Dana's room, floor 22

Dana lives in the standard cross-shaped rooms of Valhalla. Her bed stands in the furthest section and has a deep green comforter. Like other einherjar, she has a luxury bathroom and modern kitchen with a foyer in the middle serving as a sort of living room. Her room is decorated with swords and weapons; the wood paneling is carved with celtic designs. The foyer has a patch of grass in the middle and a tall, sturdy tree. All sections are open-air and show a continually clear, blue sky.

Dana was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her bare feet buried in the deep grass. She leaned against the tree, feeling the connection between her back and the trunk and imagining they were one. Comforting vibrations rose from the roots to the branches; a gentle, low hum of life against her skin.

She was at a crossroads, and she knew it. The dilemma pulled at her like two wild horses attached to her arms. On the one hand, there was her home. Right, second home. Valhalla. Here she had her family, her friends, the people she had latched on to after her death, the people she had taken under her wing over the centuries… Lost kids oozing with bravery, too young to be dead, too old to be born again. This space had become her own, steady and familiar. In Valhalla, she could always help and be helped in return.

And then there was the other thing. Fate, karma, destiny, whatever you want to call it. She had something to do. Something that could either save it all or bring it all down. Something that could mean never returning to Valhalla, ever again.

One shot. That was all she had. One shot to make a difference.

Was she going to take it?