Chapter 1 Judgement Scroll

I remember the day my world began to crumble—not with thunder or lightning, but with the silent unfurling of a golden scroll.

The Hall of Divine Decrees always smelled of ancient parchment and immortality, a scent I had grown accustomed to over centuries of service. Sunlight streamed through the crystal dome, casting rainbow patterns across the marble floor where I knelt, wings folded neatly behind me.

"Freya Valkyrheart," the Messenger's voice echoed. "The All-Father entrusts you with this sacred task."

I accepted the scroll with practiced reverence, my fingers steady despite the weight I knew such documents carried. As the highest-ranking Valkyrie in the Northern Quadrant, I had guided countless worthy souls to Valhalla. I had become the bridge between mortality and eternity.

"You may rise," the Messenger said, his white robes flowing like water as he stepped back.

Alone with my orders, I broke the wax seal bearing Odin's raven insignia. The scroll expanded in my hands, golden runes dancing across the surface before settling into words:

*By divine authority, the fallen spirit Caelan Drayce is sentenced to final death for crimes against the celestial order. As Valkyrie of the Northern Quadrant, you shall carry out this judgment before the next full moon.*

My breath caught. The scroll slipped from my fingers, floating to the ground with unnatural slowness.

Caelan Drayce.

A name I had buried in the deepest chambers of my heart for over a century. A name I had forbidden myself to whisper even in the privacy of my thoughts.

"This cannot be," I murmured, retrieving the scroll with trembling hands. There had to be a mistake. Caelan was a hero—a warrior who had died honorably in battle. I had guided him to Valhalla myself.

I hurried to the Registry of Souls, a vast library where every spirit's journey was meticulously documented. The keeper, an ancient entity named Astrid, barely looked up as I entered.

"I need the Fallen Registry," I said, trying to keep my voice professional despite the storm brewing inside me.

Astrid's silver eyes narrowed slightly. "The Fallen Registry is restricted, Valkyrie Freya. Even for one of your rank."

"I have direct orders from the All-Father," I countered, presenting the scroll. "I cannot execute judgment without verification."

She studied the document, then me, her ancient face unreadable. "Very well," she finally conceded, gesturing toward a shadowy corner of the library where books bound in black leather floated in suspended animation.

The Registry of the Fallen was a massive tome that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. As I approached, it opened of its own accord, pages flipping rapidly before settling on a name written in blood-red ink: Caelan Drayce.

Next to his name was a charge I couldn't comprehend: "Conspiracy against the Divine Order. Corruption of Soul-Light. Sentence: Final Death."

A portrait materialized beside the text—and my heart stopped. Those eyes, once bright with honor and kindness, now appeared hollow and cold. His face was leaner, harsher, but unmistakably his. The man I had loved. The man I had lost.

"Impossible," I whispered, tracing his features with a fingertip.

"Is something amiss, Valkyrie?" Astrid's voice startled me.

I composed myself quickly. "No. Just... confirming identity."

"The Fallen rarely resemble their former selves," she commented. "Their corruption transforms them, inside and out."

But I knew better. Behind those hollow eyes was the man who had once looked at me as if I were more divine than the gods themselves. The man who had whispered poetry to me under northern lights, his mortality making every moment precious.

I closed the book with a decisive thud. "Thank you for your assistance."

Back in my private chambers, I paced frantically, my wings fluttering with agitation. The golden armor that usually felt like a second skin now seemed to suffocate me. I removed my helmet, letting my silver-blonde hair cascade down my back.

The laws were absolute: Valkyries existed to serve divine justice. To question an order was to question the All-Father himself. Yet here I stood, contemplating treason for a man who probably wouldn't even remember my name.

I moved to my window, looking out at the endless expanse of clouds that separated the divine realm from the mortal world and the shadowy territories beyond. Somewhere in that twilight zone between worlds was Hemul—the wasteland where fallen spirits were banished. Where Caelan now dwelled.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

"Enter," I called, quickly wiping away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen.

My fellow Valkyrie and closest friend, Sigrid, stepped inside. Her expression grew concerned as she saw my state.

"Freya? What happened? The Messenger said you received special orders."

I hesitated, then handed her the scroll. Sigrid was the only one who knew about Caelan—about how I had broken the most sacred rule of our kind by falling in love with a mortal warrior. She had kept my secret for centuries.

Her eyes widened as she read. "Oh, Freya..."

"I can't do it, Sig," I whispered. "I can't kill him."

"But you must," she replied, her voice gentle but firm. "If you refuse, they'll send another in your place—and then investigate why you declined. Everything would be discovered."

She was right, of course. My disobedience wouldn't save Caelan; it would only condemn us both.

"What if..." I began, an idea forming. "What if I went to Hemul first? To see him, to understand what happened?"

Sigrid gasped. "Hemul? No Valkyrie enters the fallen realm willingly! It's forbidden!"

"I have to know why he fell, Sig. I guided him to Valhalla myself. Something is wrong with this entire situation."

"And if you're discovered?"

I squared my shoulders. "I'll say I was gathering intelligence to ensure a successful execution."

Sigrid studied me for a long moment before sighing. "You never stopped loving him, did you?"

The question pierced me. Had I ever stopped? Or had I merely buried those feelings beneath centuries of duty?

"It doesn't matter," I said finally. "This isn't about love. It's about justice."

Even as I spoke the words, I knew they weren't entirely true. This was about Caelan—the man whose smile had once made me question my immortality, whose touch had made me wonder if eternity without him was worth the price.

That night, I prepared in secret. I exchanged my golden armor for a simple black tunic and leggings, garments that would help me blend into the shadows of Hemul. I concealed a small dagger in my boot—not my official blade of judgment, but a weapon nonetheless.

As dawn approached, I stood at the Edge of Worlds, the liminal space where realms connected. Below me stretched the misty expanse of Hemul, a place of perpetual twilight where fallen spirits wandered in eternal punishment.

"Forgive me, All-Father," I whispered to the wind, "but some questions demand answers before justice can be served."

With those words, I spread my wings and dove into the forbidden realm, leaving behind everything I had ever known, risking everything I had ever been—all for a man who might no longer exist in the hollow shell that bore his name.

As I descended into the mist, one thought consumed me: Would Caelan remember the woman who had once promised to guide him to eternity? Or would I find nothing but a stranger wearing the face of the man I had loved?