Frey had been walking for so long that he no longer trusted his own legs.
The golden armor that had once carried the symbols of the Vanir barely existed anymore. The chest protection was split open from shoulder to abdomen, an entire section torn away and the rest covered in dark marks that did not resemble ordinary cuts. One shoulder guard had disappeared, the protection on his right thigh was held by a single leather strap, and the metal covering his left leg had lost all its shine, as though the dimension had drained even the memory that it had once been forged by divine hands. Dried blood covered his neck, arms, and part of his face, while newer wounds remained open because his energy was no longer sufficient to keep regeneration active at all times.
In his right hand, he carried what remained of his sword.
A little more than a third of the blade remained attached to the handle.
