one had any answers for her.

[----]

The next couple of days seemed to blend together, the five friends spending all of their time together. Blader met his roommate, Sjon Doell, but they never hung out together. Sjon had his own friends and Blader had his, so neither sought out the other's company.

The morning of the third day, a Tyrsdagr, Blader was summoned to report to the receptionist's desk, where he was provided with a formal uniform, a dark grey, almost black formal tunic with matching trousers and knee high, finely polished black boots, a black cap, an ebony belt finishing off the look with a decorative dagger in the belt's sheath. He headed back to his room to change, wondering what was going on, and then returned to the desk.

Loqé was standing there, alongside another Valkyrie Blader didn't know. She was about the same height as Loqé but older and broader, her blonde hair beginning to turn silver.

"What's going on?" Blader asked Loqé.

"You and Skera Merki have been summoned to speak with the High King," Loqé replied.

Vandri arrived within moments, also dressed in a formal uniform. After exchanging a glance with Blader, she fell into step beside him as the Valkyries gestured for the einherjar to follow them.

"What's happening?" she whispered to Blader.

"The High King wishes to speak to us."

Blader and Vandri followed the Valkyries out of the hospital into Asgard, blinking in the rays of sunlight. Blader was surprised to find the hospital within the walls of the city; he'd have thought it would be in Vigrid. Vandri, too, looked similarly perplexed.

No one said a word as Loqé and the other Valkyrie led the einherjar through the streets toward the palace. Blader walked with his head up, back straight, looking neither to left nor to right. Although he could feel the eyes of the Aesir upon him, he refused to acknowledge them. Briefly, he wondered if they had any idea of what had happened in the Reenactment, either.

Blader and Vandri were led into a large foyer of the High King's palace, Loqé quickly explaining to the rekkr servant what they were there for. The servant left and returned shortly with orders for Blader to follow him.

The rekkr led Blader through several corridors to a relatively small receiving chamber, with a simple throne at one end and a bench seated several feet before it. Blader was ushered into the room and then the servant shut the door and he was left facing High King Baldor upon his throne.

"Blader Thrym," Baldor said quietly, standing. "Thank you for coming."

"I didn't think I had a choice, my lord," Blader returned, also quietly.

Baldor gave a slight smile. "You didn't, really. But thank you anyway. I need to speak with you about the matter of the Reenactment."

Blader bit his tongue, preventing himself from blurting out something along the lines of You mean about its faultiness, the way it murdered my honorable friend? But he remained quiet.

"It is unfortunate, what happened," Baldor said in a low voice. "Quite honestly, if it wasn't for your brave actions, and those, of course, of Wolfsted Kyll and Sodull Trautt, you would all be dead. Only your confrontation with...our enemy saved you, and by extension me, from his plan."

"Who is he?" Blader asked.

Baldor hesitated a moment before answering. "His name is Domar Tros, and I expect you to hold that information close, as it is still classified. He is a strong foe of Asgard, of the Nine Worlds, really, and has been for quite some time." He sighed. "He was behind Dyr Gunar's ascent, and escaped when we defeated him. Tros has been gathering new forces to him ever since, as well as improving his knowledge of what has been lost to us."

"Blood magic," Blader said softly, and Baldor pinned his gaze on him.

"Yes, blood magic," he said. "A magic so old, so deep. It is said to come from the blood of the gods, residual magic left behind by them after Ragnarok, bled from their corpses. But we do not know the full extent of it, only that it requires blood to work. A sacrifice."

That's what I was meant to be. The sacrifice.

"What does Tros want?"

Baldor was silent for a moment. "He wants to be rid of the gods," he said quietly. "To establish a new cosmic order. What else, we don't know. Just that he's proven himself to be a large threat with this Reenactment catastrophe." He paused for a moment. "Tell me everything about your encounter with him."

So Blader walked through the entire conversation, also telling Baldor about his encounter with Domar Tros on the Transriot and the various voices who had spoken to him throughout the Reenactment. Baldor listened patiently, his face growing more and more troubled until Blader finished.

"I apologize," Baldor said. "The Reenactment wasn't supposed to work like that. I apologize for your having to endure that." He glanced off, his eyes growing distant. "There's a war coming and we will need einherjar like you to fight it."

Blader didn't have anything to say to that. Baldor just bowed his head and gestured to the door. "You are dismissed."

Blader turned and left, walking out the door and the servant escorted him back to the Valkyries, leading Vandri away to speak to Blader. When Loqé looked at him questioningly, he just shrugged and said, "Just a debriefing."

But he felt it was a prelude to so much more.

/**/

Sorry for this being a day late! It was just so much longer than I anticipated it being.

What did you think? The Reenactment is over but they're in the hospital now, and the villain has an actual name now (calling him "the driver" was just getting old).

We're so close to the end of this book (only book one of the series), and the last two chapters will be up next week! Ah! I can't believe it's almost done!

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it; please vote and comment, let me know what you think!

Skylar Wittenborn