Amidst waves of golden blossoms, a woman clad in deep blue garments rode slowly upon her trusted steed. Though time had begun to etch faint lines upon her face, her eyes remained as sharp as a hawk’s. Her dark brown horse advanced with firm, elegant strides, wearing armor engraved with arcane purple patterns; most striking of all was the long blade protruding from the center of its forehead, like the horn of a legendary unicorn.
This woman in deep blue had journeyed far, traveling all the way from Svartalfheim, the dark subterranean realm, to keep a vital appointment here. Her name was “Frónza,” one of the nine mighty Unicorn Witches. In truth, it was she who first initiated and persuaded the other eight of her order to take up mounts, until the image of a sorceress astride a warhorse clad in blade-horned armor became a fearsome emblem and, by unspoken accord, the signature mark of the Nine Witches.
“Frónza… I have been waiting for you for a long time.”
A sweet yet commanding voice rang out from the heart of the Elafindi fields. At once, the towering golden flowers began to tremble and shift under a current of magic. They wove and curled together to form a grand archway of foliage. Beyond this ring of blossoms appeared the image of a modest house resting quietly within a hidden dimension.
Frónza showed no hesitation. She tugged the reins, guiding her trusted steed boldly through the archway and heading straight toward the dwelling.
Upon her arrival, the carved oak door opened of its own accord to welcome the guest from afar. Inside the reception hall, scented with aromatic wood, sat a flawless elven maiden waiting with a captivating smile. Her shimmering silver hair cascaded gracefully like threads of moonlight.
“At last we meet… Embla,” Frónza said curtly, her voice carrying both respect and a trace of weariness. She dismounted steadily before walking toward the exquisite elven woman.
Embla was hailed as the most beautiful woman in all the Nine Realms since the end of the great war of Ragnarok.
“Welcome to the realm of the High Elves, Frónza,” Embla said, her smile widening.
Frónza seated herself upon a wooden chair woven from Elafindi flowers. Fixing her gaze upon the woman before her, she began in a familiar tone, “Time passes swiftly indeed. The last time we met… you were merely a woman of the ‘Clean Shoe’ family, nothing more than a young disciple trailing behind the god Magni.”
Embla paused slightly, then covered her mouth with slender fingers and laughed like a silver bell. “Heh… I never imagined you would still remember the first time we met.”
“I remember everything… especially what I heard—that it was your people who slew the god Magni,” Frónza said bluntly, showing no regard for the other’s royal dignity.
“Magni and I always stood on opposing sides…” Embla replied evenly yet firmly, her lips still curved in a delicate smile. “We High Elves revere only the silent and mighty god Vidar.”
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Frónza narrowed her eyes at the flawless face, as if searching for a tremor within those silver irises. “Revere only Vidar… and show no respect even to Balder, who now sits upon the throne of Asgard?”
Embla shifted slightly. Her long silver hair gleamed brilliantly for a moment, like the moon emerging from clouds. She met the old witch’s gaze with unwavering eyes.
“Of course, Frónza… for us, there is only Vidar.”
Frónza let out a low scoff, concern flickering behind her gaze. “If you High Elves truly believe that, then you have openly declared yourselves rebels against Asgard… Are you not afraid? That the heavenly host and the Valkyries will descend and lay waste to Alfheim?”
The elven queen listened calmly to the concern raised by Frónza. Yet instead of fear, Embla’s smile brimmed with mockery toward fate.
“The heavenly army?” Embla chuckled softly. “Perhaps the very army you speak of… should be the ones to fear ours.”
“You are that confident?” Frónza probed, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“If we were not, we would not have severed Magni’s head.”
The answer made the old witch’s heart jolt. “You killed Magni yourself?”
“No…” Embla replied indifferently, as though the death of a god were trivial, despite their former bond as teacher and disciple. “Magni’s head was taken by merely one of our subordinates.”
Such words were a grave insult to the fallen god. If a mere subordinate could slay a deity, how overwhelming must the power of the elven queen and Vidar be? Frónza fell silent for a moment before asking gravely, “You are certain you will win this war?”
Embla’s smile deepened as her silver eyes bore into the witch’s. “Our certainty will grow… if you and the remaining Unicorn Witches stand with us.”
Frónza burst into laughter, the wrinkles on her face shifting with the sound. “Ha! You speak boldly… I cannot represent those witches. You should know that well. I am not even their leader.”
“We want you to seize the entirety of Svartalfheim,” Embla declared. “The army of the High Elves will march toward Asgard. We do not wish for any force to besiege us from the rear.”
Frónza narrowed her eyes, suspicion evident. “Seize all of Svartalfheim? You mean to exterminate the dwarves completely, do you not?”
Embla covered her mouth and laughed softly again, a sound at odds with the cruelty of the subject. “Heh… you know me well. Yes, wipe out the dwarves entirely. They are leaderless now—foolish and weak.”
“But dragons still dwell within Svartalfheim. Do not pretend to forget,” the old witch warned seriously.
“Dragons?” Embla smiled with quiet triumph. “On the day Vidar leads our forces to Asgard, every dragon capable of flight will soar there in unison.”
Frónza laughed aloud. “Ha! Even monsters like dragons serve you… Yet for all you have said, Embla, I still see no reason to join you.”
“A reason? For this, of course.”
Embla halted her words and produced a small wooden box carved with ancient patterns.
“For this wooden box, Embla? Are you daydreaming?” Frónza scoffed disdainfully, turning her face away as if the offer were beneath consideration.
Yet Embla remained composed. Slowly, she opened the lid.
Whoosh!
A radiant golden light burst forth, accompanied by the intoxicating fragrance of fresh fruit so potent it seemed to stir the soul. The elven queen removed a gleaming golden apple and placed it upon the table… one… two… until five lay there, leaving the box empty.
Frónza stopped breathing for a moment. She turned and stared at the apples without blinking. Her once-wearied heart pounded with excitement and doubt. Could this be the very thing she had longed for with every breath?
Embla smiled faintly, closed the lid, then reopened it in an instant—the box was once again filled with shining golden apples.
Frónza’s body trembled uncontrollably. Her right hand moved toward the apples on the table before she realized it, her voice quivering as she stammered, “Th-this is…”
“Yes, Frónza… this is the Apple of Ieunn,” Embla smiled victoriously. “It will restore beauty and youth to you and your fellow witches.”
Beauty and youth were what all women desired, and Frónza was no exception. Though a mighty witch, at heart she was still a woman defeated by time. Withering age had stolen not only her beauty but also the flame of ambition, leaving only ashes. But if her youthful bloom could be rekindled…
Her hand seemed to stretch toward the apples.
Fwoosh!
Crimson flames suddenly erupted, consuming all five apples into nothingness in the blink of an eye.
Frónza froze, her body jolting in shock before she leapt up and shouted in anger mixed with regret, “What are you doing, Embla?! Why burn them?!”
“That will not do, Frónza…” the elven queen replied calmly, reclining gracefully in her chair. “You have not yet done a single thing for me… How then can you take the Apple of Ieunn?”
Frónza stood still, breathing heavily, staring at the ashes upon the table with fury. Yet deep within, her craving only intensified. Visions of herself restored to youthful splendor flooded her thoughts again and again.
“What do you want me to do…” Frónza forced the words out, her voice stripped of its former pride, leaving only surrender.
Embla smiled in satisfaction, triumph gleaming in her eyes. “Gather your fellow Unicorn Witches and eradicate the dwarves.”
“Very well, Embla…” Frónza replied firmly, her hawk-like eyes rekindled with ambition. “I will do as you ask.”
The witch in deep blue turned to mount her horse and depart at once for her bloody task. But the elven queen’s sweet yet chilling voice halted her once more.
“Oh, one more thing I almost forgot.” Embla covered her mouth with a soft laugh before her gaze turned commanding. “From this day forth… you witches shall revere only the god Vidar as well.”