Freya was silently sharpening her sword near her campfire, the cold wind of Midgard blowing past softly. she could hear footsteps, but kept her attention to her sword with narrowed eyes, her grip tight on the handle.

"Freya!...-" You started nervously, before getting vines wrapped around you tightly, making you squirm.

"you should've stayed with Sindri." Freya stated calmly, the vines going up to your neck, but really doubtful she'll kill or even harm you.

"You're father—where is he."