It's strange how the world can carry on, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. The hum of the fluorescent lights above, the quiet shuffling of papers, the droning voice of Mr. Henderson as he rambles on about some long-forgotten battle-none of it changes, even when everything in you feels like it's about to shatter.
I was sixteen, and I was already tired. Tired of the endless monotony of school, tired of the whispers behind my back, tired of the heavy silence that filled my home. But most of all, I was tired of feeling like I didn't belong. It wasn't just that I was different, though I was, and everyone knew it. It was that I felt like I was in the wrong place entirely, like the world had moved on without me, leaving me stuck in some forgotten corner of time.
My eyes drifted to the window, the trees outside swaying gently in the autumn breeze. The leaves were turning, a riot of oranges and reds, and I could almost smell the crisp air from where I sat. It was easier to lose myself in the view than to pay attention to Mr. Henderson's lecture. History had always been a safe escape, but today, it felt more like a trap. Every word he spoke was like a stone sinking into my chest, pulling me down with the weight of something I couldn't quite understand.
"And that's why the Battle of Stamford Bridge was such a turning point," Mr. Henderson droned on, his words blending into the background noise of the classroom. "It marked the end of the Viking Age, a time of great warriors and epic sagas."
Vikings. My heart skipped a beat, a jolt of something sharp and electric shooting through me. I'd always been drawn to them, to their stories of gods and monsters, of heroes who defied fate itself. It was a connection I couldn't explain, but it was there, as real as the pendant I always wore around my neck-a small, silver charm in the shape of a rune. I'd found it among my father's things after he disappeared, and I'd worn it every day since, a silent reminder of a man who had vanished without a trace.
"Mara?" Mr. Henderson's voice cut through the fog in my mind, pulling me back to the present. "Are you with us?"
I blinked, realizing I'd been staring out the window again. The rest of the class was looking at me, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to outright annoyance. I felt the familiar flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck, but I forced myself to meet Mr. Henderson's gaze.
"Sorry," I mumbled, not even sure what I was apologizing for.
He sighed, clearly used to my distracted behavior. "Can you tell us what event marked the end of the Viking Age?"
"The Battle of Stamford Bridge," I answered automatically, the words leaving my lips before I even realized I knew them.
"Very good," Mr. Henderson said, though his tone was more tired than impressed. He turned back to the board, launching into another explanation that I knew I wouldn't hear.
But I didn't care. Because the moment I'd said those words, something strange had happened. The classroom had blurred, the walls dissolving into a haze of light and shadow, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, I wasn't in the classroom anymore. I was standing on a battlefield, the air thick with the stench of blood and sweat, the clash of steel ringing in my ears. The sky above was a deep, bruised purple, and all around me, men fought with a ferocity that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
And then there were the women. They moved through the chaos like shadows, their armor gleaming in the dim light, their faces hidden beneath winged helmets. Valkyries, my mind whispered, a shiver running down my spine. They were collecting the souls of the fallen, guiding them to their final resting place. And somehow, I knew-knew without a doubt-that they had seen me. That they were watching me....
