Chapter 13 The Flightless Pair

Six months passed like a slow exhalation. Autumn gave way to winter, and winter reluctantly yielded to the first tentative days of spring. The cottage Odin had provided—a weathered, two-story structure perched on the cliffs overlooking the ocean—had become home in ways I never expected. Simple tasks that had once been beneath divine notice now structured my days: brewing coffee in the morning, tending the small garden behind the house, walking the rocky beach at sunset.

Mortal life. Ordinary. Limited. Beautiful in its constraints.

I stood at the kitchen window, watching gulls wheel against the gray morning sky. Without wings, I found myself studying birds constantly, both envying and admiring their effortless flight.

"You're doing it again," Sigrid observed, entering the kitchen with an armload of firewood. Her once-divine presence had adjusted surprisingly well to humanity—her hair now casually tied back, her clothing simple and practical, her movements less formal but no less graceful.

"Doing what?" I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant.

"Staring at the birds like they've personally offended you." She deposited the wood beside the stone fireplace that dominated one wall of the kitchen. "Your wings weren't that efficient anyway. All that ceremonial gold plating—terribly aerodynamically unsound."

I smiled despite myself. Sigrid had made it her mission to keep my spirits up, using humor and pragmatism in equal measure.

"Any change?" she asked more softly, nodding toward my chest—our shorthand for asking about the essence I carried within me.

I shook my head. "Just the occasional warmth. Nothing more definitive."

She squeezed my shoulder encouragingly. "It's only been six months. Divine timescales are longer."

"We're not divine anymore," I reminded her, turning back to the window. "We're just... waiting to die, eventually."

"Charming outlook," came a new voice from the doorway. "Is this how former Valkyries always start their mornings? With existential despair over breakfast?"

Erikson the Bold—now simply Eric to the modern world—stood in the entrance, snow dusting his broad shoulders. Once a legendary warrior of Valhalla, he now worked as a security consultant for the international task force established to study and contain the phenomenon that mortals were calling "The Divine Incursion."

"You're early," Sigrid observed, taking his coat.

"The bigwigs are arriving today," he explained, accepting the mug of coffee I offered him. "Some UN delegation to inspect Valhalla. The brass wants all former divine entities accounted for during their visit."

"We're already accounted for," I pointed out. "We haven't left this area in months."

"Which is exactly why I'm here." Eric took a deep drink of his coffee, sighing appreciatively. "They want you both at the hall today."

I stiffened. "Why?"

"Because you're the only former Valkyrie who's also a former wingbearer," he said, using the clinical term the authorities had adopted for those of us who had lost our divine attributes. "And because several newly manifested warriors are asking for you specifically."

This wasn't entirely surprising. Over the past months, warriors had continued to materialize in and around Valhalla—souls who had been in the hall when it fell, gradually taking physical form in the mortal realm. Most adjusted quickly, their memories of their mortal lives returning. Others struggled, caught between their identities as einherjar and the disorienting reality of modern Earth.

"Which warriors?" I asked.

Eric consulted his phone. "Three materialized last night. Two are adapting well, already in processing. The third is... resistant. Keeps asking for 'the Valkyrie who remembers names.'"

Something stirred within me—not the essence of Caelan that I carried, but a sense of responsibility that had outlived my wings.

"I'll come," I decided. "But I'm not speaking to any officials. Just the warriors."

Eric nodded, unsurprised. "Vehicle's outside whenever you're ready."

An hour later, we approached the perimeter that had been established around Valhalla. The once-golden hall had changed over the months—parts of its structure seeming to adapt to Earth's physical laws, other sections remaining stubbornly ethereal. A complex arrangement of scaffolding, scientific equipment, and security measures now surrounded it.

Our vehicle was waved through multiple checkpoints, Eric's credentials opening gates that would have been closed to civilians. As we drove closer to the hall itself, I felt a strange tightness in my chest—not pain, but a kind of resonance, as if the essence within me was responding to proximity to its origin.

"Are you alright?" Sigrid asked quietly, noticing my discomfort.

"Fine," I assured her, though I pressed a hand to my sternum, trying to calm the fluttering sensation beneath.

Inside the security perimeter, a village of prefabricated buildings had sprung up—laboratories, dormitories, administrative offices, all dedicated to studying both Valhalla itself and the warriors who continued to emerge from it.

We were escorted to a building designated "Transition Center"—a bland name for what was essentially a processing facility for displaced divine warriors. Inside, the institutional atmosphere was softened by attempts at comfort—comfortable furniture, warm lighting, art on the walls depicting various historical periods to help orient warriors from different eras.

A harried-looking woman in a lab coat approached us. "Ms. Valkyrheart? I'm Dr. Chen. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

I nodded, not bothering to correct the "Ms." that mortals had attached to my name. "I understand someone asked for me."

"Yes, our most recent... arrival." She consulted her tablet. "He materialized at 0300 hours, directly inside the hall's western chamber. Unlike most manifestations, he seems to have full memory of both his mortal life and his time in Valhalla, but he's refusing standard processing procedures."

"And he asked for me specifically?" I pressed.

Dr. Chen looked uncomfortable. "Not by modern name. He keeps referring to 'Sylvi who became Freya'—which our database flagged as potentially referring to you."

My heart stuttered. Only one person had ever known both my mortal name and my Valkyrie designation.

"Take me to him," I said, my voice barely steady.

Dr. Chen led us through a series of corridors to a comfortable room that nevertheless had all the hallmarks of a secure observation area—one-way glass, monitored entry, cameras in the corners.

"He's not dangerous," she assured us, perhaps noticing my expression. "Just... insistent on speaking only to you."

Through the glass, I could see a man sitting calmly at a table. His back was to us, but something about the set of his shoulders, the angle of his head, sent recognition coursing through me.

"Is that—" Sigrid began.

"No," I cut her off quickly. "It can't be."

But the flutter in my chest had become a storm, the essence within me responding powerfully to the proximity of the man beyond the glass.

"I'd like to go in alone," I told Dr. Chen.

She hesitated, then nodded. "The room is monitored, but we can give you privacy in terms of audio if you prefer."

"Please," I said, already moving toward the door.

As I entered, the man didn't turn immediately. He seemed to be studying his own hands, turning them over as if they were unfamiliar to him.

"I'm told you asked for me," I said, my voice remarkably steady considering the hurricane of emotions within me.

"I did," he replied, and the sound of his voice sent shockwaves through me. "Though I wasn't sure you'd come. Or if you even still existed in this realm."

Slowly, he stood and turned to face me.

Caelan.

Not a ghost, not a vision, but solid flesh and blood. His features were exactly as I remembered, down to the scar that traced from temple to jaw. His eyes—those eyes that had looked at me with such love—were the same deep blue that had haunted my dreams for months.

"How?" The word escaped me as barely more than a breath.

He smiled—that same smile that had once made my immortal heart skip. "I'm still figuring that out myself. One moment I was holding back the weight of Valhalla, the next I was... nowhere. Everywhere. Scattered across realms."

I took an unsteady step forward. "The ash. You were the ash."

"Parts of me," he agreed. "The physical form, at least. But my essence..." He trailed off, then pressed a hand to his chest in a gesture that mirrored my own habitual movement. "My essence was with you. I could feel you, sometimes. Hear your voice. Sense your grief."

Another step closer. "Odin said I was... incubating you, somehow."

"Trust the All-Father to make it sound so clinical," Caelan said with a soft laugh. "I would have called it something else. Protection. Preservation. Love."

We stood now just arms' length apart, neither quite daring to bridge the final distance. The air between us seemed charged with possibility and fear in equal measure.

"When did you materialize?" I asked, needing practical details to anchor myself against the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm me.

"Last night. Or early this morning." He glanced around the room. "Time is... still a bit fluid for me. I remember fragments—being part of you, then slowly separating, gathering strength, pulling myself together from scattered pieces."

"But how? We've been waiting, hoping... what changed?"

His expression softened. "You stopped waiting."

"What do you mean? I never stopped hoping you'd return."

"Hoping, yes. But last night was different." His eyes held mine steadily. "You were on the beach at sunset. You said aloud, 'I will live this life fully, with or without you. I will not put my existence on hold any longer.'"

I remembered the moment clearly—a decision born of months of grief and stagnation, a promise to myself as I watched the sun sink into the ocean.

"You heard that?"

"I felt it," he corrected. "Your release. Your acceptance. Your decision to truly live in this world, not just wait for something that might never happen." He smiled again, more fully this time. "And somehow, that was what I needed—your freedom from the burden of waiting for me."

My hands trembled as I finally, finally reached for him. His skin was warm beneath my fingers as I touched his face, tracing the familiar contours, reassuring myself of his solidity.

"You're really here," I whispered.

His hand came up to cover mine, pressing my palm more firmly against his cheek. "I'm really here."

The dam broke then, and I was in his arms, my face buried against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my ear. His arms encircled me tightly, as if he feared I might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.

"I thought I'd lost you again," I managed between sobs. "When Valhalla was falling, when you took the impact—"

"Shh," he soothed, one hand stroking my hair. "I know. I'm sorry."

I pulled back just enough to look up at him. "Don't you dare apologize for saving all those people."

"Not for that," he agreed. "Never for that. But for leaving you alone again, even temporarily. For the pain I know you've carried."

In answer, I rose on tiptoe and pressed my lips to his. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if we were both afraid the other might shatter. Then, as reality solidified around us, it deepened into something hungry and desperate and joyful all at once.

When we finally parted, both breathless, I became aware of discreet coughing from the doorway. Sigrid stood there, attempting to look serious but failing to hide her smile.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, not sounding sorry at all, "but Dr. Chen is having what I believe mortals call a 'conniption' about protocol violations."

I kept my arms firmly around Caelan's waist, unwilling to release him even for a moment. "Tell Dr. Chen that standard protocols don't apply to this situation."

"Already did," Sigrid replied cheerfully. "Also told her that we'll be taking him with us, effective immediately."

Caelan looked between us. "Is that allowed?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "But I've lost you twice already. I'm not spending a single night apart from you while some well-meaning scientists run their tests and fill out their forms."

He pressed his forehead to mine, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What about after the forms are filled out? When they're satisfied I'm not a threat or an anomaly? What then?"

I understood what he was really asking—about our future, about what came next in these mortal lives we now found ourselves living.

"Then we go home," I said simply. "To our cottage by the sea."

"To do what?" he asked softly. "We're only human now. We can only wait to die."

I recognized my own words from that morning, thrown back at me with gentle irony. I shook my head, smiling through tears.

"No," I corrected him. "We get to live. Together. Finally."

His answering smile was like sunrise after the longest night. "That," he said, drawing me close again, "sounds like exactly what I want."