The Valkyrie surveyed the battlefield. All around her, frozen corpses lay in bloody snow, reaching for weapons they would never again hold in life. Her sisters went among them, choosing the worthy. She let them. That was not her job.
She bent down and examined a discarded longsword. The blade was pitted with rust and the edge was dulled with wear, but it was a good sword.
The night was lit by a heatless flame as she pull the sword’s spirit free and sent it to Odin. There were many Einherjar, and they all needed to be armed for Ragnarok.

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