Queen of Valhalla, King of Worlds

Another year has passed without the queen. No footsteps in

the snow, no candle by the crypt. Only the sound of war drums

and a king who no longer kneels to grief. She does not return.

She watches from Valhalla. The throne stands cold, the crown still

worn. Another year of nights forlorn. No midnight bell, no spectral flame.

Just iron will and whispered name. Above the stars where warriors stand. She walks the

halls of Valhalla's land. Her eyes still burn with sacred fire.

Guiding him higher, ever higher. One year gone, the queen unseen. But never lost,