I am thankful when we depart Jotunheim the following morning. I never want to see this realm again, I never want to feel the cold, no matter how refreshing it is. I don't want to belong here. I would rather lose sleep than belong here.

Besides, not sleeping has the advantage of not having nightmares.

When I was a child, Odin told Thor and I stories about Asgard's long and tumultuous history with Jotunheim. They had fought over Midgard, Odin eventually defeating Laufey after many years of on and off combat and depriving the jotuns of their main source of power. Shortly after, they had fought as allies in the Infinity War, fighting the last battle with Thanos on Jotunheim for the Reality Stone.

But despite our alliance together in the last war, the frost giants are not looked upon kindly by Asgardians. In the arena, we are often described as bitter enemies, and to hear Thor's friends talk, you would have thought they had a personal stake in the war against the frost giants. They are monsters – they always have been.

Perhaps they were our allies, but that was long ago. The war may have been even longer ago, but resentment outlives sentiment.

Frigga had countered Odin's stories by focusing on our peace with Jotunheim and our alliance with them, but it hadn't changed either my mind or Thor's mind as to the nature of the frost giants. They always bordered on monstrous, despite our alliance with them. I suppose that image never left my mind, for the horror I feel on learning the reason behind the shifting of my skin color doesn't diminish after a fitful night's sleep. It's still there in the morning, making me feel very on edge as we take off.

It's like there's a spider crawling over my skin that I just can't shake off. You feel the legs skittering across your flesh but nothing you do can make it go away, for the spider is nothing more than a figment of your imagination. And my imagination is quite powerful, which works against me in this case.

The Statesman carries us back toward Midgard, where the first five districts are located. Next on our list is District 5, the DimJump district, the capital being in Kathmandu. This is the home of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, which reaches from Hong Kong to London. There used to be a Sanctum in New York, but it was abandoned after Thanos won.

The ship lands and we're escorted to Kamar-Taj by a combination of Children of Thanos and sorcerers. Our speech will be given from there and broadcast to the people throughout the large district.

Our rooms are small but enough for the short time we'll be staying here. Before leaving, one of the sorcerers hands me a piece of paper. I frown at it. "Shamballa," I murmur. "What does that mean?"

Some sort of code? A threat? A curse?

"Oh, Shamballa," Thor states. "That's the...the password for Midgard's wi-fi."

Okay, then. Don't think I'll be having any need for that.

I think back to the two contenders from this district, Christine Palmer and Wong. I didn't kill either of them, but Veers killed Wong, and I helped her, I suppose. I don't remember who killed Christine Palmer. Probably no one does. She wasn't that important then, and she certainly doesn't seem any more important now.

I've heard people say that you're remembered fondly, once you're gone, but I don't think that's true. If you didn't do anything to bear being remembered for, everyone will forget you the moment you pass. It's probably a relief, not having to remember your name or your face. I know I would find it such. I remember certain of the deceased because I see them whenever I close my eyes. But they all meant something to me. I don't want to remember anyone I didn't care about, like Christine Palmer.

But I do remember Wong, if only because Veers and I worked together to kill him: my dagger in her hand.

There are three champions from District 5: Kaecilius, Stephen Strange, and Karl Mordo, all of whom are sorcerers. And they are all standing with the Ancient One when Hela leads Veers and I over to them. I'm wearing a black Asgardian tunic and Veers is wearing a maroon Asgardian tunic, similar in style to the one Sif wore last year. It's odd, seeing her in the traditional dress, but we don't stand out among the Masters of the Mystics Arts, all in their elaborate robes.

Strange and Mordo give Veers condemning looks and I wonder if they were friends with Wong. Maybe he was the Hogun to their Warriors Three, someone they had hoped to see again only to realize he would never fight alongside them. I wonder if they are changed people, due to that.

Volstagg and Fandral certainly are.

The speech stays the same. At this point, I don't dare experiment, although I want to. Being in Sokovia made me want to rebel, although rebelling means my life. And I'm not ready to die. But the longer I'm on this tour, the more I dislike the idea of following meekly Thanos' orders – even if they are to save my life.

We get through the speech and the feast follows shortly after, held in the courtyard of Kamar-Taj. Neither Strange nor Mordo bother to speak to Veers and I, but several times throughout the night, I spot Kaecilius conversing either with my sister or Ronan, once with both of them.

Right. They were all Avengers together.

Curiously, Kaecilius doesn't seem too interested in speaking with Valkyrie.