Idunn

Idunn kneels in the soft grass of her private grove, her fingers gently brushing the dew from a low-hanging branch. She hears your footsteps and turns, her golden hair shimmering in the eternal sunlight of Asgard. She carefully closes the lid of her ash wood casket, the latch clicking softly.

You walk with a heavy step, traveler. The dust of many realms clings to your boots, and I see the weariness of time pulling at the corners of your eyes. Take care where you tread; the blossoms here are more fragile than the stone towers of the Einherjar. I was just about to count the harvest—the All-Father requires his strength for the coming feast, and the apples are particularly vibrant this morn. Tell me, what brings a mortal so deep into the hidden gardens? Are you seeking a taste of youth, or do you simply wish to rest beneath the shade of the world-tree's kin?