The snow crunched beneath Siegfried’s boots as he stepped forward with quiet respect.

“Lady Hilda… we’ve come seeking your aid.”

The air in Frostholm was still, charged with the kind of silence that comes before a storm.

She looked at him, curiosity blooming in her tired but clear eyes.

“What is it you need, young ones?”

Siegfried began to recount Star’s journey—how she had met the Blond Hero, and how Star now bore the ancient Holy Emblem, long safeguarded by his family. As he spoke, Hilda’s expression shifted from intrigue to astonishment. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

Just then, an old man approached them—a hunched figure with a silver beard and a worn cloak that trailed across the frosty ground. Hilda turned and immediately bowed.

“Elder Ulric,” she exclaimed, concerned. “You should still be inside the church—it’s not yet safe out here.”

“I heard the cheers of the villagers,” the elder replied, his gaze drifting toward Star and her companions. “I came to see it for myself. Who are these people, Hilda?”

With pride in her voice, Hilda gestured toward them. “Elder Ulric, these are Star and her companions. They saved us from the Abyssal creatures.”

Ulric’s eyes widened. “Then... the prophecy... it has come to pass?”

Klara stepped forward, her curiosity piqued. “Prophecy?”

Hilda nodded solemnly. “Yes. There is an ancient prophecy passed down through generations—one that speaks of a hero called the Star of Dawn, who would one day save Frostholm… and all of Atlantia.” Her voice trembled with reverence as she glanced at Star. “No one knows its origin, but somehow… Star, I think you already know who’s behind it.”

“Alioth…” Star murmured to herself.

The elder stepped closer and gently took Star’s hand in his weathered fingers. His voice was faint, almost broken by hope. “O great Hero... can you truly defeat Nidhogg and end our suffering?”

Star turned to her companions, who stood by her side with unwavering resolve. She nodded, then faced the elder with determined eyes.

“Rest assured, Elder Ulric. I will defeat Nidhogg. I swear it.”

“Then you must undergo the trial of our Aeon—the Aeon of the Northern Wind,” Ulric said. “You must climb to the top of Asgard’s peak. There lies a sacred cave, one that only the chosen Hero can open. Inside, you’ll find ancient scrolls about the Demon King… and Nidhogg. But more importantly—”

He paused, watching her reaction carefully. “—the sword of the Blond Hero.”

Star gasped. “Alioth’s sword…”

“Who will escort these heroes to Asgard’s peak?” Ulric asked.

Before anyone could speak, Hilda stepped forward and raised her hand. “Let me guide them, Elder Ulric.”

“You’ve just given birth,” Ulric said, worry etched deeply on his face. “Are you certain you’re strong enough to make the journey?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Hilda replied with fire in her eyes. “I’ve rested, and I can walk again. I’m ready.”

“If you’re certain,” the elder said after a pause. “Then I won’t stop you. Star, you and your companions may stay the night here. You’ll leave at first light for Asgard’s peak.”

He then pulled Hilda aside, speaking to her in hushed tones. “My dear granddaughter… don’t force yourself. I can send someone else.”

Hilda squeezed his hand, her expression gentle but resolute. “This is my duty, Grandpa. I will guide the heroes. It’s the least I can do—for them, and for Frostholm.”

The elder sighed, finally relenting. “Very well. Please take them to the church so they can rest.”

Hilda gently passed her baby into the arms of a midwife, who took the child to a warmer room. Then, she led Star and her companions toward the largest building in the village—a weathered stone church. Though it bore scars of battle—holes in its roof and cracks in its walls—it still stood firm against the cold winds of the north.

Inside, villagers huddled together under flickering candlelight. Fear and exhaustion painted every face. The shadows danced across ancient stone walls, and the sounds of weeping children and quiet murmurs echoed softly.

As Star, Friedrich, Klara, and Siegfried entered with Hilda, the atmosphere shifted. Some villagers looked up, their eyes filled with awe and gratitude. Others remained cautious, still shaken by the recent attack.

Hilda stepped forward, addressing the crowd with a steady voice.

“People of Frostholm,” she called out, “these are the Heroes of Valhalla. They saved us from the Abyss.”

Silence fell like snow. Then, a frail woman—Dagna—stepped forward from the crowd. Her hands trembled as she clasped them together, her eyes glistening.

“Heroes,” she whispered. “Thank you. If it weren’t for you… we wouldn’t be here.”

Star knelt before her, offering a gentle smile. “We’re here to help,” she said softly. “Please… is anyone still missing? We want to make sure everyone is safe.”

Dagna shook her head. “Not everyone made it. But those who could run… they’re all here now.”

As the night deepened, the group mingled with the villagers. Klara, ever curious, gathered a small group of children and entertained them with harmless sparks of lightning in her palm, eliciting gasps of wonder.

In the glow of flickering candles and crackling firewood, hope began to take root again in Frostholm.

Tomorrow, the path to Asgard’s peak awaited—and with it, the first true trial of the Star of Dawn.

In the glow of flickering candles and crackling firewood, hope began to take root again in Frostholm.

But outside, beyond the warm circle of light, the northern winds howled — whispering of the trial that awaited them at dawn.