2 | 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 ▹ LOKI LAUFEYSON

xxx. the collapse

A M O R A

Following the incident, things were fairly uneventful...at least in terms of visions and unexpected travels to the usually inaccessible realm of the fallen. After a day of being agonizingly useless in bedrest, Amora was allowed by Emelia to return to the field.

A few weeks had passed and Asgard's forces continued to press onward, forcing the marauders back. However, this was not without losses. Despite the healers' best efforts, many soldiers still fell and few came back up again. Every life that they saved was considered a major victory by the healers, but Amora could not help but feel like they were still losing with each body they sent back home.

Amora found herself dragging yet another stained, white sheet over a motionless form. After carefully settling it over the man's head, she sat back heavily on the adjacent cot. Every life that had been saved that day would be meaningless to the family waiting for nothing more than a corpse.

"Oi!" Amora started out of her reverie at the voice, quickly wiping away a stray tear.

She turned to see a soldier hobble over toward her, using a cane to make up for this severely bandaged leg. Amora remembered treating him; having suffered major injuries from an explosion, he nearly died. The medical treatment was difficult and took almost an entire day with both Amora and Emelia bustling around him.

"You're that healer, aren't you?" he demanded, his face curled into a snarl.

"Yes," she said, offering a forced smile and standing to her feet, "how are you--"

"How dare you?"

Amora's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her brow flickering downward. "I beg your pardon, sir. I saved you."

"Saved me?" he scoffed and held up his thumb and index finger a hair's breadth, "I was this close to getting into Valhalla. I was ready: great battle, heroic death. But no! You stole it from me!"

"I was fulfilling my duties as a hea--"

"Well, you healers and your duties don't belong here. Go back to treating the ill women and injured children back home."

Amora stared at him with her jaw agape, hardly believing what she had just heard. A new rage coursed through her veins; her fingers clenched into fists at her side.

"I'll have you know--"

"Is there a problem here?" Amora felt a hand on her lower back and Theoric appeared at her side with a poor attempt at an agreeable smile.

But she only glared at him, tired of being interrupted. If she had an actual moment to speak, this man would never open his mouth again.

Theoric nodded to the soldier. "Gunnar, if I could please have a moment to speak to my betrothed."

Gunnar scowled at Amora before giving a stiff nod and stalking off.

Hardly waiting until the man was out of hearing range, Amora bit out, "How dare he--"

"Lower your voice, Amora," Theoric whispered, his eyes darting anxiously around the tent.

"But how could he say such a thing? As if every man here only came to die." Amora shook her head, looking at the covered form beside her.

"Well..." Theoric scrunched up his face apologetically and took Amora's hand. "A glorious death is the highest honor for a man."

"Really?" Amora withdrew her hand. "So if you were to pick between going to Valhalla or returning home, which would you pick?