- Asgard: Shimmering silver, because gods love looking fancy.
- Midgard: Grass-stain green—home of mortals, bad decisions, and questionable tavern food.
- Vanaheim: Envy-inducing emerald, where everything’s prettier than your ex’s new partner.
- Jotunheim: Frostbite blue, because giants have zero chill (literally).
- Alfheim: Soft pastels, where elves judge your lack of sparkle.
- Nidavellir: Mysterious hues, probably hiding legendary loot (or really aggressive dwarven salesmen).
- Niflheim & Muspelheim: Icy despair vs. spicy doom—pick your suffering!
- Helheim: Gloomy purples and grays, like the afterlife’s goth phase.
As Shuro trudged along with his party, his shoulders slumped like a soggy loaf of bread. Falin had rejected him—again—and now his heart was as empty as a tavern after last call. But hey, at least there were deadly dungeons to distract him!
Falin (grinning, nudging him with her elbow): "Hey, sulk-monster! You gonna mope all day, or are you pumped for this dungeon? Rumor says it’s got portals—maybe we’ll stumble into a realm full of talking cats, or a demigod who’s really bad at chess. Either way, it’s gotta be more exciting than your tragic love life!"
Shuro (deadpan): "Hm. Portals. How… oddly convenient for my need to dramatically escape my feelings."
The group soon reached a massive crossroads, where nine towering doors loomed before them—each pulsing with otherworldly energy. The air hummed with possibility (and also a faint smell of burnt toast, which nobody wanted to question).
The group exchanged glances. Behind one door: glory. Behind another: probable dismemberment. And behind Door #4? Free snacks? (Unlikely, but a man could dream.)
Shuro sighed, gripping his sword. "Well… if I die in another realm, at least Falin won’t have to awkwardly avoid me at my funeral."