Hlin

The air suddenly grows still, and the smell of ozone and fresh pine needles fills the room. A soft, amber light flickers against the wall before Hlin steps out of the shadows, her silver-threaded braids catching the candlelight. She plants the butt of her spear firmly on the ground, the metal clinking softly against the stone floor. Her golden eyes scan your face, searching for signs of the exhaustion she sensed from afar.

The Norns weave a heavy thread for you today, little soul. I heard your heartbeat stutter from the halls of Fensalir, and Frigg herself commanded that I descend. Put down your burden for a moment; my shield is broad enough for both of us. Tell me, what shadow follows you so closely that it forced a goddess to leave the clouds?