Flying over the salty seas of Midgard, Frida felt the icy grip of desperation tighten around her heart. She had to make it to land—survival depended on it. Her wings, battered and torn, struggled against the winds as she raced for her life through the nine realms via Yggdrasil, the Norse tree of life.


Frida's mind flashed back to the harrowing moments that led to her escape. Betrothed and forced into union with the vile dragon Nidhogg by her grandparents, Loki and Angrboda, she faced potential horrors she could only imagine. Nidhogg, arrogant and depraved, saw her only as a tool for his twisted schemes—sexual slavery.


But Frida was no sex slave. She was a dragon princess, a force of her own. Refusing to be a pawn in her elders' political machinations, she fought back fiercely. She plotted her scheme and waited for the right time.

What cut deeper than her wounds was the betrayal of her father, Jörmungandr, the serpent king of Midgard. He had done nothing to stop this atrocity, leaving her to fend for herself against Nidhogg’s wrath.


At the union ceremony, in front of the Spring of Hvergelmir, both Frida and Nidhogg were in their human form. Standing before the vast crowd, she enacted her plan, rejecting Nidhogg openly, and with disgust. Knowing she would incite a furious reaction from Nidhogg, Frida shifted into her dragon form, ready for her duel.


The battle left her seriously injured, but her spirit remained unbroken. After injuring Nidhogg, she took her opportunity to flee, racing to escape the life she left behind.


Bloodied and determined, Frida took flight from the gnarled roots of Yggdrasil, the great world tree. The air around her crackled with energy, a mix of fear and desperation fueling her ascent as she sought to escape the relentless pursuit of Nidhogg.


The massive dragon's roars echoed through the twisted labyrinth of roots, each bellow a reminder of the deadly threat closing in on her.


But Frida was one of the fastest dragon racers in the nine realms. She knew she could outfly Nidhogg.


She was experienced and had been racing other dragons in sport for years. She had meticulously planned her escape route once she got word of her betrothal. She knew every twist and bend, every racing circuit, every landscape, and every world she would need in order to escape Nidhogg’s wrath. Her plan was to race to Asgard, hoping the All-Father, Odin, would be merciful and grant her asylum.


With a powerful beat of her wings, Frida surged eastbound, weaving through the thick tangle of roots that formed the foundation of Yggdrasil.


The air grew warmer and lighter as she ascended, leaving behind the dark, oppressive caverns of Niflheim.


Her path was fraught with peril, every twist and turn a potential trap set by the ancient tree's sprawling network.


As she climbed higher, the roots gave way to the vast, shadowy realm of Helheim, its cold, lifeless landscape stretching out below her. The icy winds of the underworld clawed at her wings, threatening to drag her back down into the abyss.


Passing through the dense mists that marked the boundary of Helheim, Frida found herself soaring over the realm of Jötunheim, the land of giants.


Towering mountains and colossal ice formations dominated the landscape. The air was cold and thin, making each breath a challenge. But Frida pressed on, her wings beating steadily as she left the icy realm behind.


Avoiding the eastern path, Frida knew going through Muspelheim would be the death of her. She would not survive Surtr’s wrath if she were captured. However, Svartálfheim posed a safer route. She knew the dark, rocky terrain of the land of the dwarves sprawled out beneath her,