Nevaeh's journey through the small towns of Norway had left her with little more than the clothes on her back and the armor she wore. Asgard's riches, which once seemed infinite, were now far beyond her reach, and she found herself grappling with the unfamiliar concept of survival on Earth. She had been wandering for days, her pride and determination keeping her moving even when her stomach growled with hunger and her limbs ached with fatigue.

The forested landscape of rural Norway was both beautiful and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the grandeur of Asgard's golden halls. Here, the air was crisp, and the trees towered like sentinels, their branches whispering secrets to one another. The ground was uneven, a patchwork of roots and rocks that seemed to trip Nevaeh at every step. But she pressed on, her warrior's instinct driving her to seek out shelter and sustenance.

It was during one of these aimless wanderings that Nevaeh first encountered Helga. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the forest floor, and Nevaeh's sharp eyes caught sight of smoke rising in the distance. Intrigued, and with the cold night air beginning to bite at her, she followed the smoke trail until she reached a clearing where a small wooden cabin stood, nestled among the trees.

Outside the cabin, a middle-aged woman was chopping wood with practiced precision. She was broad-shouldered and muscular, her skin tanned from years of outdoor labor. Her hair was gray, pulled back into a tight braid that hung down her back, and her face was etched with deep lines that spoke of a life of hard work. She wore simple clothes—worn trousers and a thick woolen shirt—practical and unadorned.

The woman, Helga, paused in her work as she noticed Nevaeh approaching. She straightened up, resting her ax against a tree stump, and gave Nevaeh a once-over with a piercing gaze. There was no fear or hesitation in her eyes, only the steady, appraising look of someone who had seen much and was surprised by little.

Nevaeh, who was used to being the one doing the intimidating, found herself oddly disarmed by the woman's calm demeanor. She stopped a few paces away, unsure of how to proceed. Asking for help, especially from a mortal, was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Can I help you?" Helga asked, her voice strong and clear, with a hint of impatience.

She wiped her hands on her trousers and crossed her arms, waiting for Nevaeh to speak.

Nevaeh hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"I need food and shelter," She said, her tone more demanding than she intended.

Helga raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, "Do you, now? And what will you offer in return?" Her eyes flicked to the sword on Nevaeh's back and the armor she wore, taking in the details with interest.

Nevaeh bristled at the question, her pride flaring up. In Asgard, she had never needed to barter for anything. But this was Earth, and she was no longer the proud Valkyrie she once was. She swallowed her pride and forced herself to answer.

"I can work," Nevaeh replied, her voice steady but laced with reluctance.

Helga studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly, "Very well. You can stay in the shack next to the cabin. You'll hunt, and I'll take care of the rest.."

Nevaeh gave a curt nod, accepting the terms. Helga's no-nonsense attitude reminded her of the warriors she had once led, and she found herself grudgingly respecting the mortal woman's straightforwardness. Helga was not intimidated by her presence, nor did she offer sympathy. It was a practical arrangement, one that Nevaeh could accept.

Helga led Nevaeh to the shack she had mentioned. It was a small, weathered structure, barely more than a few planks of wood nailed together with a thatched roof. Inside, there was a narrow bed with a straw mattress, a small wooden table, and a chair. It was a far cry from the luxurious chambers Nevaeh had once known, but it was shelter, and for now, it was enough.

"You'll start tomorrow," Helga said, turning to leave.

Nevaeh nodded, watching as Helga walked back to her cabin. The older woman moved with the ease of someone accustomed to hard work, her steps steady and purposeful.

That night, Nevaeh lay on the straw mattress, staring up at the darkened ceiling of the shack. The quiet of the forest was different from the silence of Asgard. Here, it was filled with the sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the distant call of an owl, the creaking of the wooden beams. It was a stark reminder of her new reality.

The next morning, Nevaeh rose early, determined to prove her worth. She strapped on her armor and took up her sword and spear, the familiar weight of the weapons giving her a sense of purpose. The forest was cool and misty, the ground damp with dew. Nevaeh moved silently through the trees, her senses sharp and attuned to the surroundings.

It wasn't long before she spotted a deer grazing in a small clearing. She crouched low, her spear at the ready, and waited for the right moment. With a swift, practiced motion, she hurled the spear, striking the deer cleanly. It fell to the ground with barely a sound, and Nevaeh approached it with a sense of satisfaction. Hunting was a skill she had honed over centuries, and it came to her as naturally as breathing.

By midday, Nevaeh had gathered enough meat to last several days. She returned to Helga's cabin, carrying the deer carcass over her shoulder. Helga, who had been chopping wood again, looked up as Nevaeh approached, her expression unreadable.

Nevaeh set the deer down and began the process of cleaning and preparing the meat. Helga joined her, the two women working side by side in silence. Despite the vast differences in their backgrounds, there was a shared understanding between them, born of necessity and mutual respect.

As they worked, Nevaeh couldn't help but notice the strength in Helga's movements. Though she was a mortal, Helga wielded her ax with the ease of a seasoned warrior. Her muscles rippled beneath her shirt as she chopped wood, her expression focused and determined. It was a stark reminder that strength wasn't limited to gods and warriors. Mortals, too, possessed a resilience that Nevaeh found surprising.

Over the next few weeks, Nevaeh settled into a routine. She hunted each morning, bringing back whatever game she could find, while Helga continued her work as a lumberjack.

But despite the relative peace of her new life, Nevaeh couldn't shake the feeling of displacement. She was a warrior, a being of immense power, and yet she found herself in a mortal's world, living in a shack and hunting for her next meal. It was a humbling experience, one that chipped away at the arrogance that had once defined her.

One evening, as Nevaeh sat by the fire outside the cabin, sharpening her sword, Helga joined her, a cup of ale in hand. The older woman sat down on a log, her eyes reflecting the glow of the flames.

"You've done well," Helga said, her tone as blunt as ever, "But you're not like the others around here."

Nevaeh paused, her sharpening stone hovering over the blade. She considered Helga's words, unsure of how to respond. The truth of her origins was something she had kept hidden, but she knew Helga was no fool.

"I'm not from here," Nevaeh admitted finally, her voice low, "I come from a place far beyond this world."

Helga nodded, as if she had suspected as much, " Whatever you were before, it doesn't matter here. What matters is what you do now."

Nevaeh looked at Helga, surprised by the simplicity of her statement. It was true, of course, but hearing it from a mortal put things into perspective. Her past, her identity as Erika, the Valkyrie of Asgard, was no longer relevant in this world. What mattered now was how she chose to live her life on Earth.

Helga took a sip of her ale and looked out into the dark forest.

"We all have our burdens to bear," She said quietly.

The days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as Nevaeh found herself immersed in the rhythm of mortal life. The work was grueling, far removed from the epic battles and grandiose halls of Asgard. Every day was a test of her endurance, not just physically but mentally as well. Nevaeh, who once commanded armies and flew through the skies, now found herself carrying firewood, chopping logs, and hunting game to survive.

Helga, true to her nature, showed no mercy in her expectations. Nevaeh was not treated as a goddess or a fallen warrior but as an equal, as someone who had to earn her keep. At first, the humility of the situation grated against Nevaeh's pride. She was a Valkyrie, an elite warrior of Asgard, and yet here she was, doing the work of mortals. Her hands, once accustomed to wielding weapons of myth and legend, were now calloused from the rough wood of the ax and the weight of the buckets of water she carried from the stream.

Despite the harshness of her new life, there was a strange comfort in the routine. The physical labor kept her mind occupied, preventing her from dwelling too long on the past she could never return to. But even as she toiled, the arrogance that had once defined her refused to be fully extinguished. Nevaeh still carried herself with a regal air, her chin held high, and her words often tinged with the sharpness of someone who had once been worshipped.

Helga noticed, of course. The older woman's eyes missed nothing, and she had little tolerance for Nevaeh's airs. Whenever Nevaeh's arrogance flared, Helga was quick to remind her of the reality she now faced.

One particularly cold morning, as the first frost of winter began to settle over the land, Helga and Nevaeh were chopping wood in preparation for the long, harsh season ahead. The air was crisp, each breath visible as a puff of white in the icy air. Nevaeh had been working steadily, her muscles burning with the effort, but she was also silently fuming. The endless cycle of labor was wearing on her, and the knowledge that she was doing the work of mortals chafed at her pride.

As she split another log with a powerful swing, she couldn't help but mutter under her breath, "This is beneath me."

Helga, who was working a few paces away, heard the remark. She paused, her ax resting on her shoulder, and fixed Nevaeh with a hard stare, "What did you say?"

Nevaeh straightened, her grip tightening on the ax handle, "I said this is beneath me. I am a warrior, not a lumberjack."

Helga's eyes narrowed. She took a step closer, her presence as imposing as any battle-hardened general.

"You think this work is beneath you?" She asked, her voice dangerously calm, "You think you're too good to chop wood and carry water?"

Nevaeh met her gaze, her own temper flaring.

"I am a Valkyrie of Asgard," She said, her voice rising, "I was not meant for this life of drudgery."

In an instant, Helga's hand shot out, delivering a sharp slap to Nevaeh's cheek. The force of the blow was not enough to harm her, but it was enough to shock her. Nevaeh stumbled back, her eyes wide with surprise. No one had struck her since she was a child, and certainly not a mortal.

Helga's expression was as hard as stone.

"You are not in Asgard anymore," She said coldly, "You are in my world now, and in my world, there is no place for arrogance. Here, you earn your keep with sweat and blood, just like everyone else."

Nevaeh's hand instinctively went to her cheek, the sting of the slap still fresh. She glared at Helga, anger bubbling up inside her, but there was something else there too—humiliation. She had been brought low, not by a god or a warrior, but by a mortal woman with calloused hands and a steel backbone.

For a long moment, the two women stared at each other, the tension between them thick as the winter air. Nevaeh's pride screamed at her to retaliate, to remind Helga of who she truly was. But there was something in Helga's eyes, a cold, unyielding resolve, that gave her pause. Helga wasn't afraid of her, and that was something Nevaeh wasn't used to.

Slowly, Nevaeh lowered her hand from her cheek. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to swallow her pride.

"I apologize," She said, her voice strained but sincere.

Helga nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

"Good," She said, her tone softening just a fraction, " You work, you sweat, and you survive. That's all there is to it."

Nevaeh said nothing, only nodded in acknowledgment. She turned back to the woodpile, picking up another log and setting it on the stump. As she raised the ax to split it, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of something unfamiliar—humility. Helga was right, of course. She was no longer in Asgard, and the rules she had once lived by no longer applied. Here, in this small, forgotten corner of the world, she was just another person trying to make it through the day.

The slap was a harsh reminder that her old life was gone, and with it, the privileges that had once defined her. The realization was bitter, but it was also necessary. Nevaeh had to learn to adapt, to let go of the arrogance that had once been her armor. It wasn't an easy lesson, and it was one she would struggle with in the days and weeks to come, but it was a start.

The years passed slowly in the small Norwegian town, and with them came the steady, almost imperceptible changes in Nevaeh's life. She had settled into the rhythm of mortality, her days filled with hard work and quiet nights.

Helga, for her part, remained as stoic and no-nonsense as ever. She rarely spoke more than necessary, her words as sharp and economical as the swings of her ax. In all the years they had lived together, Helga had never once shared anything about her past. Nevaeh, who had grown accustomed to the silence between them, had long ago stopped expecting any more than the terse instructions and occasional reprimands that Helga offered.

But one night, as the winter wind howled outside and the fire crackled low in the hearth, Helga broke her silence.

It was a night much like any other. Nevaeh had returned from the woods with a small deer slung over her shoulders, its fur matted with blood and snow. She had skinned and cleaned the animal with the efficiency of a seasoned hunter, her hands working methodically as she prepared the meat. Helga, as usual, had been chopping wood, her powerful swings sending logs splitting in two with practiced ease.

By the time the fire was roaring again and the meat was roasting over the flames, the two women settled into their familiar routine. Nevaeh sat on the floor by the fire, her hands outstretched to warm them, while Helga sat at the small table in the corner, sharpening her ax with a whetstone.

The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the familiar sounds of the hearth and the scraping of metal on stone. But that night, something was different. Nevaeh could sense it in the way Helga's movements were slower, more deliberate, as if she were lost in thought.

After a while, Helga set the whetstone down and looked over at Nevaeh. Her eyes were hard as ever, but there was something else there too—a weariness that Nevaeh had never seen before.

"You've been here for a long time now," Helga said, her voice gruff, "Longer than most would've stayed."

Nevaeh looked up, surprised by the sudden conversation.

"You gave me a home," She replied simply, "I have no reason to leave."

Helga nodded, as if that was the answer she had expected. She was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost reflective.

"You've never asked me about my past," Helga said.

Nevaeh shook her head, "I figured you'd tell me if you ever wanted to."

Helga let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Not much to tell, really," She said.

Nevaeh shifted slightly, intrigued despite herself. Helga rarely opened up, and when she did, it was usually to impart some lesson or reprimand. This, however, felt different—more personal.

"I wasn't always alone," Helga began, her gaze distant as if she were looking back through the years, "I had a family once. A husband, and a son."

Nevaeh listened intently, surprised by the revelation. Helga had never mentioned a family before, and the idea of her having once had a husband and child seemed almost incongruous with the image Nevaeh had of the gruff, solitary woman.

"What happened?" Nevaeh asked softly, sensing that there was more to the story.

Helga's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Nevaeh thought she might not answer. But then Helga sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of old memories.

"My husband... He wasn't the man I thought he was," Helga said, her voice laced with bitterness, "When I met him, he seemed kind enough. Strong, like me. We built a life together, had a son. I thought we were happy."

Nevaeh could hear the pain in Helga's voice, even though she tried to hide it. She remained silent, letting Helga tell her story at her own pace.

"But then," Helga continued, her eyes darkening, "I started to notice things. Strange things. My husband would disappear for days at a time, coming back with blood on his hands and no explanation. He was secretive, and when I asked him about it, he'd get angry. Violent."

"I didn't realize what he was until it was too late," Helga said, her voice barely above a whisper, "He was evil. Not in the way that monsters or demons are, but in a way that only a human can be. Cruel, twisted... He took pleasure in hurting others, and I was too blind to see it."

Nevaeh's heart ached for Helga, for the pain that must have come with such a realization.

Helga's face hardened, her eyes like steel, "He killed our son."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Nevaeh's breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening with a mix of shock and sorrow.

"I came home one day to find them both gone," Helga continued, her voice steady but with an edge of raw emotion, "I searched for them. When I finally found them, my husband was standing over our boy's body, covered in his blood. He didn't even try to hide what he'd done. He looked at me, smiled, and told me it was a necessary sacrifice."

Nevaeh felt a surge of anger on Helga's behalf. The thought of a mother losing her child, especially in such a horrific way, was enough to make her blood boil.

"What did you do?" She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

Helga's eyes flashed with a cold, hard light.

"I killed him," She said bluntly, "I didn't think, I didn't hesitate. I took the nearest ax and buried it in his chest. And then I left. I burned our home to the ground and walked away, leaving everything behind."

Nevaeh could only nod.

"I've lived alone ever since," Helga said, her tone turning back to its usual gruffness, "Never saw the point in getting close to anyone after that. People can be cruel, even the ones you think you know. Especially the ones you think you know."

Nevaeh sat in silence, absorbing Helga's words. Helga's story was a stark reminder that evil didn't always come from gods or monsters—it could come from the very people you trusted.

"I'm sorry," Nevaeh said finally, the words inadequate but sincere.

Helga shrugged, her expression unreadable, "Don't be. It's done, and I've made my peace with it. But it's why I am the way I am. Why I don't take shit from anyone, and why I don't tolerate arrogance. I've seen where that kind of thinking leads."

Nevaeh nodded, understanding now why Helga had been so hard on her, why she had been so quick to strike her down when her pride got the better of her. Helga had been through hell, and she had no patience for anything that reminded her of the man who had taken everything from her.

The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the small cabin as the two women sat in quiet contemplation. Nevaeh had always known that Helga was strong, but now she understood the depths of that strength. Helga had faced unimaginable pain and come out the other side, scarred but unbroken. It was a kind of strength that Nevaeh, with all her godly powers, could only aspire to.

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