My Family Regret After Sacrificing Me for Their Golden Girl

The night I died, my family was busy celebrating my sister's accession to the Hall of Valhalla. We are Valkyries. My mother was a battle warrior, and when she gave birth to the twins, her excitement was above the nine clouds. The reason– my sister was born with golden wings. A very rare colour mentioned in the prophecy–Valkyrie with gold will lead the others to stop Ragnarok. My sister brought fame to our family. I thought we would be happier until I realised the harsh reality of my own parents. Because I was born with black wings, my own parents saw me as taboo and refused to introduce me to the universe as their own. And when the time came for my sister's accession, afraid that dark forces might try to hurt her, my parents made a horrific choice. They dragged me to the edge of the clan's cliffside courtyard, chained me down as bait to draw the monsters away, saying through the barred doors: "Your sister is destined for glory. You were born broken—the least you can do is buy her time to escape.” “Mom… What if they hurt me?” I choked out. “They won't!” My mother spat, her voice laced with disdain as she shot a glance over my wings, “The moment they see your wings, they will realise you aren't worth their time.” My sister, Freya, smirked at me, saying, “Goodbye, sister.” I watched her retreating figure, wondering what my parents would do after they found out they had been wrong about the prophecy since the very beginning. What will they do when they find out that Freya was never the chosen one as they assumed, that my dark wings they always disdain actually belong to Midnight Raven? Will they regret it then? Chapter 1 The cold did not bite anymore. That was the first truth of my death. The physical agony of the heavy iron chains that had bruised my wrists was gone, replaced by a weightless, chilling numbness. I looked down. My body—battered, pale, and horribly still—lay slumped against the jagged stones of the cliffside courtyard. The monsters had come. They hadn't ignored me like Mother said they would. The Garm-brood—the terrifying, multi-eyed hounds from the gates of Helheim—had torn into me, realized I wasn't the golden prize they sought, and abandoned my broken shell to the howling winds of Niflheim. But I was still here. I floated a few inches above the stone, a translucent, shimmering specter. My wings, once a heavy curse of midnight feathers, were now a misty, smoke-like black that drifted elegantly in the air. As a Valkyrie, I was supposed to be a psychopomp—a shepherd meant to carry the souls of the glorious dead to the afterlife. I never imagined my first task would be watching over my own corpse. Driven by a bitter, magnetic pull, I glided through the heavy, barred doors that had locked me out in the dark. The grand hall of Valhalla did not just hold a feast; it breathed the ancient, terrifying weight of the Nine Realms. The air was thick with the scent of roasted boar, expensive wines, and great tales of Asgard’s brave heroes. At the center of it all sat my twin sister, Freya. Her golden wings were tucked neatly behind her, glowing with an ethereal radiance that captivated every god and warrior in attendance. Beside her stood our parents, their faces flushed with mead and unbridled pride. "A toast!" my mother’s voice boomed, raising a silver horn high, silencing the rowdy hall. "To Freya! Born under the alignment of the stars of Asgard, bearing the golden plumage of prophecy! She is the shield that will break the tides of Naglfar, the ship of dead men's nails, and turn back Ragnarok!" The crowd roared in approval. Freya beamed, her chest swelling. Beside her waist was hanging a spear. It was not an ordinary spear but was cast from divine gold, the first replica of Gungnir, Odin’s legendary spear. Watching the spear resting on Freya’s waist always brought tears to my eyes. It was our twelfth birthday. After almost begging my parents for months, they had allowed me to trail them to the annual fair. My gaze landed on a small store, selling spears made of mortal wood. I was also a Valkyrie, born with the dream of battle. I requested my mother to buy me one. But she only smirked at me. “What will you do with that spear? You are never going to war, Greta. The elite army will never choose someone who brings bad omens.” And minutes later, my parents traded half of their life’s fortune just to get that golden spear for Freya, just because it matched her wings. I could not tolerate it. Were they ready to sacrifice their whole fortune for one daughter while the other wasn't even worth a dirt spending on? I sobbed the entire night. “Is it all about the wings, mother? If my wings… are not dark, would you love me then?” The next day, I painted my wings with molten gold. My wings burned as hell, but the divine power stopped it from withering. I walked into my Mom’s room and said excitedly, “Mom, look! My wings are not dark anymore. Will you please not hate me anymore?” “Oh, My God! Greta, what have you done?” Freya, who had just walked in, screamed in terror. My mother completely ignored me and walked to hold Freya in her arms. The next moment, I was dragged into the dungeon. My crime– scaring Freya off, leaving her traumatized. I was left there without food and ointment, my skin still burning with molten gold and my wings… turned dark once again. Remembering that day still aches my heart. Even changing my wings' colour could not bring my parents to love me. Can my death do it then? Will they still hate me if they find out I was already dead? Chapter 2 The roaring laughter of the Einherjar—the fallen warriors who now feasted for eternity—sounded like distant thunder through the veil of my death. I drifted closer to the high table, a ghost at my sisters triumph, watching my mother gently smooth a stray golden lock behind Freyas ear. That simple, tender gesture cut deeper than the fangs of the Garm-brood ever could. My mother had never touched me like that. To touch Greta was to invite the ash of bad omens into her pristine life. I hovered near the heavy stone pillars, my smoky, midnight wings curling around myself like a funeral shroud. Looking at Freya, so radiant and untouched by the harshness of the world, unleashed a flood of memories I had locked away in the deepest dungeons of my mind. It wasn't just the golden spear. It was a thousand tiny cuts, a lifetime of being the shadow cast by her brilliant light. I remembered our fourteenth winter, when the Great Frost settled over our mountain estate. As Valkyries-in-training, we were required to undergo the Vetr-Nótt—the Winter Night trial. We were to fly to the highest peak, gather a single bloom of the frost-lotus, and return before the blizzard took the sky. Freya had struggled with the updrafts. Her golden wings, though beautiful, were broad and caught the heavy winds like sails. I, accustomed to fighting the weight of my dense, dark feathers, sliced through the storm with ease. I reached the summit first. I braved the biting ice, plucked the lotus, and even flew back down to catch Freya when a sudden gust nearly sent her spiraling into the jagged crevasses below. I practically carried her back to the warmth of the hearth. When we presented the frost-lotuses to our father, he didn't look at my pristine, perfectly preserved flower. He looked at Freyas crumpled, half-frozen petals. "Look at the resilience of the golden prophecy,"he had whispered, his eyes gleaming with tears as he took Freya's hands. "To face such a storm with wings made for the high sun, and still return victorious. You are truly Odins chosen." When I stepped forward, holding out my own lotus, my mother had merely frowned at my dark feathers, which were dusted with snow. "You are built for the dark, Greta. It is no feat for a creature of shadow to survive a storm. Go clean the soot from your feathers; you look like a scavenger bird." No praise. No recognition that I had saved their golden child from breaking her neck on the rocks. I had gone to the aviaries and wept into the straw, wondering why doing better always meant being worth less. Then there were the banquets. Valhalla loved its court poets, the Skalds. Every year, a Skald would come to compose verses for the youth of the noble houses. Freya would sit on a velvet stool, her golden wings fanned out like a sunrise, while the poet strummed his lute and sang of the "Shield-Maiden of Light"who would conquer the twilight of the gods. I was always made to sit behind the heavy tapestries, out of sight, because my mother claimed my dark presence would "ruin the meter of the verse." Once, when I was ten, I had tried to sneak into the light to hear the music better. The Skald had paused, his eyes widening at the sight of my midnight plumage. My mother had laughed a hollow, tight laugh, quickly stepping between us. "Pay no mind to that one, master poet. She is merely the afterbirth of the prophecy. Write of the gold." The next morning, my velvet tunic was gone, replaced by coarse, dyed wool. We must practicalize your wardrobe, Greta,my mother had said coldly. Bright colors only emphasize the dirt in your wings. I looked down at my translucent hands, floating in the grand hall of Valhalla. Even now, dead and free of physical pain, the injustice burned. I had trained twice as hard, run twice as fast, and studied the battle runes until my eyes bled, all for a crumb of the affection they showered on Freya for simply existing. At the high table, Freya laughed, raising her golden mead horn. The replica of Gungnir caught the torchlight, throwing bright, blinding reflections across the room. Just a voice emerged from the top of the throne. It was Odin himself. I heard you gave birth to the twins that night. Where is the other one? Chapter 3 Silence spread through the entire hall. My mother knelt before him as she said, “She is… just an ordinary Valkyrie, Odin and has no interest in serving Asgard. That's why she refused to come. I’m apologizing on behalf of my daughter, Odin. Spare her!” ‘No… No… that's not right!’ I screamed to deaf ears. ‘I have always wanted to serve, Odin. Mom… why are you lying?’ Odin smiled, “Asgard will never force its people. They are free to choose their way.” Just then, my father leaned closer to my mother, his voice laced with genuine care, “I think we should go and check on Greta. What if the hounds-” “She will be alright, Theon. Hounds will not even look at her. Are you really going to miss Freya’s ascension because of this?” My mother slammed, and my father lowered his gaze. My ghost of a voice yelled in silence. ‘That’s not true, Mom. They looked at me. They tore me apart. I’m already dead. Can you please come and see my body?’ My father seemed to look unsatisfied and still protested before my mom, a gesture I had never seen him do before. “Greta… She has never seen such a grand celebration before. It's her dream to meet Odin. Why not let her come here for once? The hounds can't disturb us here under Odin’s presence.” “Have you lost your mind, Theon?” My mother hissed. “Don't you remember what she did the last time we allowed her to be with us in a divine event?” “Do you really want to ruin Freya's moment?” My father seemed to want to say something more, but he swallowed his words and became silent. Mom and Dad were talking about a grand victory celebration that happened ten years ago. At that time, Freya and I were only eight years old. Odin had commanded every Valkyrie to come out on the street and welcome the Victorious Valkyries who brought Asgard its victory. Mom and Dad had no choice but to tag me along with them. It was the evening, the sky was dark, and the ground was busy with brave warriors cheering and singing in joy. Mom and Dad had held Freya’s arms so affectionately and protectively while I was walking behind them– alone, just like a servant following their masters. They chatted the whole way, showing Freya the amusing things and explaining their history to her. When you grow up, you will have a better one.” Mom would say. No one said a single word to me or even looked at me to see if I was even following them or not. When we reached the middle, Freya broke free from our parents’ hands and flew up in the sky to meet the Victorious Valkyries. Her wings created a beautiful light that everyone praised. Mom and Dad looked at her with pride as Freya performed to welcome the warriors. My stupid mind thought if I did the same, perhaps they would look at me with pride too. My hands were already free. I flew up in the sky and spread my wings. I flipped and performed with the spear I had made myself from the trash. But unexpectedly, my dark wings began absorbing the light entirely, spreading darkness all over. The cheers stopped instantly. Singers stopped singing. Asgardians stopped marching. Everyone looked at me with surprise. It made me look like an omen of bad luck to my family. My mother instantly hit me with her divine hunter, pulling me back to the ground. My father bent to his knees and apologized to the warriors before they dragged me home and pushed me into a cellar of darkness. From that day on, I was never allowed to attend any celebration. Even on our birthdays, Freya would cut her birthday cake in front of the whole Asgardian, receiving their blessings and gifts while I would spend the whole day and night in a cellar, a precaution from my parents to stop me from ruining Freya’s big day. And this ritual continued. Just this time, I was not alone. I was left to accompany the dark forces and big hounds like their loyal pet. While I was lost in my thoughts, a voice echoed. “It's the time… ascension of our protector. Bring her here, let her receive Odin’s blessings.” Mom quickly grabbed Freya’s arms and brought her to Odin, who had closed his eyes all this while. And when he opened them, he shot a glance at Freya and then moved to my mother, “Where is my golden girl?”