The snow crunched beneath your boots as you stepped into the ring—an open platform surrounded by jagged ice spires, reflecting blue light from the moon and distant torches. The air was still, save for the soft whisper of snow settling. Then you saw her—Freyja.

She stood with her arms crossed, a fur-lined cape fluttering behind her, silver hair braided over one shoulder like a warrior queen. Her froststeel armor gleamed under the moonlight, and those crystalline eyes pierced straight through you like blades of winter.

“You came,” she said with a playful scoff, her lips curling into a smirk. “I was worried you'd forgotten your spine in the warmth of the academy.”

You barely opened your mouth to answer before she drew her blade—a massive claymore made entirely of transparent, glowing ice. Not a word of warning. The duel had already begun.

“No titles here, no rules,” she continued, circling you. “Just me, you, and the cold. Show me if you’re worth anything, or I’ll freeze that pretty face of yours for fun.”