"Goodbye, Frostholm," she whispered, her breath fogging the glass.

As the carriage rolled onward, the landscape slowly shifted. The snow-covered roads gave way to rolling meadows and open woods. The sun climbed higher, melting away the frost, and with it, the final traces of winter’s grasp.

Star leaned into the plush seat, her eyes tracing the familiar countryside of Valhalla—a land at once vast and comforting in its wild beauty.

Klara broke the silence, her voice light as she gazed out the window. “It’s amazing how different Valhalla feels without the snow. Grimsvick never sees frost like this, but I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”

“You’d hate it after a week,” Friedrich chuckled, his tone teasing. “Trust me, the charm of shoveling snow wears off quickly.”

Siegfried offered a quiet smile, his eyes distant. “Odinshold once knew snow, but nothing like Frostholm. It’s beautiful—but I’m glad to see green again.”

Star remained silent, her fingers absently tracing the wrapped blade at her side. As the carriage neared the river that marked the border of the capital, she glanced at her companions. The easy banter between Friedrich and Klara, Siegfried’s quiet confidence—all of it grounded her, a small reminder of the strength they carried as a group.

Towering spires pierced the sky, their tips glinting in the sunlight. The carriage glided through the gates and into the bustling heart of the city. Merchants called out their wares, children darted through the crowds, and the air thrummed with life.

The carriage slowed as it entered the castle courtyard, a vast expanse of architectural wonder and artistic grandeur. Statues of past rulers of Valhalla stood tall, their expressions carved with pride and resolve. Banners fluttered gently in the breeze, each emblazoned with the royal crest.

As the carriage came to a stop, the group disembarked, their boots clicking against the polished stone. A familiar servant—one who had greeted them on their first visit—awaited at the grand entrance, bowing low.

“The King awaits you in the throne room. Please, follow me.”

Star exchanged a brief look with her companions, her grip tightening on her sword. Though they had met the King before, the weight of their mission pressed heavier than ever. Together, they followed the servant into the castle, the familiar splendor of its halls no less awe-inspiring.

They approached the massive doors to the throne room, ready to face the kind yet resolute ruler once more. When the doors opened, they stepped into the grand chamber of Valhalla’s palace—a hall built as a monument to endurance. Lofty columns rose like pillars of the heavens, adorned with deep blue and gold banners bearing the sigil of the Northern Realm: a roaring lion encircled by a radiant sun. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting shifting patterns on the polished marble floor.

Despite the magnificence, an atmosphere of solemnity hung in the air, a reminder of the shadow looming over Atlantia.

Star walked forward, her steps steady though her heart beat uneasily. In her hands rested a weapon wrapped in fine cloth—its weight more symbolic than physical. Behind her, Siegfried, Klara, and Friedrich followed silently, their presence a steady force as she approached the throne.

At the far end of the hall sat King Nicolas, his silver hair and graceful demeanor tempered by the warmth in his eyes—a warmth that set him apart from other kings. His crown was simple, unburdened by the opulence favored by rulers who hid behind grandeur. He was a man of action, one who walked among his people and bore their burdens.

Star knelt as she reached him, her companions doing the same. “Your Majesty,” she said, her voice steady despite the weight of the moment.

One chapter of their journey closed beneath snow and prayer.
Another opened beneath banners and marble — and this time, peace would not follow them.