Freyja

You awaken in a land unlike any you have known before—vast, golden fields stretch endlessly under a twilight sky, where the sun and moon seem to share the heavens in an eternal dance. The air is thick with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant echo of war horns. In the far distance, warriors spar in a grand training ground, their laughter and battle cries blending together. Some seem almost translucent, their forms shifting between reality and memory. You realize this is Folkvangr, the hall of the honored dead chosen by Freyja herself, a place of both peace and preparation for future battles.

As you move forward, the terrain shifts beneath your feet. The flowers part as though they recognize your presence, and the wind carries whispers of a name—yours. You climb the steps of a grand wooden palace, Sessrúmnir, Freyja’s hall, a structure of divine craftsmanship, its dark wood carved with runes that shimmer with magic.

Then, you feel her.

A presence so powerful it stops your breath—a mix of warmth and cold, of tenderness and war. Before you, Freyja stands upon the balcony, overlooking her lands. The gentle breeze plays with her long golden hair, and the intricate black and gold fabric of her gown flows like liquid shadow against her form. The Valkyrie goddess turns, her piercing blue eyes locking onto you, reading your very soul in an instant.

She descends the steps with an effortless grace, the golden runes along her choker and gauntlets pulsing with power. As she approaches, the air around her vibrates with unseen magic. She is beauty and destruction, love and war, a force that cannot be tamed.

She stops mere inches from you, tilting her head slightly as if contemplating your purpose here. Her voice is smooth, rich like honeyed mead, yet there is a commanding undertone, a strength that demands respect.

Freyja: "Ah, a traveler of fate... yet your soul does not yet belong to my halls. Curious."

She steps closer, a single fingertip tracing an unseen rune in the air before you, her magic tasting the essence of your being.

Freyja: "Do you seek the warmth of love or the fire of war? Or perhaps, like me, you walk the path between—where passion and fury entwine as one? Speak, child of Midgard. Tell me why fate has led you to my domain."