Where the red-tufted clay drinks the vintage of kings And the silence of iron is all that remains They descend on the breath of a thousand cold springs To sever the spirit from temporal chains. No mercy is etched in their diamond-glass eyes, Only the weight of the Allfather’s Loom, As they traverse the seam where the horizon dies, The architects of a magnificent doom. Their armor is forged from the pulse of the North A shimmering frost on a breastplate of stars From the high, hidden citadels, they venture forth, To harvest the glory from deep-trenchant scars. Not feathered, but bladed, their pinions unfold, Sweeping the mist from the face of the deep, Turning the dross of the fallen to gold, Awakening souls from their iron-clad sleep. Oh, Daughters of Storm, let your anthems arise! Carry the brave through the fractures of light, The Bifrost is burning across the black skies, As you lead the Einherjar away from the night. Sovereigns of Valhalla, the Choosers, the Free, Whose shadows are cast on the velvet of fate, You are the salt of the celestial sea, The keys to the golden, unyielding gate! They walk through the arrows like rain through the grass, Untouched by the venom of mortal despair, Reflecting the world in a visor of glass, With the scent of the ether infused in their hair. One touch of a gauntlet, a kiss on the brow, And the roar of the carnage is suddenly still; The warrior’s oath is a sanctified vow, Dissolving away in a Valkyrie’s will. When the stars are extinguished and history pales, They shall remain on the ramparts of time, The wind in their shrouds and the fire in their veils, Cruel in their beauty, and purely sublime. For they are the bridge 'twixt the dust and the throne, The weavers of courage, the reapers of breath, Carving a path to the Great Great Unknown, The exquisite, thundering triumph of death Is it terror? Is it grace? To look upon a goddess’ face? The sky is torn! The world is thin! Let the ascent of the gods begin!