Holland was never meant to exist for love, destiny, or prophecy. He was a headline.
His father, Sorem, was a fallen angel—once a high-ranking sentinel of Heaven's vanguard, cast out after openly defying a divine command. His mother, Runa Skjoldsdottir, was a decorated Valkyrie of Asgard, celebrated for escorting a record number of honored souls to Valhalla.
They met not through diplomacy, but during a violent border clash between celestial factions. What began as trading blows became something messier: hate, pride, desire, and finally a one-night stand driven by mutual ego and unspoken loneliness. Runa wanted to spite her commanders. Sorem wanted to sabotage Heaven's image.
When Holland resulted from that encounter, both pantheons saw a PR gold mine. A fallen angel and a Valkyrie producing offspring? Scandal. Unity. Potential propaganda for both sides.
Instead of burying the incident, Heaven and Asgard collaborated to sanitize it. Sorem and Runa were publicly "paired"—not romantically, but professionally. Joint missions, staged interviews, carefully curated public appearances. They weren't partners or lovers; they were an image. Holland grew up watching his parents embrace only when cameras were rolling, barely acknowledging each other otherwise.
He learned early that he was a bridge between two worlds, but only as long as he served the narrative.
Before Holland's birth, Runa had four daughters from prior battles, rituals, and divine entanglements—each half-sister born from the strange, fluid lineage rules of Asgard. They inherited more Valkyrie traits than anything else and trained together from childhood as "The Brood," a tongue-in-cheek reference to their shared mother and their reputation as a unit that swarmed battlefields with terrifying synchronicity.
After Holland's arrival and the PR cycle pushing "unity" and "divine blended family," the name shifted to "The Flock"—a public-friendly title. A brand, really.
All five siblings eventually joined The Lazarus Front, a multinational hero organization specializing in supernatural, interdimensional, and undead threats. The Flock quickly became one of the Front's signature teams—high-profile, glamorous, and useful for both Heaven's and Asgard's political aims.
But Holland was always different. The sisters had each other. He had a scripted place beside them.
Holland's abilities developed slowly—slower than his sisters, slower than his parents' PR demanded. His powers were inconsistent, tied to two opposing metaphysical bloodlines. Where his sisters had clear paths—Valkyrie specialties, rune-blessed strength, battle precognition—Holland was a storm of unstable angelic energy and half-Valkyrie instincts.
He was the weakest on paper, but the most versatile.
He rotated through roles: reconnaissance, field support, medical support, frontline combat. He was always competent, but in a family of prodigies, competence wasn't enough. Still, he stayed with The Lazarus Front even after The Flock returned to Asgard. Among mortal heroes, he could be himself without the PR mask.
Then the mission that changed the trajectory of his young life.
Details vary depending on who tells the story. The official report is redacted. But this much is known: a rescue operation turned into a full-scale catastrophe involving a necro-dimensional breach. Holland made a choice—one that saved civilians but compromised the strategic objective.
A teammate died. Some say it was unavoidable. Others whisper it was Holland's hesitation, or his disobedience.
The Lazarus Front suspended him. Asgard and Heaven did worse.
His parents disavowed him publicly. Runa and Sorem released statements expressing "disappointment" in their son's failure to uphold the legacy of his divine heritage. Sponsorships withdrew. The Flock scrubbed him from recent holovids.
He lost every privilege tied to his lineage: no divine summons, no celestial travel permissions, no family resources, no official claim to the Valkyries or the Fallen.
He became a nobody overnight.
For the first time, Holland understood what he had always been: a product, not a son.
Now.
Holland drifts now. He helps where he can, tries to keep a low profile. At Fortitude Hall he's just "Holland" or "Valen" not "the celestial hybrid" or "the Flock's youngest."
He resents his parents but is still shaped by them. He misses his sisters but refuses to drag them into his exile. He has power but fears the instability within it. He carries guilt for those he has lost, but knows the truth is more complicated than anyone admits.