[ TT ] Hilda is a Valkyrie , one of the oldest . She 's collected the souls of many a great warrior and war hero ... even an accountant , once . Still shes is quite surprised to find herself in a school playground to collect the soul of a very confused 9 year old child .

Being a Valkyrie has many privileges. We stewards of Asgard enjoy immense power, near unending life, unearthly abilities, the favor of the gods, and of course, the feast in Valhalla. However, my favorite is travel. My duties have led me to every corner of Midgard. Over the course of many millennia, I've been everywhere from the brisk valleys of Norway, to the burning sands of the Sahara. From bloody fields and ruined cities burning with the rage of battle, to the still, silent depths where wrecks and bodies slowly drift. 
 
 I've had the privilege of escorting warriors of every race and creed to the table of Valhalla. The samurai are always utterly bewildered until my Nordic brethren put them at ease. The Gurkha, with their curved blades ever at their side, never disappoint me with their ferocity in the face of overwhelming odds. Some name themselves after ferocious, clawed animals, adopting their strength and tenacity. Yet many of the proudest need no such inspiration. They wear the name of gentle sea dogs, but have served their time fighting their way out of Hel itself. 
 
 They wield all manner of weapons. From blades made of black glass, to steel monsters that spit fire and lead, mankind is never in want of imagination when it comes to implements of war. Some have climbed into my chariot clutching a blade the size of my fingernail, another held only a pen. Still others refused weapons altogether and arrived at Odin's hall with their fists still dripping with blood. 
 
 Today I found myself in a war-torn town surrounded by sand. The buildings had more holes than walls and the ground, pockmarked and smoldering, told the story of desperate warfare. This scene was all too common, one I had encountered countless times before. 
 
 I searched the wreckage of the surroundings for any sign of the one I was to bring home. 
 
 `` Who would it be this time?'' I wondered. `` Maybe a barrel-chested veteran of a hundred battles. Perhaps a freedom fighter struggling against massive enemy. And yet maybe this time it would be...'' 
 
 Suddenly a sniffling sounded behind me. 
 
 ``... a child?'' 
 
 Knelt in an alleyway, a girl cried over the broken body of her brother. The boy, clinging to his last scraps of life, used the the last of his breath to bring comfort to his sister. Ignoring the bleeding hole in his stomach, he reached up and brought her head closer to him. With a bloody smile he whispered words of paradise, a merciful god, and his messenger while his sister, though terrified, nodded in agreement through her tears. Eventually, the hole in his stomach stopped bleeding. The heart had no blood left to give. The boy's smile, however, remained. 
 
 Moments later his soul appeared beside me. He was very young, no more than ten years old. His face showed obvious confusion upon seeing his sister sobbing over his own body. He looked at me, eyes searching for an explanation. 
 
 `` How many have you killed?'' I asked. 
 
 The confusion on his face deepened as he heard my words in a language unknown to him, but understood anyway. This was a question I asked of every warrior I came for. Most had only taken a handful of lives before falling on the battlefield themselves. Others, grizzled veterans of countless battles had kills numbering in the hundreds. 
 
 `` None'' the boy answered. 
 
 It was my turn to be confused. This was not entirely uncommon. There were some who had trained and fought ferociously, crossing swords with worthy foes, but perishing without slaying a single man. This seemed unlikely but may have been the case. I offered another question. 
 
 `` Who did you fight against?'' I asked. 
 
 Again his face reflected confusion. The soldiers I transported often fought against other tribes, clans, kingdoms, nations, and coalitions. Others patrolled their streets fighting against murderers, rapists, thieves, and kidnappers. 
 
 `` No one'' the boy answered. 
 
 Once more I mirrored his expression. This could not be. My services were only for who who died fighting on the battlefield. I would not have been summoned here if he was not a warrior. 
 
 I looked around me in case there was a mistake, another soul who needed me. There were other dead here, of course. Merchants, teachers, laborers, but no warriors. I looked back the boy whose hands had held neither sword nor spear nor any other weapon. His eyes held innocence. His heart had never held hate. Suddenly, I understood. I asked a final question. 
 
 `` Who did you fight for?'' 
 
 Those before him had pledged their allegiance to kings, nobles, generals, and nations. Others assembled under the banner of their faith, and others still fought for whoever could offer the most coin. I knew this would not be the case. 
 
 `` Who did you fight for, boy? ``, I asked again. 
 
 With that, a familiar smile spread across his face and turned towards his sister. He lifted his head quickly, pointing with his chin. 
 
 `` For her'' he answered, `` I fought so hard for her.'' 
 
 The tears had stopped. She was standing now. Despite the misery around her, she radiated with... something. Not a desire, exactly, but a will. It was will to keep moving forward not just in spite of this tragedy, but because of it. It was a will to resist futility and death. It was hope. 
 
 Once again I mirrored his expression. Humans never failed to impress me. He would no doubt be dwarfed once sat among the heroes of Valhalla, but he deserved to be there more than any one of them.
