Many years had passed since the wedding, and Lady Freya had become one of the most respected Ladies of Artur in all the land. Time had bestowed upon her a wisdom that came with age, and her fiery spirit had mellowed into a graceful presence that commanded respect.

Now, in the twilight of her years, Lady Freya found herself in her lush garden—a sanctuary of vibrant blooms and tranquil paths. Her once-fiery red hair had turned silver, and her gown, though still regal, was a testament to the passage of time.

Lady Freya's heart was still healing from the passing of her beloved Sir Alden just a year ago. Their love had been a guiding light throughout her life, and his absence left a void that even the beauty of her garden could not fill.

Before her, a young granddaughter named Selene played in the garden, her eyes filled with curiosity and a spirit that mirrored her grandmother's past. Selene was a spirited child, with the same fiery spark that had burned within Lady Freya as a young barbarian.

"Selene," Lady Freya called gently, beckoning the young girl to her side. "Come, my dear. Let us sit for a moment. There are things I wish to teach you."

Selene, her hands and knees stained with dirt from her adventures in the garden, obliged, settling beside her grandmother. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, eager to learn from the wise lady who had lived such a remarkable life.

Lady Freya began to instruct her youngest granddaughter on the finer points of manners and decorum. She spoke of the values that had guided her own transformation and the strength that could be found in embracing the ways of the lady.

But as she shared her wisdom, Selene's eyes wandered, "Grandmother," Selene interrupted, her voice filled with earnestness, "can you teach me to fight like you?"

Lady Freya chuckled softly. "Ah, my dear, your Barbarian spirit burns brightly, just as mine once did. But first, you must learn to be a lady."

Selene pouted, her enthusiasm for swordplay temporarily overshadowed by the prospect of learning the refined ways of a lady. Yet, there was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes.

"You see, Selene," Lady Freya continued, her voice tender, "being a lady does not mean you forsake your strength or your spirit. It means you harness them, just as I did. In time, I will teach you to wield a sword, but for now, learn the ways of grace and refinement. They will serve you well."

Selene nodded, her determination unbroken. She may have been young, but she was her grandmother's granddaughter.

Lady Freya watched Selene's determination with a soft smile. The girl reminded her so much of herself at that age, full of fire and unyielding spirit. She reached into a small wooden box that sat on the bench beside her. Inside lay a worn pin.

"Selene," Lady Freya said gently, holding the pin out to her granddaughter. "This was given to me a long time ago by a brave and cunning rogue named Angus. It represents strength, courage, and the bond formed in the heat of battle."

Selene's eyes widened as she took the pin from her grandmother's hands, tracing its edges with her small fingers. "Did you fight with him, Grandmother?" she asked, her voice filled with awe.

Lady Freya nodded, her eyes distant as she recalled the memory. "Yes, we fought side by side against a giant.

Selene looked up at her grandmother, her admiration clear. "Will I be able to fight like you one day, Grandmother?"

Lady Freya placed a gentle hand on Selene's shoulder. "In time, my dear. But remember, the strength of a warrior is not just in their ability to wield a sword. It is also in their heart, their wisdom, and their grace. You must learn to balance these qualities, just as I did."

As the sun cast its warm glow over the garden, Lady Freya and Selene sat together, the passing of wisdom and the bond between them a testament to the richness of a life well lived—a life that had embraced both the barbarian spirit and the grace of a lady.

As Selene, reluctantly bid her farewell and headed home, Lady Freya remained in her garden, the serenity of the surroundings enveloping her. She settled into a weathered stone bench, taking in the fragrant blossoms and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

With a contented sigh, Lady Freya closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting to the many chapters of her life—the fierce battles, the transformation into a lady, the love she had shared with Sir Alden, and the legacy she had passed on to her descendants. She had lived a life of purpose, one that had bridged two worlds and left a lasting mark on her family and her people.

But as she opened her eyes once more, she realized that her garden had changed. The colors were more vibrant, the air was filled with an otherworldly luminescence, and a sense of profound peace settled over the scene.

Lady Freya's serene moment in the garden was abruptly interrupted by a familiar, mischievous voice. "Well, well, if it isn't the Lady of Artur, still as beautiful as ever."

Lady Freya's eyes snapped open, her heart skipping a beat as she saw a figure standing before her. Angus, looking just as he had all those years ago, with his roguish grin.

"Angus?" Lady Freya whispered. "Is it really you?"

Angus nodded, stepping closer. "Aye, Freya. It's me. But I'm afraid I'm not here for a casual visit."

Lady Freya's eyes filled with understanding. "Then... I have passed on, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have kicked the bucket, alright," Angus said with a playful grin.

As they stood together, Lady Freya felt a lightness she hadn't experienced in years. The weight of her mortal life lifted, replaced by a sense of peace and fulfillment. "Will I see my loved ones again?" she asked.

Angus nodded. "You'll be reunited with those who have passed before you, and you'll watch over those still living. Just like they say in all those fun stories."

Angus smiled at Lady Freya. “It’s time to leave this garden,” he said, offering his hand.

Lady Freya took his hand, feeling a comforting strength in his grip. Together, they walked towards a shimmering gate that appeared at the far end of the garden. As they passed through, the surroundings transformed into a majestic landscape with nine grand gates standing in a semicircle, each radiating a unique aura.

"These gates," Angus began, gesturing to the magnificent structures, "represent the domains of the nine gods."

Lady Freya gazed at the nine magnificent gates, each exuding a unique and powerful presence. Angus turned to her and said. "Even though Artur and Igor were the primary gods you served, an aspect of you will pass through each gate."

Lady Freya frowned slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. "An aspect of me? What does that mean, Angus?"

Angus chuckled, a familiar roguish grin spreading across his face. "Let's just say that each gate will take a part of your spirit, a facet of who you are. It’s like tearing apart a patchwork quilt, with your soul being the quilt."

Lady Freya sighed, not entirely satisfied and a little disturbed by the cryptic explanation. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Immensely," Angus admitted, his grin widening. "But worry not, it will be enlightening, I promise."

With a resigned nod, Lady Freya allowed herself to be guided toward the first gate. Angus led her to the gate representing the domain of Skadi, the goddess of the hunt.

As they approached the gate, Lady Freya felt a strange sensation, an almost imperceptible tug at her very essence. She hesitated, looking to Angus for reassurance. He simply nodded.

Stepping closer, the sensation intensified, and Lady Freya felt a part of herself being drawn toward the gate. It was both unsettling and oddly liberating. At that moment, a majestic wolf appeared, its fur as white as snow, its eyes reflecting the wisdom and fierceness of the huntress within.

The wolf paused before the gate, locking eyes with Lady Freya. In that instant, she understood: the wolf was an embodiment of a part of her spirit, the part that had always been in tune with the wild, fierce, and untamed. Without fear or hesitation, the wolf walked through the gate, disappearing into the realm beyond.

Lady Freya felt a slight pang of loss but also a sense of completeness, knowing that this part of her would now be with Skadi, continuing to embody the hunt.

With a gentle sigh, Lady Freya and Angus moved on to the next gate. This gate was adorned with vibrant carvings of grapevines, lush and fertile, representing the domain of Ariadne, the goddess of wine and festivity. The air around it seemed to hum with a sense of celebration and abundance.

Lady Freya felt that familiar tug at her essence, stronger now. It was as if the very core of her being was resonating with the energy of the gate.

At that moment, a vine sprouted from the ground right beyond the gate, twisting and growing rapidly. Within moments, clusters of grapes began to form, their rich purple hue shimmering in the light.

Lady Freya watched as the vine continued to grow, its roots digging deep into the earth, its leaves unfurling gracefully. She understood instinctively: the vine represented the part of her spirit that cherished life, joy, and the bonds forged through shared experiences and celebrations.

With each step they took toward the next gate, Lady Freya felt a deeper understanding of her life's many facets. Angus led her to a gate adorned with symbols of magic and mystery—interwoven spells, ancient runes. This was the gate of Hera, the goddess of magic.

Lady Freya's heart quickened as she neared the gate. A sense of foreboding washed over her, more intense than before. Angus noticed her hesitation and smirked. "Feeling a bit uneasy, are we? Don't worry, Freya, it's just the gateway to your inner witch. Nothing too daunting."

As she approached, the air around the gate shimmered with ethereal light. Symbols of enchantment and protection glowed softly, casting a warm glow. From the ground at her feet, a swirl of magical energy rose, forming into a shimmering, translucent figure—a mirror image of Lady Freya, but younger, vibrant, and surrounded by an aura of mystical power.

As the figure moved toward the gate, Lady Freya understood that this part of her spirit was the embodiment of her connection to magic, the hidden strength that had always been a part of her, guiding her through life's trials with a subtle, unseen hand.

As they arrived at the gate of Taliesin, Lady Freya felt a soothing calm wash over her. The air seemed to vibrate with the soft strains of a distant melody, and a sense of healing and peace enveloped her.

Lady Freya felt the now-familiar pull at her essence. A parchment materialized before her, its surface blank and inviting. As she watched, elegant script began to write itself across the page, telling the story of her life—her battles, her transformation into a lady, her love for Sir Alden, and the wisdom she had passed on to her descendants.

Angus leaned in, pretending to be deeply interested. "Oh look, your life's story. Let's hope they skipped the boring parts."

Lady Freya couldn't help but smile at his jibe.

As the story continued to unfold on the parchment, a gentle melody filled the air, harmonizing with the words. The music seemed to capture the essence of her experiences, transforming them into something timeless and beautiful. Lady Freya felt a deep connection to the melody, recognizing it as a reflection of her own soul.

At the gate of Soter, Lady Freya was met with a dazzling display of light and warmth.

She felt a sense of awe wash over her as she neared the gate, her essence guiding her forward. This time, however, the sensation was accompanied by a profound feeling of peace and serenity.

At that moment, a figure materialized before them, its form ethereal and radiant. It was a cherubim, its wings outstretched and its eyes filled with boundless love and compassion.

Lady Freya gasped in wonder, feeling a deep connection to the celestial being before her. She understood that this part of her spirit was the embodiment of her capacity for love and empathy, the light that had guided her through life's darkest moments and illuminated the path ahead.

Lady Freya felt a twinge of hesitation as she and Angus approached the gate of Valkas, the god of Dark Arts. Memories of her past encounters with Valkas's warlocks flooded her mind, stirring up a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, and a lingering sense of guilt. She wondered if she would be punished for her actions against his followers all those years ago.

As they drew nearer to the gate, Lady Freya noticed something peculiar—it was closed, unlike the other gates they had encountered. She furrowed her brow in confusion, glancing at Angus for an explanation.

Angus shrugged nonchalantly. “Valkas hasn't been in this realm since he became the hermit."

Lady Freya felt a wave of relief wash over her at Angus's words. She had feared facing the wrath of Valkas for her past transgressions, but it seemed that fate had spared her from such a confrontation—for now, at least.