I died, my lungs splayed behind me, torn and dragged past my broken ribs. But as I closed my eyes… I opened them again what seemed only a moment later. My pain was gone and I breathed deeply. I felt nothing but the wind soar across my skin. Looking up, I saw I was held in the huge claws of the largest raven I had ever seen. Its wings were whisper-quiet as we traveled… somewhere. I could see the twinkling of lights above me and a soft green glow of unknown structures that pulsed quietly in the night.

«‹Oh, good. You’re awake,›» the raven said above me – though he did not speak, but rather seemed to scoop the words from his mind and pour them into mine. «‹Don’t try to talk quite yet. Freya’s healing baths did their work on you, but your brother-in-law cut off your head and kicked it so hard your jaw broke and went in the other direction. You have no idea how hard that was to find, even for me. I am Munin, and you are…›»

«‹No names,›» I said before he could say mine. I didn’t even know if he knew it or not, but names have power and I wasn’t about to give it out for free.

«‹Probably wisest at this point. We’re coming up on it. You’re a special delivery to a friend of mine, ›» he said as he began to slow. I wasn’t sure what that meant, or if I liked it. Just before he landed, he slowly (and gently) laid me on the ground, while those bilious wings flapped with seemingly no effort. Then he unclenched his talons and hopped to the side as I stood, blinking while my eyes adjusted to a campfire's brightness in the night.

“It’s about time you got here, birdbrain. I’ve been waiting for the better part of a week,” said a gruff voice, as if its owner chewed gravel for lunch and drank glass shards instead of mead. That owner would have been but mid-chest high, even standing, though stocky and built like a boulder-shouldered giant. His clothes were dark and patched, and he had an axe nestled to either side of his tunic like two hungry baby birds. A long-stemmed pipe was in one hand as he sat upon a cut stump. “This him?”

“Yes, Haldor. It’s him,” Munin said, his actual voice sounding little different from the one he had projected into my head.

The short man looked me over. I was naked, but he seemed not to care, saying, “Heard of you when I visited Midgard. Had to bribe the right people to get you here to serve my purposes and now here you are. Not gonna thrall you; that won’t work on you, eh, Blondie? No, that won’t work. For now, suffice it to say that I need protection and you know which direction to point a sword. You do this job for me and I’ll pay you in gold and get you out of this hellhole to whatever realm you desire – including Midgard, if that’s your wish,” Haldor said, and puffed on his pipe.

“I do… know which way to point a sword. But I’m lacking one… and apparently clothing,” I said, looking around at my surroundings. We were in a scrubby forest, upon a trail that had been cut through it, yielding enough space for the raven to have carried me to the ground. There was a wagon and half-tent set up beside that path, as well as a creature, an ugly bug-eyed beast like a turtle with shaggy fur and an almost bearish demeanor. Its eyes glowed like lanterns themselves, but it seemed tame enough, hunkered next to the wagon, so I didn’t bother questioning its presence or nature.

“There’s some spare clothing in the back of the wagon. Let me finish my deal with the birdbrain and we can talk.” Haldor stood and walked over to the giant raven.

“You do know I’m basically Odin’s brain, right?” Munin asked in a laughing tone.

“Says more about the All-Father than it does about you,” Haldor huffed as he took a leather pouch from 'round his neck and drew out a small trinket. “A penny for the raven.”

Munin balanced on one leg and grabbed it with the other seemingly indelicate claw. “And this is the original one?”

“Far as I know,” Haldor said with a shrug.

“Where in Hel did you find it?” Munin asked curiously.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Haldor looked back at me with a face that said Git going. So I did. The strange beast lifted its head and sniffed in my direction before deciding I wasn’t a threat; it went back to dozing. I found the back of the wagon, well-stocked with bags and boxes, and began to rummage around for some clothing, using the light of the creature's half-lidded eyes to search. The bags were ill-used, their once-sturdy cloth now full of holes, tears, and patches; the rectangular boxes had lids that were hinged but only crudely latched, with sticks thrust through wooden hasps. Most of the stuff in the back was blood-stained and torn, but of decent cloth and make. I found several boots and sat on the back end of the wagon, trying to match mates to mates in the fickle lighting, and then a pair to match my feet. It took a few tries, but I eventually managed to find sufficient clothing and footwear that fit well enough and put the remainder back into the bags or boxes whence they'd come.

“Our business has concluded,” I heard Haldor intone a dozen yards away, as if he spoke some ritual, before going silent again. The glint of steel caught my eye once again; beneath the sacks had been weapons, swords, and axes of unknown quality. But rather than pull them forth to examine in better light, I decided to go back to my new master.

Haldor was sitting in front of the fire and stirring a cauldron: a meat stew, from the smell of it.

“I’m not a cook, but I get by. Sit, Blondie. Rest while you can. You won’t be able to do that much while we travel.” Haldor used the large spoon to sample the contents of the pot, grunted, and reached into a nearby bag to pull out some kind of spice, which he dusted the pot with. He lifted up a chunk of meat that I recognized as a rabbit leg. That was something, at least.

“Why are you calling me Blondie?” I asked finally.

“You’re the most tow-headed human I’ve ever seen. Good a name as any, right?” He slurped up some of the meat and what I thought might have been carrot from the spoon.

“Fair enough,” I said with a shrug as I looked about again to get a better feel for my surroundings. These were woodlands… somewhere. Though the trees were not densely-packed, they were not stunted by drought; I could practically smell the moss on the trees. The starry sky above twinkled, but I could not find the moon. Instead, there were massive… trunks – for lack of a better word – soaring above us and emitting soft light.

“What realm is this? Vanaheim? Asgard? This is not Midgard.”

“No, it’s not. You are in Valheim,” Haldor said as he stood up, strode to his wagon, grabbed a small keg, and came back over before fishing out two wooden cups from a bag near the fire.

“…The home of the chosen?” I asked as I puzzled out its meaning.

“I was told you were smart. It is indeed and you won’t like what you’ve been chosen for. Mead?” he asked, as he filled both cups and handed me one.

“Best thing you’ve said yet.” I gratefully took the cup and sipped. It was…nutty, with a faint finish of spice that numbed my tongue pleasantly.

“Good, eh?” He downed his in one long draught.

I did the same and handed him my cup in response. Haldor let out a rumbling chuckle and filled both again, commenting, “I get this from a brewer who makes this nigh exclusively to all else. That’s a rarity here, as you will undoubtedly find. Before you ask the two questions I know you want to ask, let’s eat and then I’ll answer you.” Haldor set the keg down on a stone he’d placed 'round the fire.

I didn’t disagree with him, as the smell of rabbit stew had started my stomach rumbling. I guess the dead could still feel hunger. He pulled wooden bowls and spoons out of his bag, filled a bowl to the brim, and handed it over. I gratefully took it and waited for him to dig in. He saw me waiting and waved me off. I didn’t need to be told twice. The thick stuff was unctuous and savory, with the hint of pepper and onion in every bit. I could see little chunks of rabbit and picked those out first. It took hours to make a good stew, which meant he’d been here a while. It burned my mouth, but I didn’t really care. Either he was a genius at the kitchen-fires or hunger was the best spice. Maybe both. Every time my bowl got half-empty, he took it and filled it again, and eventually, his sack produced hand-sized loaves of bread, and pots of red butter and cloudberry jam for them. After several bowls of stew and loaves of bread, I realized I’d eaten more than I should have.

“It’s the revenance. It takes it out of you and if you survive, you’ll feel like you’ve never eaten in your life,” Haldor said in an oddly sympathetic tone. He took my cup and filled it with mead once more, before taking my bowl from me and setting it aside.

“Valheim is the Tenth Realm. A place the gods hid that served as a battleground and a prison for beings that could be kept nowhere else. After all of the Forsaken were gathered up from the nine realms, they were brought here, and we dwarves were set to guard them until… well, that doesn’t matter right now. You’re here because I bribed the birdbrain to bring you to serve as my bodyguard while I attempt something very, very dangerous.” Haldor settled back on his rock and took up his pipe, lighting it with a stick from the fire.

“How dangerous?” I asked.

“Oh, you’ll probably die again,” Haldor said with amusement.

“Oh. Is that all?” I held out my cup for more mead. I had a feeling death had no meaning in this place. Wherever and whatever it was.