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While I had experienced tremendous relief to observe that Order’s judgment was, in fact, fair and balanced, something told me it wouldn’t go as smoothly for Brandon. I understood why he’d done everything, both good and bad, since before we’d even crossed paths.

Yet as he spoke, as he told Order about the abductions, the sample collections and the many other errands he had to run for Hrista, it became obvious that Order didn’t like a single word coming out of his mouth. Brandon had chosen to serve Hrista because she’d threatened to destroy his Aesir—such a fate would’ve turned the Berserker into a mindless shadow beast, eventually drawn to Haldor, reduced to almost nothing more than hunger and violence.

“You helped Hrista achieve her goals,” Order concluded.

A muscle ticked furiously in Brandon’s jaw. One quick look at Myst told me she was just as worried. “I had no choice,” the Berserker said, his tone clipped. “She had Hammer.”

The dire wolf sat on his hind legs, mostly quiet but for the occasional whimper of distress. Order, however, did not seem impressed. “You had multiple choices. You simply picked the one that served you best.”

“Yeah, I picked the one that didn’t get Hammer destroyed. Not to mention me!”

I was beginning to see why he’d complained about fairness earlier. This certainly didn’t seem right, and I doubted my input would do much good. After all, I was just a living creature, a trespasser in Purgatory, a fly in Order’s most precious domain. None of this felt right, and the Time Master echoed my sentiments perfectly. “It’s not going to end well for him,” he whispered.

“What the hell do we do?” Jericho asked.

Dafne sighed. “I’m not sure there is anything we can do. We’re virtually powerless in this place. Order could squish us like the tiny bugs that we are.”

The irony was glaring, considering that a dragon had said those words. But there was truth in her statement, and not a comfortable one. We couldn’t help Brandon, regardless of how much we wanted him to get through this as well as Myst and Astra had. Order wasn’t in a forgiving mood anymore. “Brandon, you could have put the wellbeing of others above your own,” the ruler of Purgatory said. There was the shadow of doubt in her voice, but the statement resonated clearly across the White Hall of Judgment. The Berserkers were cross, already cursing under their breaths but none dared to speak up. “You knew that what Hrista was doing would hurt innocent people. You chose to be an active participant in that process for the sake of saving your Aesir. That was selfish. Do you deny it?”

“How could it be selfish? I went through a shimmering portal that Hrista opened so I could save Hammer. Once I was in that foreign realm, the portal was shut, and I was stuck there.”

“You left Purgatory,” Order insisted, stubborn to a fault. It angered me beyond belief.

“I did it for Hammer! An Aesir, a being of Purgatory that did not deserve to suffer or to be reduced to a mindless shadow,” Brandon insisted.

“You did it for yourself,” Order replied. “Because you could not fathom your existence altered by the loss of your Aesir. The losses that the Shadians have incurred because of your actions seem to be lost on you. Who knows how many will die because Hrista had your support? I shall ask the same question of your fellow deserting Berserkers, and I know I will get the same answers.”

Time scoffed. It drew a frown from Order. “Hold on,” the Reaper said, bitterly amused. “So, you’re blaming the Berserkers for Hrista’s success? That’s inane, to put it mildly. Hrista coerced them all into helping her. Brandon, Haldor, Torrhen, and every other Berserker who’s currently with her on the real island.”

“He could have said no. He would have been one cog fewer in the machine. He could’ve chosen to lose Hammer but keep a clean conscience, albeit as a shadow fiend,” Order shot back. “Also, I would appreciate it if you held your tongue. This is not your realm, Reaper. Not your judgment, either.” She shifted her focus back to Brandon, while some of the souls waiting in line began to quiver in fear. They’d observed mercy earlier with Myst and Astra, but now they could see where this conversation was headed. It made the spirits uneasy. “Brandon, Berserker of Purgatory, you betrayed the realm, and you betrayed me. It’s unforgivable.”

“That’s a bunch of crap,” Brandon spat. “I didn’t only help Hrista. I sabotaged some of her operations. I helped Astra’s crew along the way. You cannot find me guilty for doing the only things I could do in those circumstances.”

“You did what you thought was best. I cannot deny your good intentions,” she said. “But it’s your actions that have prejudiced Purgatory.” Order looked to the Berserkers present. “Seize him.”

Astra was furious. “What?! No! Don’t!” She moved toward Brandon, but Edda grabbed her by the arms and pulled her back. Order watched with a mixture of amusement and irritation as the half-Daughter burst into a bright pink glow, releasing an energy pulse that threw Edda back and made the other spirits around her wobble for a moment.

“I suggest you don’t do anything stupid, Pinkie,” Brandon chuckled as the Berserkers moved to immobilize him. Astra reached him in the blink of an eye, and Brandon cupped her face in his hands, briefly pressing his lips against hers. It only lasted a second.

I heard Dafne gasp. Personally, I’d seen it coming. It just saddened me that it had to be this way. The Berserkers tried to get Astra away from Brandon, but she grunted and released another pulse of energy—even stronger than the one before and surprisingly effective. She hadn’t been able to deliver such blows back in the real island, yet here, in Purgatory, Astra’s powers seemed more… robust.

The Berserkers tumbled across the white marble floor, and Brandon laughed. Edda and Myst were speechless, much like the other Valkyries, while Order watched with a smile twisting her lips. She was amused, and it made me furious. I took my first step toward Astra to try and help her, but Time grabbed my upper arm and held me back. “Don’t be foolish,” he warned me.

“Pinkie, let it be,” Brandon told Astra, whose cheeks were burning red. Her skin glowed intermittently, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He’d gotten used to her light, or so I assumed. “It’s okay.”

“It’s anything but okay!” Astra cried out, but Order snapped her fingers, and the half-Daughter froze, eyes wide with horror.

Brandon scowled at his maker. “Leave her be. She’s innocent.”

“I know,” Order replied. “She is also unexpectedly powerful in this realm, and I am not comfortable with that. Astra will remain immobile for the time being. No harm is being done to her.”

This was a thousand kinds of wrong, yet we were all helpless before the queen of Purgatory. She was as powerful as Death, and as important in this universe. The rest of us were tiny drops on a cosmic canvas, too small to even count, yet Astra still stood out with her resilience and power. Order’s stunning magic held her back, but it did not stop her from grunting and muttering through trembling lips. “You’re wrong…” she managed.

“Brandon, Berserker of Purgatory, you are hereby banned from this realm,” Order said, unbothered by the unexpected turn of events. The Berserkers were back on their feet, and they grabbed Brandon, twisting his arms behind his back. Hammer tried to defend him, but he was quickly stunned with a little bit of Purgatory magic. The dire wolf squealed, and the sound pained my heart. “You shall not dwell here anymore, yet you shall not move on,” Order added, her tone heavy and firm. “You have not earned the right to walk into the afterlife. We shall see if you ever will.”

She snapped her fingers, and a wisp of pure darkness burst from Brandon’s chest. He exhaled sharply, eyes wide with astonishment as he tried to understand what was happening.

Edda knew. “The connection to Purgatory has been severed.”

“Brandon…” Astra mumbled against the stunning spell, a tear rolling down her cheek. Brandon took a few moments to gather his thoughts, likely studying his own reaction as he tried to figure out what had been done to him.

From where I stood, nothing had changed, yet I imagined the Berserker felt it. His brothers moved back, saddened by the rupture that had been caused. They let him be, and Hammer was released from his paralysis as a result. The dire wolf bolted straight to Brandon as he dropped to his knees and nuzzled him with his black nose, then licked his face. “It’s okay, boy, it’s okay,” he told Hammer. A smile tested the corners of his mouth. He glanced up at Order, slowly standing up. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me. It’s not as bad as what Hrista put me through. Almost losing Hammer broke me. Banishing me from Purgatory? That’s a treat.”

“Well, at least you’re quick to adjust,” Order muttered. Her fingers wiggled on the sculpted armrest of her throne—one of two winged Valkyrie figures that had been blended into the overall structure of gold and white marble. Astra cried out, suddenly released from the stunning magic.

“You’re awful!” the half-Daughter croaked, her breath ragged as she tried to recover. No physical harm had been done, but the rage inside her was bubbling, ready to spill over. “You are absolutely awful. Brandon has been loyal and good this whole time. Kind and helpful, too. Perhaps not the easiest personality, but he tries!”

That drew a soft chuckle from the Berserker.

But it angered Order. “You speak to me of goodness in a Berserker? Do you even know who he truly is?” When Astra didn’t answer, she huffed with indignation. “Figures. Why would he tell you?” She looked to Myst. “And you? You never told her? Did you not see that she was falling for a Berserker? Did you not think to prevent such a tragedy?”

I didn’t even register the guilty expression on Myst’s face until she spoke. “Brandon has been a valuable and reliable ally,” she tried to say, but Order groaned and waved her away.

“Spare me!” she snarled and moved her focus back to Astra, while Brandon seemed to shrink and darken behind her. It struck me as odd for him to be so silent, especially after they’d just kissed. He’d certainly had no qualms there. Yet now, the Berserker had lost his vigor. “I select my Valkyries and Berserkers carefully. I study their lives, weighing their deeds against one another. This happens before the White Hall of Judgment, of course, because what is decided here between these walls can never be reversed—my will and my word are absolute. To become a Valkyrie, a spirit must demonstrate their purity. Kindness, acts of valor, and self-sacrifice, these are the things I look for in a being of light. Their soul weighs as much as a feather.”

Myst did strike me as the embodiment of such perfection, for it was perfection that Order demanded. I could tell. Edda, Regine, and every other Valkyrie I’d laid eyes upon shared these traits—the pure light, the feather-like allure, the undeniable strength of character. I did not need the senses of a Purgatory creature to observe the truth that was right in front of me.

“And to become a Berserker,” Order added, “one must be the worst of the worst. The spirits I choose to become punishers would be the first to deserve a brutal penalty. Murderers, crooks, warmongers, and unrepentant monsters, that’s what they truly are. Filthy souls who have taken lives, who have lived in hatred and violence. Brandon brought his empire to ruin. He killed innocent people. Hundreds perished under his blade. And you, Astra, you are na?ve enough to think he’s good? Why, because he helped you? Don’t be a child.”

Astra was speechless. She stared at Order, no longer able to look at Brandon. There wasn’t disgust I saw in her eyes, though, only a conflict of emotions, like she was trying to process everything she’d just heard. But I could see why Brandon had shrunk. Shame had swallowed him whole. I raised a hand. “Pardon me for asking…”

“Thayen Novak, Nasani prince,” Order replied, pursing her lips. “What is it?”

“How long ago did that happen?” I asked. “Brandon’s death, I mean.”

“We do not measure time here,” Brandon replied, his voice tense and barely audible. “But I presume it was ages ago. I no longer remember my life, just faint snippets here and there.”

Myst cleared her throat. “Being selected as a punisher is a form of punishment in itself. The Berserkers are doomed to an eternity in Purgatory, unable to ever move on.” She gave Astra a brief glance. “In many ways, Brandon has already paid for his crimes.”

I was inclined to agree, though I wasn’t sure what “ages” meant in this context. How many years were enough to compensate for the lives he had snuffed out? How did we know that Brandon had, in fact, suffered for what he had done? Myst had good intentions, and I understood why she’d chosen to speak up, but I doubted it would be enough to bring Astra back.

Astra had tuned us all out, staring at the base of Order’s throne.

“While that is true, only I decide when a price has been paid in full,” the queen of Purgatory replied. “Brandon is not a kind soul. He isn’t fundamentally decent. Yes, he saved your lives. More than once. But I wonder what the people he killed might have accomplished, if only he’d let them be.” It was a good question, but none of us among the living were entitled to ask it, nor could we answer. Only Order had the privilege. “Therefore, banning him from Purgatory is not the worst fate he might endure.”

“A perpetuity in a dark and meaningless limbo sounds like a treat,” Brandon said, holding back a bitter laugh. “I’ll be fine. It’s only a peg below a perpetuity in this bright and supposedly meaningful limbo called Purgatory, trust me.”

“You can no longer stay here, nor can you move on to worse punishments,” Order grumbled. “I suppose you could consider this a win, in a way. Congratulations, Brandon. Your end of the stick isn’t as short as I might have thought.”

“It’s worse,” Astra replied, finally raising her gaze. “He won’t belong anywhere. He’s not of the living, he’s not of the dead, either. He’s a Berserker banned from Purgatory, forever lost in a sense, never to cross that threshold into the afterlife.”

The way she spoke rattled me. Contempt dripped from each of her words, and I wondered whom it was aimed at. Brandon didn’t ask, nor did he respond. He chose silence while Astra pointed a thumb over her shoulder at me and the others in our crew. “Now, could you please end this charade and let my friends go? There is still the issue of Hrista that remains unresolved.”

It wasn’t the reaction that Order had expected. Even Edda was surprised, but the shadow of a smile told me it was a positive response. “I agree. I have wasted enough time on Brandon,” Order said, motioning for the Berserker to leave the queue.

Brandon didn’t hesitate to join Myst and Edda. Astra didn’t move, though, and even Hammer lingered beside her before he padded over to his Berserker. I felt sorry for Brandon. Genuinely sorry. It marked the end of his tenure in Purgatory and the beginning of a very uncertain state of existence. Something told me he’d do fine in The Shade. After all, Mom and Dad were the patron saints of supernatural misfits, and The Shade welcomed everyone. There would be room for Brandon, too, whose powers were still a crucial part of him, darkness his patron forever. He could definitely join us in The Shade… provided we got our home back.

In order to do that, however, we needed Order to come through for us. Doubt nagged me, though I wasn’t sure where it had sprung from. I just figured I would’ve blown a gasket by now after hearing what Hrista had done outside my realm—had I been in Order’s impressive leather and steel boots. I would’ve hit the pause button on the trials and gathered an army to storm the realm of the living and get that miscreant back.

Why wasn’t Order doing any of that?