Beloved Betrayal - I

Freya stared at the towering stone walls before her. Hidden deep within the Mojnir forest, the ancient temple of Voldr stood beyond them. For centuries, the Valkyrien royal family had guarded and revered it as a Sacred ground, believing it was the place where Voldr answered their prayers.

Every generation, the scions of Valkya journeyed the temple hidden in Mojnir’s depth, each at sixteen, to answer the lord of summons, Voldr and his sacred rite – a trial said to decide the fate of crown and Kingdom.

Freya, newly come of age, now stood before those worn basalt walls. At her side was her younger sister – Skadi. As the second princess of Valkyria, she had come as witness to the trial.

Her robes of rose-pink silk shimmered in the dawn light, its surface embroidered with flowers so delicately that they seemed to grow and bloom with her every gesture. Draped across her shoulder, lay a white fabric layer with the same blossom turning each of her steps into a dance of silk and shadow.

Behind them, like steel statues, waited the Knights of Tryggsköldr Order, and Valkyria’s minister of magic, Loki.

Yet here, at the threshold of destiny, the group had met a dead end. The walls stood there, exactly as described. But without any door or entrance. Their only path had become their final barrier.

Confused and weary murmurs escaped the lips of the guards, but Freya remained unmoved. Her golden eyes lowered briefly to the map in her hand. Then, with an unyielding expression, she turned towards the minister. Straightforwardly, she met his gaze — deep emerald eyes locking against her.

“Minister, is this one of your tricks?” Freya's voice cut through the murmurs of guards.

Loki, who stood with his hands folded behind his back, broke into a complex smile. He had long known of her talents, yet she never failed to surprise him.

“Just as I expected,” he said, stepping forward. “Nothing escapes your eyes, young princess.”

From his coat, he drew out a single green glove and slipped it onto his left hand with deliberate care. Extending his arm, and palm outstretched, he uttered a single word: Sannrheimr.

In the span of a heartbeat, the towering stone wall unraveled.

It did not crumble into rubble. Instead, its weathered stones dissolved into countless shimmering motes of light that drifted through the air like thousands of graveflies, before fading into nothingness. The illusion vanished, revealing an ancient pair of obsidian gates hidden behind it.

“The wall… was an illusion?” Skadi whispered, unable to hide the disbelief in her speech. Her rose-colored robes fluttered gently as the lingering mana stirred the air around them.

“Correct, Su.” Freya nodded, a smile broke across her face as she cheerfully explained.

“When I looked at it earlier… I thought I saw the raw mana fluctuate for just a tenth of a second. From that, I deduced that it was the minister who had woven one of his illusions spells to test me.”

“Tenth of second? Raw mana tingle?” Skadi blinked.

Then, let out an exasperated sigh before clasping her hands together, admiration sparkling in her cherry-rose eyes.

“Only you could do something like this big sister.”

“Absolutely.” Loki interjected, the complex, unreadable smile playing across his lips.

“The second princess is right. You are unbelievable. No ordinary warrior could have seen through my illusion with such ease.”

Frey met his gaze.

She had known the man called Loki Odinson since childhood. Throughout the castle, servants and nobles alike whispered his name to point even castle walls tattled his infamy. 

They called him a man of delusions, who devoted his youth to forbidden experiments, chasing impossible dreams to summon mythical creatures known as Magic eaters.

For that, most dismissed him with laughter and ridicule. After all, who would believe in beings capable of devouring magic itself? It was like believing that demons or elves existed. Utterly ridiculous.

And those who didn’t laugh, they feared him.

Freya did neither.

Even as a child, she had refused to judge a person by whispers that echoed through the palace corridors.

To her, anything she had neither seen nor heard firsthand remained nothing more than a lie.

If anything, those rumors only ignited a spark of curiosity inside her. Freya wanted to uncover the truth and judge the man of rumors herself.

But the palace was like a prison for her. To leave its ground, Freya required permission from the Queen and Freya knew better than to ask. She understood her mother more than the mother herself.

So, she killed that curiosity herself before it could grow.

Then, as the palace’s Grem trees completed their brief life and withered into earth, two years passed. Freya, now, eight, had grown remarkably proficient in both swordsmanship and magic. And soon would march to her first war.

And as Lord of summons would have it, during a meeting of the royal council which Freya attended as well, she heard the name from the rumors.

Loki Odinson.

Standing before the throne as the queen fastened the crest of Valkyria upon his chest, welcoming him into the kingdom’s service as scholar of magic.

Yet, something about him felt wrong. Even though it wasn’t against her principles, Freya couldn’t help but think the man in front was not the man from those rumors.

She understood that a man could change. And Loki did, he had become a man of effortless smile who shed his failure like a snake shed his skin.

But to Freya that was un-easing. From that day onward, their paths crossed many times.

He instructed her in magic. They stood together in battlefields. In time, the infamous scholar rose to become Valkyria's Minister of Magic.

Yet, the unease in Freya’s heart never faded. Every time their gaze met, it only became strong.

Years later, she finally understood why.

It wasn’t his infamy or the fact he had changed completely. It was his smile.

The unreadable smile, tranquil on surface, yet deceptive like a poisonous swamp. Gazing at them, it felt like staring into still water.

Now, faced with the same smile once again, Freya felt the familiar unease tighten around her heart. Beads of sweat slid down her beautiful body. Her left hand trembled ever so slightly. She felt a sensation she must never feel.

She was Freya Valkya. First princess of Valkyria.

The sword of victory. The unconquered woman. That emotion had no place upon her face.

Meeting Loki’s gaze with a smile of her own. In one fluid motion, she drew her beloved sword from its scabbard.

“I am fond of flattery, Minister.”

“No—”

“But I prefer compliments worthy of my greatness.” Her voice rang with the authority of one born to command. “For I am the strongest.”

The morning breeze swept through the ruins, stirring her long straight black hair as she held his gaze without yielding.

“Let’s go. The Sacred rite has waited long enough.”

Loki lowered his head as everyone else watched the exchange in silence.

“...Very well.”

Without another word, the group advanced toward the obsidian entrance. Dawn bathed the ancient temple in pale gold, casting long shadows that stretched silently behind them.

One such shadow smiled.