The midday sun filtered through the narrow windows of the lighthouse, The biting cold of Iceberg was a distant and unfamiliar embrace for the sorceress, who had hailed from a land of rainforests and consistent warm weather. And yet, this place was held a certain beauty of its own. Rhea stood at the threshold of the grand Viking structure, her breath escaping in a misty steam as she surveyed the towering ice-covered walls. Her cloak draped over her shoulders, and she had controlled the temperature just enough to keep her body warm. Whispers of the dead threaded through the air, as if the spirits themselves resented her presence. She smirked, unfazed, and only further intrigued by the mystery of this hall.

The structure was a relic from a time long forgotten, its wooden beams now crusted with frost. Her boots crunched against the frozen floor as she walked deeper inside, and her gaze assessed the building. This wasn't just some long abandoned hall; it felt alive. The icy chill within the hall was nothing like the chill of Icbergs natural climate. It was a presence, a warning. And then there were the whispers, echoing around her like the murmur of a crowd, always just out of reach.

The Supreme's fingers brushed along the frozen walls, admiring the craftsmanship. The ice glimmered in the little bit of light that peeked through the cracked windows, but it was the darkness beneath it that intrigued her. The Draugr, they said. Restless undead, angered by those who disturbed the peace of their slumber. Rhea was unfazed, however. She had never been one to shy away from a fight. If there was something to be feared, she hadn’t met it yet.

The God Hunter dagger on her waist waited to be summoned as she moved through the halls. She could feel the subtle pulse of its god-like power in tune with her heartbeat. The Stellan's mission was to find some sort of ancient relic and offer it to the Draugr before it rose from the grave. Simple enough she though. Except, of course, nothing in Iceberg was ever that simple.

"Impending doom, hm?" Rhea muttered to herself, her voice low and amused.

The hall seemed to stretch endlessly. The icy corridors winded like a maze designed to keep her trapped. Frost coated everything she touched, chilling her skin even through her gloves. The whispers grew louder, the dead brushing against her senses like cold fingers on the back of her neck. Still, she pressed on, her mind focused on the task. Somewhere in this frozen tomb lay the relic that would appease the Draugr, or so the legends claimed.