The wind swallowed her voice, carrying it far and wide, echoing through the snow-capped peaks. Freya’s heart hammered relentlessly in her chest, every breath labored and ragged. Her vision blurred as panic tightened its grip around her throat. She felt her wings—the cursed, uncontrollable wings—begin to falter, their magic weakening rapidly.
And then, they gave up completely.
Freya started to fall.
It was strange how quickly she had become accustomed to falling in this kingdom. She closed her eyes, bracing for the inevitable pain. This time, perhaps no one would save her. Perhaps this was the moment fate decided enough was enough.
But suddenly—
A fierce cry ripped through the air above her.
“FREYA!”
Her heart skipped as she jerked her head upward, eyes widening in disbelief and hope
