(At the Scyl Village)
Freyr lay on the cold, unforgiving stone floor of the prison, her body stiff from the countless hours spent curled up in the shadows. The damp air clung to her skin, the silence suffocating—until the sharp clang of metal shattered the stillness.
Bang! Bang!
Two guards pounded on the bars with iron batons, the sound ringing through the narrow corridor.
"Wake up!" one barked. "It's time for your trial."
Before she could even lift her head, rough hands grabbed her arms, yanking her upright. Cold shackles clamped down on her wrists and ankles with a brutal snap, the weight dragging at her every movement. She barely registered the pain as they shoved her forward, forcing her to stumble through the stone passageway, each step dragging against the chains that bound her.
