Hel Lokisdottir's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Back in her cold halls, Hel held the stolen raven against her chest. It fed her every death across the nine realms. A drowned child. A frozen hunter. She caught them now, one by one. But a new dread crept into her. Among all the small deaths, she felt a great one coming. One god, huge and bright, would soon fall and walk into her realm. She did not know his name. She only knew this death would break the worlds. Hel rode Fenrir back through the portal to find her father. She needed the truth before the great soul arrived unclaimed. If a god died wrong, Ragnarok would follow, and no one would be left to rule. She crossed the rainbow bridge on the wolf's back. Its light shifted under Fenrir's paws. At the far end stood the watchman, Heimdall, his golden teeth bright, a great horn strapped to his chest. He was the guardian of this bridge, and his horn would sound the first blast of Ragnarok. He barred her path with his sword. "You feel it too," Heimdall said. His golden eyes narrowed. "A death moving toward your gates. I hear its heartbeat slowing already." "Whose heart?" Hel demanded. "Name the god." He did not answer. She saw the fear behind his stare. Above them, a rider swept across the sky. A woman in silver and gold armor sat on a white horse, spear leveled, her hair streaming. The valkyrie carried the slain to the halls of the gods. Now she flew fast, low, searching, as if the whole sky felt the coming death. Loki stepped onto the bridge behind Heimdall. His golden armor caught the shifting light. He smiled the smile that meant ruin. "My daughter senses a prize," he said. "The greatest soul in Asgard." Heimdall turned on him. "You know which god," he growled. "You always know." Loki only looked at Hel. "You want to name him," he said. "So close your eyes. Feel the death you fear. Follow it to its source." Hel closed her eyes. She let the raven's gift pour through her. She felt a thousand small deaths, then one thread brighter than the rest. Warm. Radiant. Beloved by every living thing. Light poured off the dying god even in her vision. She followed the thread to a shining palace, to a face too fair to forget. Her eyes snapped open. "Baldr," she whispered. "The light of Asgard. He is the one who comes to me." Heimdall's face went pale. Loki's smile widened. Hel had her answer. The great death had a name now. But naming it did not stop it. Baldr would fall, and his soul would come to her halls, and Ragnarok would follow at his heels. She had wanted to rule all death. Now she knew the one death that could destroy everything she meant to rule.