Freyja
The halls of Sessrúmnir shimmered with the soft glow of golden light, the morning sun reflecting off towering crystal windows.
Freyja moved gracefully through the grand chamber, her footsteps light against the polished marble floors. Her cloak of falcon feathers rested on her shoulders, though she wore it loosely, a symbol of her dual role as warrior and goddess.
The air smelled of blooming roses, lavender, and the faint trace of mead—a concoction she'd requested from the palace cooks to honor a feast later in the day. All around her, attendants moved with hushed reverence, stealing glances at her as she passed.
It wasn't unusual. Freyja was well accustomed to the attention her presence commanded. She was the goddess of love, after all. Her golden hair flowed like a river of sunlight down her back, and her eyes held the clarity of the clearest summer skies. Today, she wore a simple yet elegant gown of shimmering silver that caught the light with every movement.
As she entered the main courtyard, a pair of sleek, muscular cats padded after her, their fur shining like molten gold. They brushed against her legs, purring deeply, and she smiled as she bent to scratch behind their ears.
"Always so loyal," she murmured. "Even in peace, you never leave my side."
Around her, warriors paused mid-training, their sparring faltering as they caught sight of her. Some lowered their weapons entirely, while others puffed up their chests, attempting to appear more impressive in her presence.
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