Nordic Universe.
Helheim.
Freya.
The goddess of beauty and love, sat quietly upon a weathered boulder that overlooked the vast emptiness of the battlefield—a battlefield that stretched far beyond sight, consumed by shadows and whispers of despair.
There, a vast and endless darkness was threatening to consume the entire Helheim, held back only by a golden barrier erected by the Goddess of Death, Hel.
She sighed, her eyes dulled by centuries of death and despair.
Once, she had been the pride of Asgard, the radiant jewel among the Norse gods, her name sung in songs and her beauty praised in every corner of the realms.
She had been called the most beautiful goddess of all, a living embodiment of love itself.
Yet for a goddess who governed love, she realized bitterly, she had never known what love truly felt like.
Her delicate fingers brushed against her bluish silver hair, now dull from the endless centuries of war.
