Haaland looked around the stadium. Fans roared proudly for their champion. His team surrounded him, cheering for another victory for Norway. Bringing home pride to the mother land. Land of the vikings. It was the last time he would feel that on the football field. Beyond the adoration and fame, he wanted for more. Haaland squeezed some honey into his mouth and waved a final goodbye to the sport. His future was milk.

Many had advised Haaland to stick to athletics. That milk would be infinitely less profitable. Profit wasn’t on his checklist, however. What the world needed was not more money, or another football star. They needed a milk that would fill their bellies as well as their souls. His closest advisor, Nougat, perused the Norwegian milk scene and reported back nothing spectacular.

“There are three standouts. You must choose from these.” Nougat slapped down brochures from three dairy farms in the country.

“These cows don’t look happy.” Haaland handed the brochures back. “Happy cows, happy milk. Happy milk. I drink.”

“There is another.” Nougat admitted.

“Another? Why would you hide this from me?”

“It’s… humble.”

“I like humble.”

“I know.”

“Then we go.” Haaland picked up his coat and the two made their way to the oldest dairy farm in all of Norway, the Ofan Bú.

A road narrowed into dirt, then into grass as they approached what appeared to be a simple outhouse. Haaland looked into the window and saw a small woman shuffling around, ignoring his powerful knock.

“Perhaps we should go.” Nougat said as the sky darkened above.

“You may go. I like the look of this place.”

“I’ll be in the car.” Nougat scurried off.

Haaland stepped around the hut to see sprawling fields of green. What struck him as off was that there was only a single cow on the property. He could tell from the distance, however, that it was a happy cow.

“She’s called Verðr.” the old woman joined Haaland admiring the cow. “Would you like to milk her?”

“It would be the greatest honor.”

Haaland placed a hand on the udder and felt a surge of ancestral power. He yanked once and the bucket below filled with pure white milk. Verðr glowed a bright white light and Haaland was transported to the Ofan Bú, but in a different reality. There was a city of gold surrounding him. Valhalla?

“AT LAST.” many voices echoed. “OUR VIKING HAS COME.”

After the brief moment away, Haaland was returned to the field. The Ofan Bú was gone, as was Verðr. Nougat was standing outside the car, holding Haaland’s door open. What an odd experience. The retired footballer went home and laid his head down, dreams of that beautiful milk Haal Night Long.