The Silver Horn Quarter was sprawling and vibrant, alive with activity. A large portion of the entire Silver City army is stationed here, once under the command of Archangel Gabriel. The streets were wide, the barracks numerous and expansive, and everywhere Viktor looked, he felt a sense of military discipline and pride.

  As they stepped out of the main hall, Viktor noticed all sorts of buildings and courtyards. His fellow guardians lived nearby, and it was obvious there were many more districts like this throughout the city.

  “How many barracks are there, anyway?” he asked.

  Elion just smiled. “We’ve got plenty of time for more conversations; save some questions for another day!”

  They entered a nearby building. A spacious room with a beautiful terrace, a comfortable bed, a large wardrobe, a wooden desk, and a chair. At the far end of the room stood a set of closed doors.

  “If you want coffee or anything else in the morning, you can have it right here,” the cheerful lieutenant said, pointing to a thin beam of Light stretching from the window to the bed.

  “Now, two final things for today, both very important! You still need sleep to recharge your energy. But dreams work differently here: they reflect your sins and give you a chance to make things right, to find inner peace and forgiveness. Remember that and use it when you sleep!” He was already closing the door, but his head popped back.

  “And one more thing: don’t bother looking for a bathroom. Your body now only produces sweat for some reason. Otherwise, since you're living on pure Light, it absorbs everything else and you don't produce any other waste. Even after fifteen beers, there’s no running to the toilet. Isn’t that great?” Elion grinned from ear to ear.

  Really? I didn’t even have the time to realize that yet.

  “I’ll leave you to it now. I’ll expect you in the barracks at eight a.m.”

  He closed the door behind him, leaving Viktor alone. Viktor looked around the room and sat quietly on the bed. “Eight o’clock? How am I supposed to know what time it is? Should I set an alarm? How am I even supposed to sleep here? Can I change into pajamas?” he wondered aloud.

  He got up and opened the wardrobe, where he found spare clothes. It was half-empty, with a few identical outfits and some towels. As he was about to change, he thought a shower would be nice. He checked the door in the corner: a small bathroom with a fountain; water streamed constantly from the ceiling. An unusual shower, but it worked.

  He stepped in and let the lukewarm water wash over him, trying to sort through his thoughts. Everything was new, and the last few days had been overwhelming. As he reflected, the weight of it all pressed down: death, his children, Sara. Why had he drunk so much? Could he have stopped, lived longer?

  He slid down into the corner, pressing his palms over his eyes and letting the tears fall freely.

  Eventually, he managed to stand. Before going to bed, he wanted to brush his teeth at the small sink with the toothbrush he found in the cup.

  Where's the toothpaste? he wondered, but he didn’t need it; after a few strokes, a fresh eucalyptus taste filled his mouth.

  Just as the lieutenant had said, there wasn’t a toilet anywhere, which, even though he didn’t need one, still felt a bit strange. He changed clothes and put his dirty things in the wardrobe. When he closed it, the inside lit up for a moment. Surprised, he opened it again: his clothes were now clean and neatly folded, ready to wear.

  I could have used this back home, he thought with a wry smile.

  Exhausted, he sat on the comfortable mattress. Curling up, he let one last question swirl in his mind before he drifted off to sleep.

  His sleep was restless; his dreams were full of regrets: arguments with his wife, fights with his siblings, yelling at his children. All sorts of moments from his life replayed in his mind: disputes at the office, swearing in traffic... and then, suddenly, he woke up.

  I’ll be waking up alone now. No wet dog’s nose and tongue or morning chaos. My last goodbyes to them were fighting and yelling; what a way to depart. I was so mad I did not even read them a bedtime story...

  He sat quietly for a while.

  Bright daylight streamed into the room. Viktor jumped out of bed and stepped onto the terrace. There was something magical about dawn here: he could see the main tower clearly, its great clock catching the first Light of morning. Slender spires framed the skyline, waterfalls murmured, ponds sparkled in the morning sun, and lush greenery stretched in every direction.

  The air was peaceful and still; white doves circled quietly overhead, and the marble felt cool beneath his hands. A warm breeze tugged at his robe, and as he took a deep breath, the intoxicating scent of flowers filled his senses. For a moment, he felt as if he’d woken up in Heaven itself.

  He rushed through his morning routine, skipping his usual ritual and his favorite drink. Without another thought, he hurried to the barracks, where Lieutenant Elion was already waiting.

  When he burst in, Elion was at the table, sipping coffee. “Ah, right on time,” Elion said with a grin. “I was worried you might not make it, since I never told you how to set an alarm! Want some?” he offered, raising his mug. “I love this stuff! The guys from Sixth Squad got me hooked!” Elion laughed.

  Viktor ordered “hot cocoa” and sat down with Elion. Once they’d finished, Elion stood and said, “Come on, it’s time to start your training! Is that enough for your breakfast? If not, I’m happy to wait.”

  Viktor replied, “I’ve had this for breakfast almost my whole life,” and got up.

  Together, they walked to the familiar door glowing with Light. At the threshold, Elion straightened and pronounced, “Silver Horn Training Grounds,” and stepped through. Viktor followed, once again amazed; this city never stopped surprising him.

  By Viktor’s estimate, the training ground could hold as many as two thousand soldiers at once. Warriors sparred with each other, fought dummies, and drilled on raised platforms. From archery to sword, shield, and spear training, everyone was learning to hold formation. The dull thud of steel on hardwood mixed with the trainees’ breathing and sweat, filling the air. Captains moved among them, giving advice and barking orders.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “You’re actually a bit lucky in your misfortune,” Elion twirled his mustache thoughtfully, then pointed at Viktor. “I’ve got time for you, since most of my people are still regenerating on the great tree. This month, I’ll be training you myself.”

  They started with sword work; Viktor had a lot to learn. Elion showed him the basic forms to start.

  “That’s not how you hold a sword! Here, let me show you. Watch your feet! We’re not sparring yet.”

  They trained all day.

  He had far more stamina than he'd ever expected; this new body was incredible! All his old ailments, from allergies to flat feet, were gone. Even after a beer, he didn’t feel any of the heart palpitations he used to get in his old life.

  They trained until nightfall, when Elion finally said, “That’s enough for today. You’re doing well! Let’s get something to eat,” and nodded toward the dining hall.

  This time, the lieutenant ordered pheasant in wine and a jug of water with lemon. Viktor glanced at his drink.

  “What do you take me for? I’m not an alcoholic!” Elion joked.

  “And the wine in the pheasant?” Viktor straightened.

  Elion burst out laughing. Viktor laughed too, though he knew they were laughing for different reasons.

  How many times did I say that exact line to Sara?

  There was something he didn't quite get. “How does alcohol work here?”

  Elion clicked his tongue, slapped his forehead, and replied, “Ah, right! These are the things we saved for today!” He began to explain: “Alcohol here tastes and smells just like it does in the real world, but the most it can do is put you in a good mood, maybe get you a little tipsy; the Light won’t let you go any further: no outbursts, no hangovers the next day!”

  “Only the best in the City of Angels!” he said with a grin.

  “Also, why aren’t we allowed to... you know? For most people it’s ‘till death do us part,’ right?”

  Elion looked at him, suddenly serious. “You must understand: this is neither Hell nor Purgatory, and it isn’t Heaven either. Angels don’t have time to adjudicate human affairs; allowing that would only breed jealousy and earthly problems. If someone doesn’t like it, they are free to return to Purgatory. Here, it’s about discipline and living a pure life to prove you are capable and worthy.”

  They let the words settle in a brief silence, then turned toward the counter.

  Viktor asked for fried cheese with ham, fries, and mayonnaise; he chose these because they reminded him of the food his kids liked, and he missed them dearly. With only water to drink, he sat at their usual table.

  Elion shook his head in quiet disbelief. “There are so few people here today. So many fell that day,” he said quietly.

  “Enjoy your meal,” their brothers passing by wished them.

  Viktor nodded. “Thanks, you too.” They started eating.

  After they finished, the two sat in silence for a while. Eventually, Viktor broke it: “Why eight Gates? I get the symbolism, but do you know anything more about them?”

  Elion thought for a moment. “Look, I’ll share what I know. I’m not one to keep secrets; if I know something, I’ll tell you!” He leaned back and took a sip of water. “Each Gate represents one of the elements that make up the world. They’re all connected and give power to the heavenly Light that binds everything here. It's actually kind of funny.” He leaned forward. “Let me tell you my own story about it.”

  And so he began: “Back in the day, my ancestors had pagan festivals where they used all sorts of drugs, mostly mushrooms! Sacrifices, orgies, alcohol every sin you can imagine was part of it! They’d get themselves into such altered states that they managed to travel astrally and see worlds beyond their own...

  It’s hard to say exactly whose eyes, or what kind of eyes, they were seeing through. As our captain once told me, ‘If you had wings and could see this place from above like he does, you’d see a massive tree stretching over the entire city, its roots reaching out in every direction. It grows and spreads its branches all the way into the Heavens.’

  Our silver buildings, waterfalls, crystal-clear water: they saw all of it and imagined a city where gods lived, so they called it Asgard. They saw flying figures and started to imagine, embellish, and invent their own stories. That’s where the idea of the Nine Worlds came from, all connected by this tree: Yggdrasil.”

  “Behind the second Gate lies a world...

  “Wait, the first?” Viktor asked.

  “No, it was the Second World, since the Silver City has its own Gate, which we count too. But I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about that Gate!” His tone turned serious, eyebrow raised.

  “Okay, okay,” Viktor said, holding up his hands. “It just didn’t add up for me, but go on.”

  He cleared his throat. “Ahem,” he said, then continued. “Vanaheim, the Second World: lagoons, seas, and exotic, beautiful places. They also called it the realm of the Vanir gods.”

  “The Third World was Midgard, human villages and cities, and it changes more than any other. The buildings could change even during the day, depending on how humanity itself changed! Or so I’ve heard from older guardians; we lost that world a long time ago, so I never had the honor of serving there.”

  “álfheim, the Fourth World, and honestly, I think someone just saw angels and decided they must be light elves. They believed that’s where the light elves lived. Light elves? Please. To me, it’s obvious,” he said with a grin.

  “The Fifth World was J?tunheim, the world you saw when the Fifth Gate fell. A land of mountains and rocks, where, according to Norse myth, giants lived and threatened Asgard itself.” Here his tone shifted. “But honestly, who knows what people really saw in all that chaos in the mountains that convinced them giants lived there?” He laughed heartily.

  Viktor liked his laugh. It made the situation feel lighter and helped him relax.

  “Svartálfheim was the sixth, or Nidavellir, the realm of dwarves. Caves and the world beneath the earth. In every fantasy story, dwarves live in caves, so why not for the Vikings?” He shrugged and smiled again.

  “The Seventh World was the world of fire, symbolizing volcanic activity. And I have to say, it’s really hard to breathe there; I served there for some time before we lost it,” he added, a bit sadly. “They believed Surtur lived there, and that Ragnar?k would begin with him.”

  “The Eighth World was Niflheim, and it’s all about winter, snow, ice, and cold: a place you definitely don’t want to be stationed!”

  “Why?” Viktor's voice rose, though he immediately remembered he was supposed to save his questions for later.

  Elion just rolled his eyes. “Why do you think? Every step you take, you’re about to freeze your backside off, and you’re trudging through snow! Everything’s slippery, too!” Viktor nodded, smiling to himself; it really was a silly question.

  But here? You never know.

  He wanted Elion to keep going and stayed quiet.

  “And last but not least, Helheim, the Ninth World,” Elion went on, “and honestly, whoever first described it must have been smoking something strong. They called it a land of ice, but in reality, it’s nothing but desert, an endless stretch of dunes as far as the eye can see! Maybe, in the glare of daylight, someone thought the sand looked white and mistook it for snow. But cold? Not even close.” He shook his head in disbelief.

  Viktor just stared at him, speechless.

  “Hmph. Look,” Elion sighed. “Each of these worlds is a different size and has a different number of fortresses. That much I know, but beyond that, I’m afraid I don’t know any more than you do.

  “Viktor wanted to ask the question that had been bothering him since yesterday, but Elion just raised his hand, signaling he’d had enough for today.

  “Come on, I’ll teach you how to play Hnefatafl!” Elion called, already heading toward the Light. He came back with a square board and set it between them.

  “Look, on one side we’ll put the attackers, there are twenty-four of them and they move first. On the other, the defenders, with the king in the center and twelve guards. The defenders goal is to get the king from the center to one of the board’s corners, while the attackers try to surround and capture him.

  All the pieces move like rooks in chess: horizontally or vertically, never diagonally. No jumping over other pieces. A piece is captured if it’s surrounded on two sides by enemy pieces. The king has to be surrounded on all four sides. You’ll get the hang of it best if we just play. This game was really popular with my people in the North; it taught young warriors patience and strategy. Come on, let’s try it.”

  Elion beat him four times in a row, clearly enjoying himself. The rest of the evening, they chatted about everyday things from the world of the living, and Viktor told him about his family. When night fell, they said goodnight and went to their rooms.

  As Viktor closed the door behind him, he turned and smacked his forehead against it. “I forgot to ask how to set an alarm again,” he said aloud.

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  Christopher