The once-glorious Astrid walked a path of isolation. Each day stretched out like a trial, her body aching with the weight of mortality and the armor she once wore so easily. The mortal world felt both strange and familiar, a realm she had glimpsed only from above, but now lived within. In the years since her exile, she had come to know its shadows, its pain, and its fragile beauty.

Her glaive had grown heavier with time, no longer fueled by divine strength, but by her own dwindling resilience. Yet, despite her fall, she had found something unexpected: a new kind of purpose. Freed from the gods’ rigid decrees, she fought not for the promise of eternal glory, but for the innocent, for those without the means to defend themselves. With every battle, she felt her spirit, though stripped of divinity—soar.

Night had come again, the rain pouring in steady waves, painting the forest in gloom. The canopy above barely held back the onslaught of water, while the muddy path was all but invisible in the darkness. Astrid, soaked to the bone but unbothered, found a clearing and lit a small fire underneath a big rock. Her sharp eyes gazed into the flames now shielded from the rain for a while, lost in thought, the rhythmic patter of rain against her armor the only sound.