The destination of souls had always been a subject of debate on Earth, which was still in its technological age.
In Asgard, those who died glorious deaths in battle went to Valhalla, a place of brave souls and the final home the Asgardians longed for.
In the Wizarding World, the Department of Mysteries contained an archway leading into the unknown, a place used to execute wizards.
But more people preferred to describe those who entered it as having disappeared rather than died.
John had once stepped through it. It connected to the world of the dead.
The souls of the dead crossed a strand of hair and stepped onto a crystal bridge.
Within the mists of Niflheim, beyond the spring of Hvergelmir and along the road to Ginnungagap, lay a mysterious place where space was distorted.
The old cowboy took off his hat and smiled. "You must be someone who enjoys adventure."
"People sometimes wander in here by mistake, even though this isn't where they meant to go."
"What about you?" John asked. "Are you from here?"
"Me?" The old cowboy thought for a moment. "I came from somewhere else once and signed a contract with a devil. But now I'm here."
The old cowboy held out his hand. "Paul."
"John." John shook his hand.
"If you don't mind, you can stay at my place until you find your way back onto the right path."
Paul was a talkative cowboy with very courteous manners.
He had seen a great deal of the world. Perhaps that was why a devil had once come knocking on his door.
His beloved horse was one of the few beings he could confide in within this Land of the Dead.
"Most people who stumble into this place are exiles."
Inside the wooden cabin, Paul spoke