Paulo Coelho The Valkyries นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Tengu ran rooftop dojos and taught air the art of being stepped on. Valkyries kept to high places—the bones of old volcanoes and the ends of ridgelines where clouds hooked themselves to the earth. Their halls were no-nonsense spaces full of banners that told you who’d died and why and whether they’d done it well. They had little patience for mirrors, good ale, and a lot of opinions about cowards. They also had, if you stayed long enough to see it, an excellent sense of humor that was mostly practical jokes played on giants, and once—only once—on a dragon who took it well enough to leave the mountain unmolested for a year.

Xander took a seat at the table, nodded to let Kord know he was listening. Taryk and I took our seats as well. "Recording," Atlas said. Lukas' eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched my brother. A goofy looking smile flirted with his mouth. "Valkyrie began as death maidens in service to an ancient Earth religion system's god. They were the ones to travel a battlefield and select which ones got to go to Valhalla. Essentially a party palace where they get to fight, drink, and gorge themselves until the god's doomsday appears. Then they're expected to help fight with the god to destroy the bad guys."

It seems that no matter what I do, I just can’t forget all the things I have witnessed yesterday. Valeria is a white wolf, as it turns out. Like it did yesterday, my heart starts to flutter with excitement at the mere thought of it. I was in my room minding my own business and keeping myself away from the Moonlight Festival as usual because people don’t want to see me, and then I heard the commotion in the gardens. I rushed out of my balcony to see it, and there it was. Ares rushing after a smaller, thinner white wolf. I could read his expression and the worry in his face was enough for me to conclude that the white wolf is none other than Valeria.