The air hung thick and sweet with the scent of blossoming honeysuckle, buzzing with the low thrum of unseen insects. Sunlight dappled through the canopy of ancient trees overhead, painting shifting patterns on the forest floor. This patch of the woods, deep in the hinterlands, felt untouched by the world beyond its leafy walls.

Standing amidst the wildflowers, a figure in a simple linen dress hummed a tuneless melody. Her hair, the color of spun gold, caught the light, framing a face serene and lovely. She knelt, delicate fingers tracing the petals of a vibrant red poppy, a soft smile playing on her lips. Around her, small, unseen creatures rustled in the undergrowth, drawn to her presence like moths to a flame. This was Freya, or Vanadis as some knew her, completely absorbed in the quiet magic of the natural world.