VOLUME 4: DESTINED
MICHAEL
I have worn down the white stone path beneath my feet from the constant pounding as I trudge along this same route. Every hour, every day.
First to Heimdall. Then to Fiahre. Then to Odin.
Heimdall. Fiahre. Odin.
Always the same.
I stopped in front of the Wheelhouse and breathed deeply. My gaze traveled the height of the column beside me, upward to the lintel above my head. There is a frieze carved there - a depiction of Heimdall, arms outstretched, stars alighting on his fingertips, the nine worlds rotating around him.
Gripping the hilt of the sword that rests at my hip, I stepped across the threshold and into the great god's domain. In the middle of the deepest black of space, the Wheelhouse shone like a beacon, the columns that mark the corners of its oc
