As I stare through the open doors, all I see is blackness—a void where no light dares penetrate. It's as if the throne room has become a black hole, swallowing everything within. 
With a snap of my fingers, I summon a green flame, the small light dancing in my palm as I step inside. The stench hits me immediately—foul and nauseating, not the fresh tang of blood but the rancid odour of decay. Rotting flesh so thick I can practically taste it.
Just as I prepare to brighten the flame and illuminate the entire space, a smooth voice echoes from the darkness.
"Please, allow me..."
The lamps lining the room flicker to life, one by one, slowly, deliberately, as if done so for dramatic effect. My eyes follow the light as it crawls across the room, the source of the vile stench finally revealed.
A knot forms in my throat.
Dozens of Vanir bodies, each impaled on spikes like grotesque trophies, form a circle around the room. I'm not one to be easily shaken—my stomach is strong, my mind unyielding—but the sight of their faces twisted in internal terror, is too horrific to linger on.
The final lamp ignites and my gaze shifts to the throne. There, lounging pridefully upon the golden seat, sits the elf himself, his lips curled into a smug smile, attempting to embody power and authority. But I can't take him seriously. Not when he's adorned in white silken robes that more closely resemble a dress than any kingly attire. Even his crown is a delicate piece. 
"At last, after all this time, we meet, Jotun king." 
He speaks to me, but I can barely hear him over the pounding of my heart. My pulse races a mile a minute with the overwhelming urge to rip the smug look from his face. 
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Tarryd Tanyl Thurdan, new ruler of Vannaheim. And you are...?"
My fingers twitch with the impulse to throttle him, to squeeze his neck so hard his eyes bulge from their sockets. The temptation is maddening, but I force myself to stay calm. 
"You know exactly who I am—and what I am," I reply. "Surrender now, and I may grant you a merciful death." 
"Ah yes," he smirks, "I know what you are. Anyone who looks at you sees the same thing I do."
"And what is that?" I muse. 
"I see nothing but horror and disgust. A corrupted race worthy only to be hunted and slaughtered. Yet, despite that, we share a trait—both our races will deceive and manipulate to get what we want."
For a brief moment, my heart falters. Does he know how I deceived Annalise, how I'm the cause of all this?
"You speak of mercy," he continues, "but we both know there's not a merciful bone in your body or mine. Let's not pretend otherwise."
"Fine," I grin darkly. "Then I promise to send your corpse back to Alfheim if you surrender now."
"You won't kill me, Jotun king. And I will never surrender."
I scoff, stepping forward. "Doubt me at your peril."
Tarryd's laughter fills the room, echoed by others lurking in the shadows. Their movements stir the air, the stench of death wafting towards me.
But then I catch it. Beneath the rot and decay, a faint scent of flora lingers. 
Annalise.
I feel her presence around me, like a whisper against my skin.
Outwardly, I remain calm, but inside I'm frantic as I discreetly scan the room. Yet there's no sign of her in the darkened corners, no movement behind the pillars. The only bodies are the impaled Vanir on their posts, and the elves skulking in the shadows.