The boisterous giant of a man introduces himself as Harald, as he escorts Solomon through the grounds. Everywhere they went there was the crush of combat, weapons flashing through the air as the Einherjar threw themselves at each other. Solomon found himself dodging an errant blow more than once, stumbling out of the reach of a spear-thrust or sword-swing. The warrior guides him through the press of combat into a nearby hall, the area stocked full of ancient weapons of every description.

“Y’started out with all the newcomers in what we call the Proving Grounds. T’get to where you need to be though, we’re gonna have to get through the Yards. The stuff out here’s mostly just skirmishes but o’er there things get a bit more intense. Gettin’ through that festival’s a newcomer’s rite of passage for their first day.”

Harald picks through the weapons, a pensive look on his rough, scarred face. Solomon figured that he was probably trying to figure out what to give him, Valhalla wasn’t exactly the best place to go about unarmed, after all. The young man turns his gaze to the armory. He was a pretty good amateur fencer, he thinks, as he looks at a rapier resting on a rack. But with what he’d seen, he’d probably have to deal with more than one enemy, and he’d only trained to fight one. It seemed like it’d be more a hindrance than a boon.

He was stumped there. Luckily, Harald makes the decision for him, picking out a strange shield and strangely short spear. The shield looked like something he’d seen in movies about the ancient Greeks, while the spear…

“A bronze dipylon shield and an iklwa,” Harald explains after seeing the confused expression on Solomon’s face, “since we’re traveling through the Yards with a new face, a lot of people will think you’re just an ordinary newcomer and take a shot at ya. It’s just tradition, giving the new boys a bit of a hard time.”

He shows Solomon how to wield them together, the very basics of using the two weapons in a defensive style. Just enough for him to be comfortable holding the things. The shield was a rather heavy thing, but it felt sturdy. It was comforting in a way, to have it to hide behind.

“But you’re not an ordinary newcomer, so we don’t have time for the usual hazing. I’ll clear the way, you just use those weapons to keep yourself hale and hearty. Poke at someone if they get too close and block whatever’s comin’ at ya.”

Harald straps two swords to his back, even though he already bears twin axes himself. Solomon raises an eyebrow at that action but brushes this relatively small oddity off.

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“Ordinarily, y’wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout that, this being Valhalla. You’d just be able to get back up without a fuss. This place heals all wounds. Normally. But you’re… You still feel sore, don’t you?”

Solomon nods slowly. He hadn’t thought about it at first, but… there was a persistent ache in his body, like he’d run a marathon. He’d been too overwhelmed by the chaos of Valhalla to notice, but now he could feel it keenly.

“Valhalla doesn’t work well with injured souls. It’d take more time to heal and you’d be in some nasty pain the whole way. No way to go about your first day. Y’ready to go?”

He sits on a nearby crate of daggers, watching the young man with a keen eye. Harald wonders about them. Most newcomers took some time to acclimate to their ordeal. When Odin had explained the young man’s circumstances to the people in the courtyard, he’d assigned the task of escorting the kid to Harald. Odin taking a personal interest was one thing. Odin showing up in person, to deliver a task? It was mystifying. Though that was to be expected, Harald admitted. He’d never been able to understand what that old man was scheming…

Solomon holds a spear and shield in his hands, as he stands there in the armory. He lifts them up, feeling their weight for one last time. When he walked out there… He’d walk into a warzone. He’d read Valhalla’s legends. It was a land of heroes, where the honored dead fought forever. A perpetual bloody battlefield. And once Solomon walked out onto that field, he’d join them, wouldn’t he? He might be the one to fall.

But Solomon had never asked about where Harald was leading him. He could remember all of it, that time in the void after his death when his very soul was being fought over. He remembered that voice from the portal. Someone, somewhere, with power so great even those gathered gods had to call for aid, had called for a hero. And there were those gods waiting for him beyond the Yards, weren’t there, who had all fought over his soul.

They’d all wanted him, and standing here, Solomon finds that he wanted nothing else but to know why.

The young man meets Harald’s gaze and nods firmly. Harald nods, his ever-present smile turning into a full grin. He twirls his axes before kicking open the door with a whoop.

“Come on then, lad! Let’s get moving!”

Harald practically saunters into the chaos, entering the whirling spear-din as if he’d lived it all his life. Solomon hesitates for a heartbeat, before he follows the Einherjar. He steps into legend.