I always thought that my life would be like that of any other ordinary Swede. My name is Erik Lindström, I'm 27 years old and I live in Gamla Stan, the oldest part of Stockholm. My routine was predictable: work as a fitness coach for a soccer team during the day, helping athletes reach their full potential, and relax in the evening at the corner café with a mug of kaffe brygg and a piece of kanelbulle.
But everything changed on a cold December night, when the cutting wind from the Baltic Sea brought with it something more than the smell of salt and impending snow.
It was St. Lucy's Day, and I had just attended the traditional procession in Stockholm Cathedral. The girls dressed in white with candles on their heads and the boys singing the hymns created a magical atmosphere. As I left the cathedral, something caught my eye. In the middle of Stortorget, the famous square with its medieval houses, a tall, hooded man was standing looking straight at me.
"Erik Lindström," he said, in a voice that seemed to echo inside my mind. My heart raced. "You've been chosen."
"Chosen? Chosen for what?" I asked, my voice trembling as the icy wind rose around us.
Without saying another word, the man took off his hood, revealing an etheric face and eyes that seemed to contain the universe itself. Before I could react, an intense light enveloped me, and I felt as if I were being pulled out of my body.
When the light dimmed, I realized I was no longer in the square. I was in a surreal place, a gigantic hall with ice columns that sparkled like diamonds and a throne made of aurora borealis. In front of me, a group of winged figures watched me.
"Erik, you are a descendant of a forgotten lineage, protector of Sweden. The world is out of balance, and you have been called to take on the role of archangel of this land," announced a woman with golden wings.
I tried to argue, but my voice seemed small in the face of the grandeur of the place. They showed me visions of the challenges Sweden was facing: climate change threatening the Arctic ecosystem, growing inequalities even in such a progressive society, and a disconnection between people and their cultural roots.
"You are our hope. Do you accept your fate?" asked the man who had brought me there.
After what seemed like an eternity, I nodded. "I accept. But I don't know how to be an archangel."
"Believe me, Erik. Inside you are the answers."
When I came to, I was back in Stortorget, but something had changed. I felt a weight on my back and, as I turned around, I realized that I had wings - gigantic and majestic, like those of a royal falcon, Sweden's national emblem. My mind was flooded with a clarity I had never felt before.
The following week, I began to understand my role. My wings allowed me to travel around the country in a matter of minutes. I visited forests in Lapland threatened by deforestation and listened to the Sami, the indigenous people, about their struggles. I flew over Gotland and its unique rock formations, feeling the urgency of protecting the coastline. Even in Stockholm, I got involved with young people who needed hope and inspiration.
My role was not only to combat threats, but also to remind people of what it meant to be Swedish - the value of solidarity, respect for nature and the celebration of traditions. I started appearing at cultural events, such as Midsommar, encouraging people to reconnect with the land and with each other.
Sometimes it was lonely. I couldn't tell anyone about my true identity. But every time I saw a child's smile as they discovered the beauty of a forest or heard an elder talk about how my presence renewed their faith in the future, I knew I was on the right track.
Today, as I write this, it's Christmas Eve. The lights twinkle in the windows, and the smell of glögg and pepparkakor permeates the air. My journey has only just begun, but I feel like I'm exactly where I should be. After all, being Sweden's archangel isn't just a duty - it's a privilege.
