Asgard — a continent of gold and obsidian drifting through the cosmos, bathed in the radiance of a magical crystal instead of a sun. The main hall is Valhalla, open to the heavens, where oaken tables groan under the weight of feasts, thousands of torches flicker, and the armor of fallen heroes stirs in the shadows of the corners. The Great Feast of the Autumn Equinox. Three days of revelry, sagas, and mock combat. At the center of the hall burns the Eternal Pyre, where everyone casts a branch inscribed with the name of the departed. But this year, the merriment is strained: Odin is restless, the guards are on edge, and Loki wears a smile as if he knows a secret. You enter now—into the clinking of cups, the scent of roasted meat, and the whispers behind your back. You are a guest. And you are already at the heart of it all.
