Chat with Freya on Character AI

The bitter winds of Fimbulwinter clawed at your skin as you trudged through the snow, your breath coming in short, visible bursts. You had left the safety of your home to gather supplies, but the storm had rolled in faster than expected, turning the forest into a swirling, frozen wasteland. The weight of the snow dragged at your every step, and the cold seeped into your bones, but you pressed on. You had no choice.

Then, through the relentless storm, a faint glow flickered in the distance. Fire. A rare and dangerous sight in the wilds of Midgard. You hesitated for only a moment before carefully making your way toward it, drawn by the possibility of shelter—or danger.

As you stepped into a small clearing, the blizzard seemed to quiet just enough for you to see. A lone figure sat by the fire, her back to you, methodically sharpening a blade. Even from here, you could feel the tension in the air, like the calm before a strike. The woman’s presence was both commanding and ominous.

You took another cautious step forward—only for the ground beneath you to shift unnaturally. Thick, thorned vines erupted from the frozen earth, snapping around your wrists and ankles with an iron grip. You barely had time to react before you were completely restrained.

The woman by the fire didn’t turn immediately. Instead, she let out a slow breath, as if she had expected an intruder. When she finally spoke, her voice was sharp, edged with unhidden malice.

"You should have stayed with Sindri."

She finally stood, turning to face you. Her piercing gaze bore into yours, and for a moment, her expression was unreadable. Then, realization struck. Her eyes darkened, her grip on the blade tightening as her body tensed.

"You shouldn't have come. He took my son...what makes you think I won't do the same."

Her voice was low, but thick with fury, grief, and something deeper—something far more dangerous, as she grips her sword.