“Ga-Ga! Wake up! Hurry!”

  Hearing Tallev’s screechy voice, Ga burrowed under the blanket and shoved a pillow over her head, refusing to move. After everything, returning to the settlement had only meant more noise—days of being dragged from district to district, forced to join victory feasts that raged until dawn.

  “Ga-Ga, get up. I’m serious—something happened!” Tallev yanked the blanket off in one sharp pull.

  Cold air poured in. Ga curled up with a shiver, face twisted in pure irritation. She grabbed the pillow, ready to hurl it at Tallev—ready to swear him into the ground—

  Then she froze.

  Tallev wasn’t alone.

  Viggo was there. And the other Jarls too—formally dressed, faces grave.

  “What… are you doing?” Ga clutched the pillow tight, shrinking into the corner like a startled animal.

  Viggo pressed his palms together. His smile was polite—too polite—his voice steady.

  “Good day, Lady A-Ga-Ga. We have come to receive you. Please come with us.”

  “Come with you? Where?” Ga refused to get out of bed.

  “We will escort you to the fortress,” Viggo said, still smiling.

  “Why the fortress?” Ga narrowed her eyes.

  “To the square before the King’s Hall,” Viggo said. His smile twitched.

  “Why the square?” Ga demanded stubbornly.

  Viggo’s patience snapped. His face flipped.

  “Fuck this—revere her, my ass… Get over here!”

  Before Ga could react, Viggo grabbed her ankle and dragged her off the bed. In the same motion he threw a fine cloth tunic over her head, dressed her like she was a sack of grain, and slung her over his shoulder.

  “You’ll find out when we get there. Everyone’s waiting. Stop wasting time.”

  “No! Let go! I’m not playing anymore! I want to sleep! I want to sleep!” Ga thought it was another forced celebration.

  Ga squirmed and kicked on Viggo’s shoulder until he finally set her down at the doorway. Ga fixed the tunic with shaking hands and stepped outside—

  And the sight stopped her breath.

  From the courtyard all the way to the fortress, both sides of the path were packed with Oslo Viking orphans. Everyone was groomed and dressed far finer than usual—lined up like a ceremonial road.

  Ga stood there stunned. Then she spotted Lagertha, Sten, and Badji among the rows and hurried to them at once.

  “What’s going on?”

  Badji shrugged. “Uh… I think you’re moving into the fortress.”

  “I heard you’re… getting promoted?” Sten said, voice strange.

  Lagertha looked proud enough to glow. She cupped Ga’s face with both hands.

  “Ga-Ga, you’re cool as hell.”

  Tallev, of course, had to sour it. “Tch. She’s just my little white rabbit.”

  Viggo marched over and tugged Tallev’s ear hard.

  “Don’t call her that in front of Ragnhild unless you want to lose your balls. Now move—King’s waiting. You four are her housemates, so you walk beside her.”

  He glanced down at Tallev.

  “And you, House Leader Tallev—put your pants on properly.”

  Tallev rubbed his ear and yanked up a too-big, flashy pair of trousers as he trotted along.

  “Heh-heh! Now this feels right… Wait—she? Ga-Ga’s a girl?”

  As they walked, the orphans stared at Ga with bright, feverish excitement—eyes hot with reverence. Tallev’s little group couldn’t help lifting their chins too, swept into the glow of it. Tallev waved at the crowd and even threw a few shameless winks like a celebrity.

  When they entered the fortress, the crowd thickened. On the walls, in every alley, even across rooftops—people were packed everywhere. Nearly all of Sandvika’s Oslo orphans had gathered, all facing the square before the King’s Hall.

  In the square, the air turned heavy.

  Arkyn Pladsen stood waiting, solemn at the center. Andrew, the Roman centurion, and a few soldiers stood among them, strangely out of place.

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  Above them, high in the sky, a half-human, half-mechanical figure hovered—face almost human, but parts of its body glinting with metal, turbines humming low, as if recording everything that happened below.

  Surrounded by that pressure, Ga’s chest tightened.

  She had wanted, desperately, to belong among the Oslo orphans.

  But now—under thousands upon thousands of eyes—belonging felt like being pinned.

  Her shoulders curled inward. Her breathing shortened until she could barely pull air.

  “Ga-Ga, stop looking down,” Tallev hissed. “Stand tall!”

  Then, without warning, Tallev seized Ga’s hand and thrust it high above her head, shouting to the crowd like a proud idiot:

  “Look closely! I’m Tallev, the greatest House Leader in Oslo—and this warrior? I raised her myself!”

  The crowd giggled. Viggo rolled his eyes and motioned for Sten and Badji to yank Tallev back into line from both sides.

  But Tallev’s stupidity had cut a crack in the pressure.

  Ga couldn’t help it—Ga blinked, then let out a small, startled laugh.

  Ragnhild held a round shield painted with a bear, runes carved near the rim. She closed her eyes and led the Jarls in a slow circle around Ga. With solemn faces, they sang back and forth:

  “How can there be such a shield,

  able to endure Máni and Móei’s hammer-strikes?”

  “Only the Valkyrie’s Shield.”

  “How can there be such a shield,

  able to endure Váli’s mighty bow?”

  “Only the Valkyrie’s Shield.”

  “No weapon has the heart to break her—

  for before her,

  all weapons become gentle and weak.

  All men desire this shield,

  yet none are worthy of it.”

  “Only the Valkyrie—

  praise the Valkyrie…”

  As Ragnhild and the Jarls sang, the runes on the shield began to glow, warm and golden, like the first sun of dawn, spilling across every orphan’s face in the square. Applause and startled gasps spread outward like a breeze.

  Ga, however, was still drowning in the exhaustion of sleepless nights. Ragnhild’s chant rose and fell like a lullaby. Drowsiness washed over her in waves. She yawned—again, and again—eyes drifting lazily over the crowd. When she caught Tallev’s eyes, or Lagertha’s, or Sten’s, or Badji’s, she only gave a helpless, dry smile and looked away.

  But the moment she turned back—

  Ragnhild was suddenly right in front of her.

  So close it felt wrong.

  Ragnhild stared without blinking. Ga jolted and tensed on instinct.

  Ragnhild spread that skin-crawling grin, then slowly lifted the shield toward Ga.

  Ga snatched it with a reflexive disgust and stepped back at once, side-eyeing Ragnhild as if expecting her to lunge.

  Then came the King’s address.

  Arkyn Pladsen stood in refined scale armor and a crown, his presence as sharp as ever—yet his voice opened surprisingly soft:

  “You’ve all suffered. Truly. Every one of you has done something remarkable. We lost our home. We lost our family. Even I… many times, I still miss everything we had.”

  Something in his words caught Ga. The sleepiness began to drain. She straightened, listening.

  “I remember my father-king nagging me, telling me I must grow strong quickly. Be sharp like a sword. Be firm like a shield. Only then would other tribes fail to carry me off… and only then would my own people fail to replace me.”

  He paused, then smiled faintly.

  “But you’ll notice something. I rule you, and I never carry a sword. At worst, I kick a few people’s asses.”

  His eyes slid toward the line of Jarls.

  “Especially our most troublesome chief Jarl—Viggo.”

  A ripple of knowing laughter rolled through the square. Viggo, standing among the Jarls, even exaggeratedly swayed his hips at Arkyn, as if performing.

  “Yes,” Arkyn continued. “I demand much from you. Sometimes I’m stricter than the elders we once had. You’ve doubted whether you could meet my demands, just as I doubted whether I could become a true King.”

  His voice rose.

  “And yet, you did it. Your sword-like courage keeps other tribes from daring to violate us. Your shield-like steadiness has built order for this kingdom. Your unity like limbs of one body has made a home.”

  He looked out over the crowd.

  “And the braver you become, the braver it makes me, to become a true King. So that we need no adults… to become a true Viking kingdom!”

  The orphans erupted, fists raised, roaring as one:

  “VIKING! VIKING! VIKING!”

  Arkyn pointed toward several young couples holding infants.

  “But one day, we will all become adults. Look! Some of us are already parents. Their children will respect us. And we have a duty to pass down our glory to them.”

  He spoke the last words with weight.

  “Yes. What we pass down… is courage in hardship.”

  As he walked toward Ga, his tone sharpened, more fervent:

  “Our courage shines because we pursue a dream, and that dream is no longer far. We dare to face death, but the road home has never stopped because death threatened it!”

  He met Ga’s eyes.

  “Now, here, at this very moment, good news has arrived. The chosen. The embodiment of an oracle. The Valkyrie’s Shield has descended among us.”

  He gestured toward Ga, voice ringing.

  “She is our image: young and fragile, struck down by the bear, by the berserker—yet she still won.”

  “And if she can win, then can our small kingdom not defeat the vast Roman Empire and take back our home?”

  “We can!”

  “No problem!”

  “Let’s go—right now!”

  “Take our home back!”

  “Roman adults? Weak!”

  The square boiled.

  Some orphans even threw clawing gestures at Andrew and the Roman soldiers. The Romans, long used to such provocation, only smiled calmly.

  Ga’s breath and heartbeat began to surge. Watching the orphans burn with homesick fury, she felt that longing. Strangely, infect her too.

  “So today,” Arkyn declared, “the gods have given A-Ga-Ga to us, bringing the day of return one step closer!”

  He lifted his voice, solemn and absolute:

  “I, Arkyn Pladsen, Viking King—before the gods—declare you, A-Ga-Ga, as the holy maiden: Valkyrie’s Shield!”

  The square went quiet.

  People looked around, confused. Ga’s hair was cropped short. Her frame was narrow and hard. She wore no dress, nothing remotely “maiden-like.” She simply didn’t look like a “holy maiden.”

  Arkyn’s face tightened in sudden embarrassment.

  “Oh—for gods’ sake. What am I doing? The mood was perfect…”

  He cleared his throat and blurted the explanation:

  “Yes! She’s a girl, alright? Stop doubting it. I only just found out myself.”

  A collective, delayed understanding rolled through the crowd.

  “Ohhh—.”

  “Anyway,” Arkyn continued, regaining control, “we will wait for the holy maiden to grant us a new oracle. She will tell us when we may strike Oslo.”

  His voice hardened.

  “So from now on, follow the rules and return to order. You’ve been partying for days—the food is almost gone! Do your work. Keep training. Stay ready.”

  He spread his arms, as if drawing the entire settlement under one command.

  “Because from this day onward, nothing will be the same—

  from this day onward—

  the holy maiden—

  is with us!”

  “The holy maiden is with us! The holy maiden is with us! The holy maiden is with us...”

  The Oslo orphans shouted it again and again, glorious and deafening, as if the sound could reach the whole world.

  Above the fortress, the hovering half-human, half-mechanical figure descended slightly and circled slowly, as though recording this moment of triumph with its eyes.

  The rite had reached its end.

  Andrew scanned the orphans, first shaking his head with a faint sigh—then shooting Arkyn a hard look.

  After that, he led the Roman soldiers away.