Sure! Here's a 2,000-word English short story featuring a Valkyrie and a Barbarian King, set in a mythical world of war, fate, and unexpected love. You can post or share this without edits—let's see how high it climbs:
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"When Steel Meets Sky"
The battlefield was stained in blood and fire, but above it, the sky remained impossibly serene—like the heavens themselves refused to look down.
From that sky came Eiryn, a Valkyrie of the storm. Wings of silver lightning folded behind her back as she hovered above the slain. Her job was clear: choose the worthy dead to bring to the halls of the gods.
But then she saw him.
The Barbarian King, Rhaegor of the Iron Wolf Clan, had not yet died. He stood amidst a ring of corpses, breathing heavily, wounds blooming across his chest. His blade was broken. His people were gone.
And yet, his eyes burned like the last flame in a dying world.
> "Do not float above me like a spirit," he growled. "If you're going to take me, take me with steel, not whispers."
Eiryn blinked. No mortal had ever spoken to her like that.
> "I am not here to fight," she answered. "But to carry those whose deaths have meaning."
> "Then I suppose I am not worthy," he spat, collapsing to his knees. "I lived for vengeance. Killed for it. And now... I die for nothing."
That should have been the end. Another soul to pass over.
But something stopped her.
She landed.
> "You defied fate," she said quietly. "That makes you interesting."
> "I don't need your pity, sky-witch."
> "Good. Because I'm offering you a second life, not a kind one."
---
The gods were furious when she brought him to Skyrhall—a place only the chosen dead entered. Not the living. Not a king of blood.
> "He reeks of battle and pride," the god Frey thundered. "He is mortal filth!"
> "He is a warrior," Eiryn answered. "And we need one."
For war was coming even to the skies. A threat from beyond the mortal realms: the Ash Serpent, an ancient being devouring fate itself. The gods had no champion brave—or reckless—enough to face it.
Except maybe him.
Rhaegor trained. He healed. Slowly, he learned the language of the gods, and when he wasn't cursing their food or traditions, he spoke with Eiryn.
And she… found herself laughing.
One night, she found him sitting under the Sky Tree, shirtless, scarred, eyes tired.
> "Why me?" he asked.
> "Because you were angry enough to live," she said. "Even when everything was taken from you."
> "I still am."
> "Good," she whispered. "Don't lose it."
He didn't.
---
The serpent came in storms and silence. It swallowed three gods before it even spoke.
Rhaegor stood alone on the edge of the clouds, sword reforged by thunder, cloak made from the feathers of fallen Valkyries.
Eiryn watched from the sky above, her hands trembling.
> "Don't die," she whispered.
> "You didn't say please," he grinned up at her.
Then he jumped.
---
The battle lasted three days.
On the fourth, the serpent fell.
So did Rhaegor.
Eiryn found him lying broken in the ruins of what used to be a floating temple. His body was battered. His eyes closed.
She landed beside him, fury rising in her chest.
> "You arrogant, stupid, brave man."
> "You forgot handsome," he muttered, eyes opening just barely.
Her breath caught.
> "You survived."
> "Couldn't die. I haven't kissed you yet."
She should've struck him.
She kissed him instead.
---
One Year Later
Rhaegor walked beside Eiryn through the rebuilt halls of Skyrhall. The gods now nodded at him. Some even bowed.
> "So," he muttered, "do I count as immortal now?"
> "No," Eiryn smiled. "Just legendary."
> "Still sounds lonely."
She stopped.
> "Would it be less lonely if I stayed?"
He turned, surprised.
> "You'd leave the skies for me?"
> "You once gave up death for me," she said. "Seems fair."
He didn't speak.
He kissed her again.
And far above them, the sky wept lightning in Joy.
---
The battlefield was quiet.
Where once the sky cracked open with thunder and the ground bled with fire, now only silence remained.
Ashes still danced in the air, like snow that forgot it was born from flame.
Eiryn stood beside him—wings tattered, armor cracked, her once-blinding eyes now flickering like a lantern in a storm.
Rhaegor dropped to one knee, not in weakness—but in awe.
> "You're still here," he whispered. "You chose to stay."
She didn't answer. Her gaze fell to the scar over his heart—the one she had healed.
Then her voice, quiet as falling ash:
> "I thought saving you would break me.
But it's the first time I felt whole."
They didn't kiss. They didn't move.
They simply stood in the stillness, two war-forged souls who had just refused to let the world end.
---
They walked for days—through the ruins of scorched forests, drowned valleys, and half-swallowed cities.
No words passed between them often. But their silence was warm.
When it rained, Eiryn extended a wing over him. When the path grew steep, Rhaegor offered his hand—though she never needed it.
At night, they made camp beside quiet rivers or forgotten shrines.
One evening, by a crumbling watchtower, Rhaegor spoke.
> "When this war ends—do you vanish?"
Eiryn stared at the fire.
> "I was made to disappear after the task. But I'm choosing not to."
He didn't ask how. He simply nodded.
And she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder for the first time.
Neither of them slept.
---
The remnants of the old kingdom gathered slowly.
Refugees with no banner. Children with no names. Survivors who whispered about a winged woman and a cursed king walking side by side.
Eiryn didn't hide her wings anymore.
And Rhaegor no longer wore his crown.
Instead, they built walls—not to keep people out, but to give them something to lean on.
Rhaegor taught the children to craft iron.
Eiryn taught the farmers how to read the stars, to know when storms would come.
One morning, a child asked her:
> "Are you his queen?"
Eiryn blinked. Looked at Rhaegor across the field, hammering stone with bare hands.
Then answered softly:
> "He doesn't need a queen.
He needs someone who won't run."
---
Peace never lasts.
One night, smoke rose from the north. A raiding tribe. Bandits who thought the new town was still weak.
Eiryn stood at the gate.
She didn't summon lightning.
She simply held her blade, steady and calm.
Rhaegor joined her—no armor, just scars and the strength of a man who had learned to protect without rage.
> "Will you fly?" he asked.
She shook her head.
> "Not unless you fall."
They fought side by side—not with divine fire, but with rhythm.
Like dancers who knew each other's movements by heart.
And when it was over, the bandits were gone.
So was the fear.
---
Later that night, by the quiet wall they had built with their hands, Rhaegor found her gazing upward.
> "Do you miss the sky?" he asked.
She smiled.
And this time, her smile didn't hide pain.
> "No.
I've found something better.
A sky that looks up at me.
And stays."
He stepped closer. She didn't flinch.
They didn't need wings or swords or fate.
They only needed this moment.
So when he held her face gently and kissed her—truly, quietly—it wasn't the first time they had fallen.
But it was the first time they didn't fall alone.
---
The next morning, the wind carried with it a strange scent—old earth and distant snow.
Eiryn stood barefoot in the field, listening. Her wings rested, not open but not gone either.
Rhaegor approached slowly, still adjusting his bandaged hand.
> "Something's coming," she said before he could ask.
He nodded.
She always knew before he did.
> "Not war," she added. "But... memory."
He didn't understand—until he followed her gaze toward the hills.
A procession approached. Not with swords, but with songs.
Hollow-eyed priests. White-veiled women.
And at their center… a silver relic on a floating dais.
> "They're not here for us," Rhaegor murmured.
> "No," said Eiryn. "They're here for what we buried."
---
That night, a stranger arrived.
He didn't knock—he simply stood at the edge of the firelight.
His eyes were sharp. His voice carried no warmth.
> "Rhaegor. Do you remember the oath you broke at Darhallow?"
Rhaegor froze.
Even Eiryn stepped back slightly, feeling something old unravel.
> "That oath was never mine to keep," Rhaegor said.
> "And yet it broke cities."
The man threw something to the ground: a faded crown, split in two.
> "You may have love now. A home. But debts don't vanish in flame."
Eiryn stepped between them.
> "This village will not bleed for your ghosts."
> "Then you will," the man spat—and vanished in a gust of cold wind.
---
That night, by the river where they first kissed, they argued.
> "You never told me about Darhallow," she said.
> "It was before I met you. Before I wanted to live."
Eiryn's wings flared—not in anger, but in panic.
> "That doesn't excuse the silence."
Rhaegor clenched his jaw.
> "I was trying to protect this… us."
> "You can't protect love with lies, Rhaegor."
He turned away.
> "Then maybe I'm not meant to have it."
> "Don't you dare," she said sharply.
He turned back.
And this time, she was crying.
> "Don't you dare walk away now that I've stopped flying."
---
Three nights passed in silence.
Then the mountain growled.
It wasn't thunder.
It was waking.
Rhaegor and Eiryn stood at the edge of the cliffs, staring at the glowing cracks forming in the land.
> "The relic," she said. "It was never for worship. It was a seal."
> "And we broke it by surviving," Rhaegor whispered.
They turned back toward their village.
Children laughed in the distance. Lanterns flickered.
> "We can't run," said Eiryn.
> "Then we stand," said Rhaegor.
They clasped hands. Not as Valkyrie and King.
But as two people who had nothing left to prove—only everything to protect.
---
It came at dawn.
Not an army.
A being.
Cloaked in molten skin and crowned with smoke.
The villagers ran—but Rhaegor and Eiryn stood still.
> "Do we pray?" he asked.
> "No," she said. "We remember."
She summoned her last breath of divine light.
He lifted the broken blade forged in exile.
Together, they struck as one.
The ground shook. The sky screamed.
And when the fire faded—there was only smoke.
And then silence.
Then—
> "Did we win?" Rhaegor muttered.
Eiryn coughed beside him, smiling.
> "Define 'win'."
> "You're alive."
She looked at him, and for the first time in months, laughed.
> "Then yes. We won."
---
Weeks passed.
The land healed. So did they.
Eiryn's wings never returned. They were gone now—left on the battlefield where fate had demanded sacrifice.
But she didn't mourn.
Rhaegor built a house by the cliff, overlooking the field of fire.
And she painted stars on its ceiling.
Every morning, he'd wake before her and light a fire.
Every night, she'd hold his scarred hand until sleep came.
One evening, as they watched the last of the embers die, he turned to her.
> "You once said I didn't need a queen."
> "Still true," she whispered.
> "Then what are you to me?"
She smiled.
> "The storm you survived... and the sky you chose to stay under."
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