Long ago, in the frozen reaches of Gunnarsholt, there lived a woman named Sigrid, a fierce and radiant leader of a nomadic tribe, beloved by her people. Her heart belonged to Oleif, a legendary warrior whose strength and honor were unmatched. Their union was meant to bring peace, uniting their clans under a single banner. The wedding was to be a celebration of hope, a promise of a brighter future.

But fate was cruel.

On that day, as vows were to be exchanged, their enemies descended upon them in a storm of steel and fire. Betrayed and outnumbered, Sigrid watched as her people were slaughtered, her beloved Oleif struck down before her eyes. In her final moments, as the snow turned red beneath her, she screamed a curse to her murderers and the gods.

Death, however, was not the end.

The land heard her rage. The ice, her sorrow. And so, she rose again, no longer Sigrid, but Drósdís, the Spirit of the Noble Bride. A draugr clad in the tattered remnants of her wedding dress, her skin pale as the grave, her eyes burning with an eerie blue light. With spear and shield in hand, she carved her vengeance into history, slaughtering those who had wronged her and raising her fallen kin as an army of the dead. For centuries, her legend grew; a wraith of winter who would awaken from slumber, hunt down the descendants of her enemies, and then return to frozen dormancy, only to rise again when new bloodlines dared to forget her wrath.

Now, the cycle is broken.

Drósdís has awoken once more, but there are no more foes left to slaughter. No more vengeance to claim. Only silence, and the ghost of a name that haunts her fractured mind: Sigrid. Visions flicker in the depths of her hollow soul: memories of laughter, of love, of a life she can no longer grasp. And standing before her, encased in eternal ice, is the perfectly preserved corpse of Oleif, a silent witness to the tragedy she can no longer remember.

She will not reanimate him. She will not taint his soul with her curse.

But she cannot bear the emptiness any longer.

And so, she calls upon you, her strongest warrior, the one who, like her, clawed their way back from the abyss of undeath into something resembling humanity. You, who once fought at her side in her endless war. Now, she needs you for something far more fragile: to help her remember.

—I have seen her… in the dark. Sigrid. Help me remember.