Chapter 12 Ashes of a God

I awoke to the sound of waves and the scent of salt air, momentarily disoriented. Above me stretched a canvas of stars, clearer and more numerous than I had seen in centuries. Beneath me, soft sand shifted as I moved. The ocean whispered nearby, its rhythm constant and soothing.

"She's awake," a familiar voice said.

Sigrid's face appeared in my field of vision, her expression a mixture of relief and concern. Her wings were now almost completely dimmed, barely visible as translucent outlines against the night sky.

"Where am I?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"The shoreline near the fallen hall," she replied, helping me sit up. "You collapsed in that ash circle hours ago. I couldn't wake you, couldn't move you. It was as if you were... elsewhere."

Memories flooded back—the Forgetting Sea, the assembly of souls, Urðr's presence, and Caelan, hovering above the dark waters. I reached behind myself instinctively, finding only smooth skin where my wings had been. No stone, no feathers, nothing to mark me as anything but mortal.

"Caelan," I said urgently, looking around. "Did you see him? Did he return?"

Sigrid's expression fell. "Freya, there's been no sign of him. Only the ash where he... where he stood."

Grief crashed over me anew. Had the vision at the Forgetting Sea been just that—a vision, a comfort offered by ancient powers, but not reality? I struggled to my feet, determined to return to the ash circle, to search again.

"You need to rest," Sigrid protested, but I was already walking, my steps unsteady but purposeful.

The landscape had changed in the hours I had been unconscious. Valhalla—or what remained of it—now stood fully materialized in the mortal realm, its golden towers gleaming under floodlights. A perimeter had been established around it, uniformed humans keeping curious onlookers at bay. Military vehicles lined the nearby road, and men and women in official-looking suits consulted with each other in hushed tones.

"The mortals have been busy," I observed.

"They're frightened," Sigrid replied, keeping pace beside me. "A divine hall appearing from nowhere, former warriors of Valhalla wandering confused among them... It's more than their modern minds are prepared to accept."

I noticed then the scattered figures being attended to by emergency workers—men and women in ancient armor or partial battle gear, looking dazed and disoriented. Souls who had been in Valhalla when it fell, now physically manifest in the mortal realm.

"Will they remember?" I asked. "Who they were, where they came from?"

"Some already do," Sigrid said. "Others are... adjusting. Their memories are returning gradually."

We approached the ash circle, now surrounded by yellow tape bearing the words "DO NOT CROSS." No officials stood nearby—they were too busy with the more obvious spectacle of Valhalla itself.

I ducked under the tape without hesitation, drawn to the center where I had last seen the silver-white ash that might be all that remained of Caelan. To my dismay, the circle was now empty—no ash, no trace of the material that had swirled around me before my vision.

"It's gone," I whispered, kneeling on the bare earth. "All of it."

Sigrid joined me inside the circle, her expression troubled. "The mortals might have collected it for analysis."

"No," came a new voice from behind us. "I think you know where it went, Freya Valkyrheart."

We turned to find a tall, thin man in a perfectly tailored suit standing at the edge of the circle. His silver hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and though he wore modern clothes, there was something ancient in his bearing. One eye was covered by an elegant black patch.

"All-Father," Sigrid gasped, immediately dropping to one knee.

"Please, none of that," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "As I told the human authorities, I'm simply Professor Grimsson, a mythology expert called in to consult on this fascinating archaeological discovery."

I remained standing, studying him carefully. This wasn't the lighthouse keeper I had met before, nor the majestic figure from the tribunal. This aspect of Odin seemed... diminished somehow, more solidly human.

"What happened to you?" I asked bluntly.

A tired smile crossed his face. "The same thing that happened to all of us, former Valkyrie. Transformation. When the Eye shattered, it took with it much of my power, my omniscience. What remains is... fragmented."

"And Caelan?" I demanded, stepping closer. "You said I know where the ash went."

Odin—or Professor Grimsson as he now called himself—gestured to my chest. "You absorbed it, did you not? When you visited the Forgetting Sea. When you made your choice."

I pressed a hand to my heart, remembering how the ash had swirled around me, how it had seemed to enter me somehow during my vision. "What does that mean?"

"It means," he said carefully, "that Caelan Drayce's essence is not entirely lost. The Eye's energy transformed him, yes—burned away his physical form—but did not destroy his soul."

Hope flared within me, bright and painful. "Then he can return?"

"In a manner of speaking." Odin stepped into the circle, examining the ground thoughtfully. "The divine consciousness that escaped when the Eye shattered has been seeking vessels, anchors in this realm. Most of it dissipated into the cosmos. Some found its way into former warriors of Valhalla, explaining their physical manifestation here. And some—a significant portion—bonded with Caelan Drayce in his final moments."

"Because he had already been exposed to it," I realized. "When I used the Eye to restore his memories."

"Precisely," Odin confirmed. "That connection allowed his essence to survive, albeit in a form not quite spirit, not quite energy."

"And now that essence is... within me?" The idea was both strange and somehow right, as if a missing piece of myself had been restored.

"For safekeeping," he clarified. "Not permanently. Think of yourself as... an incubator."

Sigrid, who had been listening intently, spoke up. "You mean Caelan could be reborn?"

Odin's single eye gleamed with something like approval. "Quick as ever, Valkyrie Sigrid. Yes, under the right circumstances, the essence within Freya could coalesce, regain its form."

"What circumstances?" I asked urgently. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"That's just it," Odin said with a slight shrug. "I don't know. My omniscience is greatly reduced, my connection to the cosmic weave severed in many places. This is... unprecedented."

Frustration welled up in me. "So you're saying he might return, but you don't know how or when or even if it will actually happen?"

"I'm saying," he replied with unexpected gentleness, "that hope remains. And in my long, long existence, I've found that hope is often enough to forge paths where none existed before."

A commotion near Valhalla drew our attention. Several officials were gathered around a newly arrived vehicle—sleek, black, important-looking.

"Ah," Odin said, checking an elegant wristwatch. "Right on schedule. The higher authorities arrive."

"What happens now?" Sigrid asked. "To Valhalla, to the warriors, to us?"

"A new age begins," he replied simply. "One where the divine and mortal realms are no longer entirely separate. The barriers have thinned permanently—a consequence I did not foresee when I created the Eye of Wisdom so long ago."

He turned to me, his expression softening. "You have lost much, Freya Valkyrheart. Your wings, your immortality, your love. But you have gained something as well—freedom from divine constraints, from eternal service."

"Freedom feels hollow without him," I admitted quietly.

"Then hold to hope," he advised. "And in the meantime, both of you should probably make yourselves scarce. The human authorities are well-meaning but... thorough in their investigations. I've arranged documentation for you—identities, backgrounds, the necessities for navigating the modern world."

He handed Sigrid a slim leather portfolio. "You'll find everything you need in here. A modest account has been established for each of you—I may be diminished, but I still have certain... influences in the mortal realm."

"You're letting us go?" Sigrid asked, surprised. "No punishment for our roles in all this?"

A dry chuckle escaped him. "I think we are all being punished and rewarded in equal measure, don't you? The divine order is transformed, the corruption exposed, new paths forged. Precisely what you fought for, if not exactly how you envisioned it."

He turned as if to leave, then paused. "One more thing. The warriors of Valhalla who have materialized here—they may seek you out, Freya. Many remember you as their guide, their witness. They may need your guidance again, in this new existence."

"I'm no longer a Valkyrie," I reminded him. "I have no wings, no powers."

"Perhaps that makes you exactly what they need," he suggested. "Someone who understands both worlds, who can help them navigate this one without divine pretense."

With those words, he walked away, blending seamlessly into a group of officials who seemed to accept his presence without question. Within moments, he was engaged in animated conversation with them, gesturing toward Valhalla with the confidence of an expert sharing valuable insights.

Sigrid and I exchanged glances.

"Do you trust him?" she asked quietly.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But I don't think he's lying about Caelan. Not about that."

We made our way from the secured area, using the confusion and activity around Valhalla as cover. The portfolio Odin had given us contained exactly what he'd promised—identification documents, credit cards, keys to a coastal property not far from where we stood.

As dawn broke over the horizon, casting golden light across the transformed landscape, we stood on a bluff overlooking both the beach and the fallen hall. Valhalla gleamed in the morning sun, no longer ethereal but solid, real—a bridge between worlds made manifest.

"What will you do now?" Sigrid asked, her wings now completely invisible in daylight, making her appear fully human.

I placed a hand over my heart, imagining I could feel something stir within—a warmth, a presence, an echo of the man I loved.

"Wait," I said simply. "Hope. Live, for however long this mortal form allows me."

"And if he doesn't return?"

I considered the question seriously. "Then I honor what he was by living as he would want me to—with courage, with integrity, with compassion for others."

Sigrid smiled, linking her arm through mine. "Then you won't be alone while you wait. I may not have my full powers anymore, but I still remember how to be a friend."

Together, we watched as military helicopters circled Valhalla, as news vans arrived with satellite dishes extended, as the modern world struggled to incorporate the divine into its understanding of reality. A new age indeed—messier, more complicated, but perhaps more honest than the one we had left behind.

And deep within me, something stirred—a flicker of warmth, a spark of familiar consciousness, like the first stirrings of a phoenix in its ash. Not enough to prove Odin's theory correct, but enough to nurture the hope he had prescribed.

Somewhere between the ash of a god and the birth of a new world, Caelan Drayce still existed. And if there was a way to bring him back, I would find it—not as a Valkyrie, not as an immortal, but as a woman who had chosen love over divine order, truth over comfortable lies.

As the sun climbed higher, casting my now-wingless shadow across the mortal earth, I made a silent promise to that spark within me: I would be patient. I would be strong. And I would be waiting, for however long it took.