{ Rossweisse POV }
Valkyrie training was tough—and a bit costly, if you ask me. My family's financial condition wasn't exactly bad, but it wasn't ideal either. My parents managed to make ends meet, but that came at a price. They were almost never home, always off working jobs and taking on dangerous missions across the realms. Even though I rarely saw them, I never doubted their love or commitment to me. I knew they were doing all of it so I could have a better future.
They always made sure to send me a monthly allowance and paid all my tuition and living expenses without fail. "Don't worry about money," my mother had once told me through a video-call, her armor stained with blood, very possibly belonging to a slain enemy, "Just focus on your studies." And that's exactly what I did.
I poured everything into my training. First in my class for the past three years. Best student of the year. Recognized as the strongest Valkyrie youth at Valhalla Institute. I couldn't let my parents' sacrifices go to waste. So I trained. I studied. I bled and cried in silence when no one watched. All for them. All to make them proud.
My efforts finally paid off. Most Valkyries took six years—twelve grueling semesters—to graduate from the Institute. I was on track to do it in just four. I'd already advanced to the eleventh semester, having skipped several with special permission from the Headmaster. He'd said I was "overqualified" and passed every trial and written test designed for the skipped terms. It felt good to be acknowledged, but the pressure only mounted from there.
The eleventh and twelfth semesters were dedicated to real-world experience. We were to accompany senior-ranking Valkyries on actual missions, usually involving low-threat assignments. We wouldn't get paid for them, but the purpose was to get field experience in live combat—a critical stepping stone to becoming a full-fledged Valkyrie.
Today was the day of our first mission.
I glanced at the shimmering interface on my phone, commonly called an Oracle, a marvel of combining both Midgard's human technology and Nordic magic, unlike the touch pad phones the people of Midgard still use, the Oracle phone had a touch screen. Still an hour left before I had to meet the rest of the class at the Bifrost. After finishing my breakfast—a piece of toast and a barely warm mug of milk—I slipped into my Institute uniform and checked the mirror. My long silver hair was tied neatly in a braid. My sword at my side. I looked the part of a Valkyrie. Now I just needed to act like one.
I locked my apartment door behind me and stepped into the bustling streets of Asgard. My apartment, tucked into the suburban slums of lower Asgard, was a far cry from the golden towers and marble halls people imagined when they thought of this realm. It was small, barely furnished, and the walls were so thin I could hear the neighbor's dog snoring at night. Rent prices were increasing these days and this apartment was the cheapest one she could find.
Most mortals would be shocked to know that Asgard wasn't the floating space-palace seen in Earth's fiction. It wasn't a shining utopia. There were dirty alleys, overcrowded districts, and even crime, though on a smaller scale. Still, I loved it here. It was like home in a sense.
As I approached the Bifrost terminal, the air shimmered with magical energy. A tall, white-domed structure loomed at the edge of the district, guarded by Einherjar and pulsing with ancient runes. At the gate, I spotted a crowd of young Valkyries in uniform, chatting and laughing. Among them stood Sigrun, waving at me with a big grin.
"Hey, Rose! Ready for our first mission?" she called, throwing an arm around my shoulder. Her energy was infectious, as always.
"I guess so," I replied with a small smile.
"I can't wait! It's my first time visiting Midgard. You ever been there?"
I shook my head. "Nope. First time for me too."
Sigrun, daughter of Högni, second only to me in combat evaluations. While I excel in Nordic magic and runes, Sigrun excel in combat. She was two years older and the closest thing I had to a sister. Despite our rivalry on the field, off-duty she was my friend—perhaps my only friend. She always treated me like family, and I appreciated her presence more than I let on.
"They say Midgard's full of weird stuff," she said, wide-eyed. "Like… they don't even use magic for everything!"
I chuckled softly. "Yeah. They mostly use machines, fossil fuels and electricity. That's what I heard from the Librarian."
"She's an Einherjar right?." Sigrun asked.
"Yes."
"Wild," sigrun said, shaking her head.
I then continued "Hey, I heard if we do well on this mission, we could get bonus points for our grades. Ten points if I'm correct!"
I had high hopes for our first mission, "With that as our goal. Getting good grades means a shot at top-tier teams, better missions and better salary."
Sigrun groaned dramatically and thumped her forehead. "Why are you always thinking about grades? Lighten up, Rose! Have some fun! This is why you'll never get a boyfriend."
I blinked. "A boyfriend? Seriously?"
"Don't tell me you've never thought about it."
"I have," I admitted, "but… my mom always said focus on the training first. Boyfriends can wait."
Sigrun smirked. "Still, a girl's gotta live a little. When you're on the frontlines, you never know what might happen."
"Besides, you don't have a boyfriend either," I shot back, crossing my arms.
"You got me there," she laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. "But I'll still get one before you do, mark my words!"
Before I could reply, a commanding voice sliced through the air.
"Attention all Valkyrie!" our supervisor barked. The chatter died instantly, and we all stood at attention. She had blonde hair that was ties to a bun, wearing the dark blue and silver armor of the Benbryter Division—a high-ranking unit known for its brutal efficiency and elite status.
"If everyone is present, we'll begin," she said, scanning us with cold, calculating eyes. "Today's mission will take place in Midgard, specifically Finland. You will be replacing the current Valkyrie squad defending the village of Fredilig, which has been under nightly undead attacks for the past seven years."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"Though the undead do not pose significant danger to the village anymore thanks to daily patrols, they are persistent and unpredictable. Your objective is simple: protect the village, ensure civilian safety, and follow my commands to the letter."
We shouted in unison: "Yes, ma'am!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Do not stray from formation. Do not engage recklessly. And do not force me to report you with a negative remark."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Satisfied, she nodded and turned on her heel. "Follow me."
We entered the Bifrost terminal, which resembled a bureaucratic government office more than a divine gateway. White marble floors. Enchanted paperwork floating from desk to desk. Einherjar guards stood like statues, barely acknowledging our presence.
Our supervisor spoke briefly with the receptionist, who handed her a stack of magical entry slips. She motioned us to follow as she led us down a long corridor to a flight of stairs. We descended into the depths, arriving at section J-10—a massive chamber containing a black stone platform carved with ancient teleportation runes. Blue fire glowed from the edges.
We took our positions inside the circle. The runes pulsed beneath our feet.
"Teleportation runes activating shortly," echoed the deep voice of Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost. His presence could be felt in every stone of this place, a silent watcher appointed by Odin himself.
"Ten seconds," Heimdall announced.
I took a deep breath and adjusted my sword.
Midgard awaited.
What could possibly go wrong?
—
Something was going to go wrong.
Fate had already written that much.
Unbeknownst to Rossweisse and her fellow Valkyries, their arrival in Midgard would trigger the start of something big, something terrible. A chain of events that would echo across all nine realms. The first ripple of possibly Ragnarok itself.
But fate wasn't just cruel—it was ironic.
Because amidst the darkness, she would meet someone.
A man.
Not a prince, nor a knight.
But a force of pure chaos.
He was no hero.
He was the DEVOURER.
He was the BARBARIC PREDATOR.
He was the REMORSELESS BUTCHER.
He was the LIVING NIGHTMARE.
HE WAS…
.
.
.
THE BABA YAGA.