Epona had gone pale with fear, and Anpiel was sorely tempted to request that the mission be called off—something Frigg could not help but notice.

  “You lot wanna back out?” the Queen of Asgard asked.

  “No!” Menrva shouted, springing to her feet.

  “Still,” Tania cut in, stopping Menrva, “I think the sensible thing is to speak with Rodrigo and the others first.”

  The Punic goddess fixed the young tannin with a steady stare.

  “Tania, our Lady Athena has faith in us. We must grow stronger there. It is an order,” Menrva said, stern and absolute.

  “So Athena doesn’t care if we live or die as long as we aren’t weak—is that what you’re saying, Menrva?” Epona snapped, her face nearly white with dread.

  “Our Lady cares for everyone’s life,” Menrva replied, calm as stone.

  “Then I request permission for Rodrigo and Anpiel to stay here in Asgard… and if possible… me as well,” Epona said.

  “You volunteered, Epona,” Menrva answered, irritated.

  “I didn’t know any of this, and nobody told us. Athena literally said it was a land with gods not so strong—a lesser threat than what we faced against Ares. But this is absurd. We’ll be at the mercy of an unknown land without our abilities. Does Athena want us dead?” Epona demanded, furious.

  Then the horse-goddess stared Menrva down, eyes burning with fear and anger at once.

  “Or is it you who wants us dead?” Epona asked.

  Rodrigo took Epona by the arm, trying to soothe her.

  “We gain nothing by fighting each other,” he said.

  Menrva fell silent.

  “Enough, Rodrigo! Lel wants me dead, and now we’re walking into another suicide mission. Can’t you see it?” Epona hissed.

  “I want to go, Epona,” Rodrigo said nervously.

  “But—Rodrigo…” Epona began, alarmed, but he cut her off.

  “The totema I carry is from that region. It’s the only way I’ll learn about my past. I need to know what—or who—I am. But I’ll understand if you and Anpiel want to remain in Asgard. I have to go.” Rodrigo tightened his grip on her hand.

  Epona went quiet, her gaze turning distant and melancholy.

  “Epona, listen,” Ana cut in. “I won’t speak for you, or for Rodrigo, or for Anpiel. But that Athena you’re talking about—she helped us rescue Anpiel. That was our agreement. We would go to Vinland if she helped save our friend. If you truly think she’s as cold as you say, then why did she help in Mars to save someone she didn’t even know—and even risk her life doing it?”

  “I’m deeply grateful to Athena. That is why I will go to Vinland,” Anpiel said to Epona. “Besides—without me, you’ll do something stupid, like you always do.”

  “We’re all going, Epona,” Tania said gently. “But we won’t force you.” Then she looked at Menrva. “Right?”

  “Alright. Epona—stay, if you wish,” Menrva said, calmer now.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “I won’t leave Rodrigo or Anpiel behind… I’ll go,” Epona said, exhausted, sitting back down and dipping a piece of bread into oil again.

  “Well,” Frigg said, taking another bite from the boar’s head, “didn’t expect a whole heap o’ drama at my feast—but I get it. It’s a nasty thought. If Thor and the rest die, our realm’s left half-bare to Lel—just Heimdal and Vidar holdin’ the line. We’re worried too.”

  Menrva stood, placing a hand over her heart.

  “Madam,” the Etruscan goddess declared, “I swear by my devotion to my mistress that I will bring your sons back alive—”

  Frigg burst out laughing.

  “They ain’t my sons—none of ’em,” Frigg said, the laughter dying as her face hardened. “My only son died by Loki’s hand. You can guess how that makes me feel about him.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” Menrva said, subdued.

  “Don’t fret. I’ll take your words,” Frigg said with a brief smile, then bit into the boar’s head again.

  “And Bellona—your other Orniskem member—do you know anything?” Anpiel asked.

  “Thor said he didn’t find anyone out there,” Frigg replied. “We even started thinkin’ Athena had played us. But I reckon you lot can track her down.”

  Frigg rose to her feet.

  “Leaving already, my queen?” Forseti asked.

  “Think that meat sat heavy,” Frigg muttered. “You lot stay in your own house.”

  She left the gnawed boar’s head on the table and walked away toward her chambers—vanishing from sight as if the hall itself swallowed her.

  “Our Queen ordered Heimdal to open Bifrost tomorrow for Greenland,” Forseti told Orniskem. “From there, you will take a ship to Vinland.”

  “We’d come with you, too,” Thrúd said, still chewing her boar leg—only bone left now, “but we gotta guard the realm in case Lel tries somethin’.”

  “We understand,” Tania said.

  “Excuse me,” Epona added, standing. “I’d like to retire as well. Could you tell us where we’ll sleep?”

  “I’m going too,” Menrva said, rising quickly.

  “Sure,” Forseti answered. “The Valkyries will show you. Shame you don’t want to celebrate—especially after eatin’ so little, you two,” Thrúd said, sounding almost disappointed.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend, but I’m vegetarian,” Epona said, embarrassed.

  “Girl—then you’re missin’ the taste o’ life!” Thrúd laughed, and several gods roared with her.

  Epona felt both ashamed and insulted, but she said nothing.

  A few Valkyries arrived and opened a spatial gate. Epona and Menrva stepped through with the others.

  In an instant, they stood before the door to their quarters—small wood set into a luxurious corridor that looked almost like carved ivory.

  “When you’re ready to leave, blow the horn there, and we’ll appear,” one Valkyrie said, pointing to a small trumpet hanging beside the door.

  “Yes—thank you. Good night,” Menrva replied.

  The Valkyries departed, and the two goddesses entered.

  The room was simple: several bunks, a small table at the center, and multiple bottles of mead infused with ambrosia—supplies for their journey to Vinland. A small bath sat at the back.

  The moment the door closed, Menrva—furious—grabbed Epona by the collar.

  “Don’t you ever question me in front of other gods again. Do you understand, Epona?” Menrva shouted, shaking her like a rag doll.

  “I-I… I only wanted to give my opinion,” Epona stammered, frightened.

  Menrva threw her onto one of the beds, then leaned in, eyes bloodshot with anger.

  “We’re all afraid, Epona—all of us! Me, Susanoo, Rodrigo, Tania—everyone! But we’re in foreign land, in front of people who are allies today and enemies tomorrow. Only unity and diplomacy will get us through here. Do you understand?” Menrva yelled, tears shining in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Menrva. It won’t happen again,” Epona said, ashamed.

  “Who put those ideas about Athena in your head? Tell me!” Menrva demanded.

  Epona remembered Mitras and Sol—how they spoke of Athena’s coldness and cruelty, and how they said she should be the leader instead.

  “N-no one… I just… thought she… well, you know… as a leader…” Epona tried, but the words tangled; she didn’t know what to say.

  Menrva exhaled and sat beside her.

  “Sorry for snapping,” Menrva said, quieter now. “But it truly angered me to see you show weakness in front of these people.”

  “It was my fault. I truly didn’t know,” Epona whispered.

  “Listen, Epona,” Menrva said. “Even though I adore Athena, I know she isn’t perfect. But I can promise you this: she would never betray us. Never. She may be manipulative—leaders often are—but she’s the sort who will put her own body on the line to protect her comrades. That’s why she was always loved by her people.”

  “I’m scared… and she isn’t here. Why didn’t she come with us?” Epona asked, voice trembling.

  Menrva fell silent for a moment.

  “Athena… is facing another threat right now,” Menrva said, pained. “I’ll tell you something, Epona—but don’t say it to anyone.”

  “What is it?” Epona asked.

  “It’s about Palas,” Menrva said, her face drawn and wet with tears. “It’s possible there won’t be a Palas much longer.”

  Epona’s eyes widened. She went breathless.