The sun had just begun to rise above the horizon when Star and her companions climbed aboard the royal carriage Astrid had prepared for them. The brief rest they had taken near the northern gate the night before did little to ease their anxiety, but their resolve remained unshaken. Astrid stood by the horses, her expression a mix of worry and hope.

“This journey will take you far from the capital,” she said, handing Star a worn map marked with a route leading toward Valkyrie Valley. “It is a place where even the strongest warriors tread with caution. Stay vigilant.”

Star nodded, her hand tightening on her sword's hilt. “We will. Thank you, Astrid… for everything.”

The road to the valley was long and silent. Tension hung heavily in the carriage like a fog. Outside, the scenery gradually shifted—from bustling roads near the capital to quiet plains and shadowed forests. The deeper they traveled, the denser the air became, as though the land itself whispered a warning of the danger ahead.

“It feels like the world is holding its breath,” Friedrich murmured, gazing out the window.

“This place still remembers what happened here centuries ago,” Klara replied, unease in her voice. “The wounds from the battle between Alioth and Nibelung… they never truly healed.”

Eventually, the carriage came to a stop at the edge of the valley. The driver refused to go any farther.

“No one dares enter Valkyrie Valley,” he said, pale and trembling. “This is as far as I go.”

They had arrived.

As they stepped down, a silent determination passed between them. Before them loomed the entrance to the valley—shrouded in a swirling, ghostly mist that devoured light and sound.

“This is it,” Siegfried whispered. “There’s no turning back now.”

They stepped into the fog, and the world shifted.

Shadows of the past flitted through the mist—warriors locked in eternal combat, their weapons clashing in bursts of light and shadow. The air was thick with the echoes of battle cries, a haunting symphony of valor and despair.

“The spirits,” Klara whispered, awe trembling in her voice. “They must be the fallen warriors… still guarding this land even in death.”

Around them, spectral figures stood watch atop rusted swords driven into the ground. Some appeared noble and resolute, others restless and fading, as though trapped between realms.

Star approached one—a knight in ghostly armor, eyes hollow, locked with hers. In that moment, she felt the weight of his sorrow, the endless fight he had never escaped.

“They’re protecting this place,” she said softly, turning to her friends. “This isn’t just a graveyard… it’s a sanctuary for those who gave everything to save Atlantia.”

Deeper they went, and the fog unraveled the threads of time. In one moment, the valley gleamed golden under dawn’s first light. In the next, it bled crimson beneath a dying sun over a battlefield. Time twisted—showing glimpses of a young Alioth striding into war, the towering horror of Nibelung, and the fractured remnants of a world on the edge of ruin.

“Stay close,” Friedrich warned, his voice steady despite the chaos. “This place is trying to throw us off balance.”

Then, the mist parted—revealing the heart of the valley.

A massive chasm yawned before them, its jagged edges scorched black. From its depths, a foul vapor rose, writhing like serpents through the air.

Klara shivered. “The lair of Nidhogg.”