23rd of May, 2455 ásveldi Standard Calendar

  ásatru teaches us not to fear death, for if you are worthy, there is only glory in it. It is but another step in our journey. We guide the warriors on their path to Valhalla, in death as in life. Our existence is dedicated to this cause, to be the instruments of the Allfather’s will, to let our people see the glory of his hall, if they be deemed worthy. When I am finally called to its halls, I shall take up the task of guiding the worthy dead for eternity, as I and my sisters do now for those still breathing. Such is the promise, such is the duty.

  But the old texts speak little of the waiting.

  The waiting is the true test of faith. To watch a soul burn bright with the fire of life, to see the potential for glory in their eyes, and know that their moment may not come for decades. For a Valkyrja, a battle is a crescendo, a beautiful, violent symphony where we collect the harmonies of the brave. The long peace between those symphonies... that is the quiet hum between notes, a time for contemplation, but also for a strange, aching loneliness. It is a feeling that drives me from the quiet of the chapel to the heart of our strength.

  This morning, I found myself in the forges of Nidavillier, watching the master smiths lay the adamantium skeleton for a new J?tunn-class. The heat was immense, a physical pressure against the skin, the air thick with the sharp scent of molten metal and the clean bite of ozone. I watched them pour the adamantium, a river of liquid starlight flowing into the great skeletal mold, and my mind, as it so often does these days, turned to the Einherjar.

  People see them as our ultimate warriors, the pinnacle of our martial might. They are not wrong. But they are so much more. They are the living embodiment of our faith. To willingly undergo the Ascension, to have your very flesh and bone reforged in pain and fire, to bind your life to an AI partner for all time—that is a choice no one can force. It is a prayer made manifest. Each one is a sermon of sacrifice, a walking testament to the belief that their strength, their very life, belongs to the innocent and their fury to the Allfather's foes.

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  They are the easiest to guide. When their time comes, their spirits do not falter. There is no confusion, no fear of the unknown. There is only the calm certainty of a promise fulfilled. I have guided Jarls, officers, scientists and farmers, but it is the Einherjar whose hands I take with the most profound sense of pride. They are already halfway home. Sometimes, I envy them that certainty.

  Yet, I find myself wondering about the others. The ones who are not born of our blood. The Allfather’s vision has ever been expansive, his love for a valiant spirit blind to the shape of its vessel. I feel the change coming, a tremor in the threads of fate, a shift my sister Skuld has already foreseen. We have fought our own wars, held our own borders for so long. But there is a great suffering in the void beyond our sight, a cancer called the Rilethi that feasts on the weak.

  I hear the whispers from the Allfather's court, of a new alliance, of a desperate plea answered. I wonder if these new people, these Federation folk, can understand what it means to stand with us. Do they know that our aid is not a matter of politics, but of faith? That when we answer a call for help, we do not send soldiers; we send our prayers, armed and armored.

  And I wonder, will I soon be guiding one of their souls to Valhalla? Can a Felari, with her flashy bravado, find the silent stillness to be worthy? Can a Drakari, with her rigid honor, learn the flexibility of true sacrifice? Can an Asuari, so defined by pack and duty, learn to stand alone before the Allfather?

  I hope so. The halls of Valhalla are vast, but they were never meant to echo only with the songs of one people. It is time for new songs.

  I will go to the chapel now. The air there is cool and still, thick with the scent of old stone and beeswax. I will light a single candle, its small flame a defiant spark against the encroaching dark, and pray not for victory, but for worthiness. For them, and for us. For a worthy soul is a worthy soul, no matter the world from which it falls.