Lucen, who had his eyes closed, felt like he was floating. He had been in a similar situation before, when an unknown deity spoke about the last light.
When Lucen opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a grand golden dining hall with all sorts of weapons on the wall and sets of armor.
There were long tables with countless chairs, yet not a single person sat upon them. The air shimmered faintly, as though it carried the memory of countless feasts. The first thought that came to his mind was.
"... Valhalla?"
He turned slowly, taking it all in. Symbols of shields, hammers, and wings marked the towering banners along the walls. The scent of iron and smoke hung in the air, but there was also something purer, the faint trace of honor, heavy and old.
"Did I die again?... I guess this wouldn't be Valhalla but Varkun's hall of heroes."
Lucen was surprised by how calm he felt. In fact, he wasn't feeling much of anything being here. No fear, no relief, just quiet acceptance.
