The Gods may demand that
we follow their path, but only
by our own will can we find
our true destiny.
-Norse proverb
I am Battersea Power Station. I am the modern-day Valhalla. I stand tall and imposing over the London skyline. My chimneys reach towards the heavens, a testament to human ingenuity and power. Within my walls, the echoes of a vanished industrial era linger. The long-dead dynamos, which once roared within my perpendicular walls, have fallen silent, replaced by the hum of a different kind of life. “Welcome to the machine,” whispers the memory of my industrial past, a time when I was the heart of London’s power.
But today, a different kind of energy stirs within me. My vast chambers, once filled with the thunder of dynamos, now play host to the quiet bustle of shops and corporates. Humans walk my corridors, unaware that they tread upon the threshold of myth and legend. They live their lives within my embrace, oblivious to the ancient magic that simmers in my core.
From my vantage point, I watch as the gods of old approach. They emerge from the mists of time, their forms both familiar and awe-inspiring. The air around me crackles with anticipation, and I feel a deep sense of honour and purpose. I am no longer just a relic of the past; I am a bridge to the mythical, a conduit between worlds.
Odin, the Allfather, leads the procession. His presence is commanding, and I can sense the wisdom that comes from his centuries of existence. He glances at my walls, and I swell with pride, knowing that I am deemed worthy to be their haven.
Following him is Thor, his strength palpable even from afar. The rumble of his steps resonates with my steel and brick, a symphony of might and endurance. He carries Mjölnir, a symbol of power that feels at home within my structure, where turbines once roared and electricity surged.
Freyja, the goddess of love and war, graces my halls with her fierce beauty. Her eyes reflect a knowledge of both the joys and sorrows of the world, and I am reminded of the countless stories and lives that have passed through my doors.
As they enter, I feel an ancient magic awaken within my walls. The gods of old walk my corridors, their voices a blend of whispers and laughter, imbuing me with a sense of the eternal. My chambers, once filled with the hum of machinery, now echo with the tales of Asgard.
A lone human figure moves quietly through the lofty embrace of my hall: an ephemeral presence against the backdrop of time and myth. I watch this solitary visitor with a sense of curiosity and kinship. He seems a stark contrast to the ethereal beings of legend that grace my halls. He is grounded in the reality of the present yet clearly touched by the echoes of the past that linger in my corners.
His steps are measured and reverent; his eyes wide with the awe of history and the weight of legends around him. As he moves through my spaces, there is a palpable sense of wonder, a silent conversation between the human and the divine, the temporal and the eternal.
Eventually, this lone observer, having witnessed the confluence of worlds within my walls, steps back into the brightness of the day. He leaves behind the shadows of mythical gods to find open skies and the smell of fresh-ploughed earth, returning to a world far removed from the ancient magic of this modern Valhalla.
In this moment, I am more than just a structure of concrete and steel; I am a living, breathing entity, a Valhalla reborn in the heart of London. I stand as a testament to the enduring power of myth and legend, a meeting place of the past and the present, where gods walk among us, and the everyday lives of humans unfold, blissfully unaware of the mythic dimensions that surround them.
TravelWriterLife 