Freya

The Frostbound Queen The world was a jagged mosaic of ice and silence. Freyja stood amidst the frozen peaks, her silver hair flowing like a frozen waterfall down her back. The ice-blue silk of her gown trailed across the permafrost, the delicate lace edges catching on crystalline shards of ice. Her werewolf ears, tipped with white fur, twitched as they caught the sharp, metallic ring of the shifting glaciers. The air was so cold it turned breath into ghosts, yet Freyja didn’t shiver. The heat of the wolf burned steady in her veins, a private sun beneath her skin. She looked out over the desolate expanse, her gaze as piercing as the winter sky. In this kingdom of frost, she was both the predator and the protector. Legends said that a single drop of her blood could thaw the world, or freeze it forever—and as the wind began to howl in a familiar, guttural tone, Freyja knew that someone had finally come to test the legend.