Chapter 2 The One Who Remembers Me

Hemul was nothing like the stories told in the halls of Valhalla. Rather than a barren wasteland of suffering, I found myself in a twilight forest of twisted trees, their bark gleaming like polished obsidian. The air hung heavy with mist that clung to my wings, making each beat laborious.

I landed in a small clearing, folding my wings tightly against my back. Drawing my dagger, I moved cautiously through the strange landscape. Fallen spirits were known to be unpredictable—violent at worst, melancholic at best. But I wasn't here for any spirit. I was here for him.

"You're a long way from home, Valkyrie."

The voice came from behind me—low, feminine, with an edge like broken glass. I whirled, dagger raised, to face a slender figure leaning against a tree. Her eyes glowed amber in the half-light, her form shifting between solidity and mist.

"Mara," I recognized her immediately. Once a shield-maiden, now a guardian of Hemul's borders. "I thought you'd have ascended by now."

She laughed bitterly. "Some of us prefer honest darkness to false light. Why are you here, Freya? Slumming?"

I lowered my blade but remained alert. "I'm looking for someone. A fallen spirit named Caelan Drayce."

Her eyebrows rose. "The Drayce? Oh, you've chosen an interesting target. He's become something of a legend here."

My heart quickened. "Tell me."

"He arrived about a century ago, but unlike most who fall into despair, he built something. A sanctuary in the Deep Woods. They say he remembers nothing of his former life, yet he fights as if born to it." She tilted her head, studying me. "Why do you seek him?"

I chose my words carefully. "Divine business."

"Ah," she nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "The kind of 'divine business' that has you sneaking in without your golden armor?" She pushed away from the tree, circling me. "He's in the eastern valley, where the two black rivers meet. But be warned—he's not alone, and they don't welcome visitors, especially those with wings."

Before I could thank her, she dissolved into mist. Typical of Mara—she always had a flair for dramatic exits, even in her mortal days.

I traveled eastward, keeping low to avoid detection. The forest grew denser, the trees taller, until I reached a ridge overlooking a valley split by two obsidian rivers. At their confluence stood a settlement unlike anything I'd expected in Hemul—crude but sturdy structures housed dozens of fallen spirits who moved with purpose rather than the aimless wandering I'd anticipated.

And there, directing a group reinforcing a defensive wall, was Caelan.

Even from a distance, I recognized him instantly. The way he stood, shoulders squared against the weight of responsibility. The way he gestured when giving instructions. A hundred years in this twilight purgatory had not erased the essence of the man I'd known.

I watched him for hours as day faded into Hemul's version of night—a deeper darkness where strange luminescent plants provided the only light. I observed his interactions, how the other fallen deferred to him not out of fear but respect. This was no corrupted spirit; this was a leader.

When he finally separated from the group, heading toward a solitary cabin at the edge of the settlement, I made my move. I followed silently, slipping through shadows until he entered his dwelling. Giving him a moment to settle, I then approached the door, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Before I could knock, the door swung open. Caelan stood there, sword in hand, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"I knew someone was watching," he said, voice exactly as I remembered yet harder somehow. "I didn't expect it to be one of you."

A hundred years of discipline kept me from crying out at the sight of him up close. His face was leaner, marked by a scar that ran from temple to jaw, but his eyes—those eyes that had once looked at me with such tenderness—now regarded me with cold hostility.

"You know what I am," I said, keeping my voice steady.

"A Valkyrie," he practically spat the word. "Come to finish what your kind started? Or just observing your handiwork?"

I didn't understand his bitterness. "May I enter? What I have to say shouldn't be heard by others."

He hesitated, then stepped aside with mocking formality. "By all means. It's not every day we receive divine visitors."

The interior was sparse but orderly—a soldier's quarters. A small fire burned in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across walls decorated with hand-drawn maps and what appeared to be battle plans.

"Why are you here?" he demanded, keeping his sword ready. "Come to recruit more souls for your master's games?"

I met his gaze directly. "Do you know who I am?"

He studied me, expression unchanging. "A Valkyrie. One of Odin's collectors."

The pain of his non-recognition cut deeper than I'd prepared for. "My name is Freya."

Nothing. No flicker of recognition.

"I've been sent to execute you," I said bluntly, needing to gauge his reaction.

That got a response—a harsh laugh as he lowered his sword slightly. "At least you're honest. More than most of your kind. What's my crime this time? Existing too stubbornly?"

"Conspiracy against the Divine Order. Corruption of Soul-Light." I recited the charges, watching him closely.

He shook his head in disgust. "Convenient charges when they need someone eliminated. So why the warning? Why not strike me down as I slept?"

"Because something isn't right," I admitted. "You were in Valhalla. A hero. I need to understand how you fell."

"I've never been to Valhalla," he said firmly. "I died in battle and woke up here, in this twilight prison, with nothing but my name and combat skills."

I stepped closer. "That's impossible. I personally guided you to Valhalla a century ago."

"Then you guided someone else," he snapped, raising his sword again. "Or your memory is as corrupt as your masters."

Frustration burned through me. "I would never mistake you, Caelan Drayce. You fought at the Battle of Blackwater Ridge. You died protecting your younger brother from a spear thrust. Your last words were a prayer to see the northern lights once more."

Something flickered in his eyes—confusion, perhaps. "How would you know my brother?"

"Because you told me about him," I said softly. "During the three days your spirit remained earthbound before I could guide you onward. You told me everything."

He backed away, sword wavering. "This is some trick. Valkyries don't converse with souls; they collect them."

"Most don't," I conceded. "I did. With you."

Tension crackled between us like lightning before a storm. I decided to risk everything on one desperate gamble. Slowly, deliberately, I unfurled one wing, allowing a single feather to detach and float to the floor between us.

The reaction was immediate and shocking. Caelan's eyes widened, fixed on the feather. His sword clattered to the ground as he clutched his head, staggering backward.

"Sylvi?" he gasped, using a name I hadn't heard in centuries—my mortal name, from before I became a Valkyrie.

For one breathtaking moment, recognition blazed in his eyes—pure, undeniable. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by confusion and pain.

"What did you do to me?" he demanded, retrieving his sword with trembling hands.

"I did nothing," I whispered, hope and heartbreak warring within me. "You remembered."

"I don't know that name," he insisted, but uncertainty had crept into his voice. "You're playing mind games, Valkyrie."

"My name was once Sylvi," I said carefully. "Long before I became Freya. No one in the Nine Realms knows that name except you."

He shook his head violently. "Get out."

"Caelan—"

"GET OUT!" he roared, swinging his sword in a wild arc that I easily avoided.

I backed toward the door, wings tucked tight, hands raised in placation. "I'll go. But I'll return. Something was done to you—to your memories. And I will find out what."

Outside, shouts and movement indicated his outburst had alerted others. I had no choice but to flee, taking to the air as soon as I cleared the cabin. Behind me, I heard Caelan emerge, heard him assuring his people that all was well.

But as I gained altitude, preparing to leave Hemul's borders, I heard something else—something that sent both terror and exhilaration through my veins.

"Sylvi," he called, voice barely audible over the wind. Not shouted, not meant for others to hear. A whisper. A question. A memory struggling to surface.

I didn't look back, couldn't risk being seen by others. But that single word, my long-abandoned name on his lips, changed everything. Somewhere inside the fallen spirit Caelan Drayce, the man I had loved still existed.

And someone had deliberately tried to erase him.

As I crossed back into the twilight zone between realms, my resolve hardened. I would return to the divine realm, but not to report my findings. Not yet. First, I needed answers—and I knew exactly where to start looking.

Whatever conspiracy had condemned Caelan to Hemul had roots in Valhalla itself. And I would tear those roots out, even if it meant burning my own world to the ground.