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"Our history,elskan-ljós. The history of the Fae."
I turn in a circle, my heart rising and falling. Álfheimr stretches across one entire wall, standing in testament to the beauty of the realm. It's so much like earth with its forests and rivers and lakes. Only it's somehow far more beautiful.
Fae cities rise from the forest, standing like sentinels among the trees, strong and proud. A couple wearing beautiful golden crowns adorned with massive jewels watch over the realm, surrounded by flows of light. It's peaceful, beautiful. A realm of tranquility.
But thousands of Fae leave anyway, long lines marching toward another realm.Valhalla.They ring a city of gold, fearsome expressions on their faces as they stand guard over the city. Beautiful women fly in and out, surrounded by blazinglight. Some Fae teach human men to fight. Others accompany the Valkyrie as they carry orbs of light toward a glowing doorway.
My gaze falls on the next wall.
Ragnarök and the fall of Álfheimr. Tears well in my eyes at the sight of so many Fae laying still on a battlefield, their realm burning around them. In the sky overhead, a giant battles the same man from the previous wall, both bleeding. I turn slightly and see the God on his knees, falling to his death. The giant falls too. The entire realm burns to ash, leaving nothing behind… nothing except a battalion of Fae, fighting in Valhalla.
Valkyrie and warriors litter the ground. Others blaze like little suns, setting fire to giants. The Fae battle on, unleashing their rage upon the enemy. Valhalla is overrun with enemies. They outnumber the Fae and the Valkyrie by hundreds. But the Fae battle on.
I turn slowly, watching as the tide of the battle turns, and the Fae gain the upper hand, driven by their grief and rage and the oath that bound them. They don't falter. They don't flee. They fight, protecting this realm as they couldn't their own.
Somehow, they drive out the invaders. They bury their dead and rebuild. There are far fewer Valkyrie pictured now. Far fewer Fae, too. But still, the Fae battle on. Valkyrie after Valkyrie shows up pregnant, their bellies swollen.
Tears flow freely as the Valkyrie place their infants in baskets and leave them behind, hiding them on earth where the Forsaken won't find them. The grief etched onto their faces breaks me. I cover my mouth with my hand and sob. Those poor women. They gave up everything just to give the realms a chance, including their own children.
This is the silent burden the Fae carry. The memories they'll never forget. And there are so many more of them. So many moments of heartbreak, of devastating loss, etched into the wallsof this hall so they never forget what they've lost and what they fight for even now.
The Valkyrie aren't the brightest Lights the realms have. The Fae are. They always have been.
I turn to Dax, tears pouring down my cheeks, and fling myself at hard wall of his chest. "I'm sorry," I whisper, cling to his broad shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Dax."
"Shh, Valkyrie. All is well."
It isn't though. It's not even close.
Once I stop crying, Dax leads me around the Hall. I'm not sure precisely what I was supposed to see here. But I make sure I look at everything, committing the images to memory.
"Who painted this, Dax?" I ask.
"Adriel," he murmurs.
"He's incredibly skilled.
"Ja, he is."
I draw to a stop in front of the last wall. This one shows the fall of Valhalla three hundred years ago. Unlike the others, hundreds of names are swirled into the paint, as if each stroke of color spells a piece of that Fae's story.
I reach out, gently tracing my fingers along one of the names. Druxien.
"Are these the Fae who died?"
"Ja. And the Valkyrie and warriors." His stoic expression breaks my heart. "Everyone the Fae lost during the fall of Valhalla is recorded here."
"I'm sorry, Dax."
"As am I,bittesmå ljós." He lifts my hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles as if to soothe me even though he's the one who lost so much.
We stand in silence for a long moment before I feel compelled to speak again. "My father was an abusive alcoholic," I whisper. "Um, he'd drink a lot and get really violent. My mom tried to protect me as much as she could. When I was nine, he got really bad. She decided to take me and run."
"Rissa," Dax breathes.
"He came home while she was packing our stuff." I squeeze my eyes closed, only to pop them open wide again immediately when memories of that night flicker against the backs of my eyelids. "Um, as soon as he realized what was happening, he flew into a rage. He started screaming that we weren't leaving him, that we were never leaving him." My hands shake as I share my own painful history with the Fae who lived through so much pain. "He killed my mom. He tried to kill me. I think he would have succeeded if the neighbors hadn't heard all of the noise and called the police."
"Faen," Dax growls, hislyststålflaring with power. Rage swirls like thunderclouds in his eyes, his expression savage. "Your own father tried to kill you,elskan-ljós? Your own father?"
