The story begins on a desolate, bloodstained battlefield covered in snow. The battle between the golden-haired warriors of the Æsir and the red-haired Vanir has ended, leaving the frozen corpses of the fallen scattered across the ice. The only two men still standing are Conan of Cimmeria and Heimdul, a Vanir warrior. The two, battered and bloodied, confront each other. Heimdul demands Conan’s name so that his kin will know who killed him, but Conan replies that Heimdul will have to tell them himself in Valhalla. The two clash, and though Conan is struck hard on the helmet, he thrusts his sword into Heimdul’s chest, killing him.

Weary and disoriented, Conan stumbles away from the battlefield. The reflection of the sun on the snow blinds him, and he collapses onto one knee, struggling to regain his senses. Suddenly, he hears a silvery, mocking laugh.

A woman appears before him, impossibly beautiful, wearing nothing but a sheer gossamer veil. Her ivory-white skin gleams against the snow, and her golden-red hair dazzles in the light. Her eyes, shifting between blue and grey, seem filled with cruel amusement. She taunts Conan, her voice both musical and mocking, and he is struck by her ethereal beauty.

He demands to know who she is and where she has come from, but she only laughs and questions his right to swear by Ymir, the frost-giant god of the north. Though Conan is a Cimmerian, he insists he has fought as fiercely as any Æsir warrior. He asks if she is of Asgard, hoping she will lead him to her tribe so he can find rest and aid. She refuses and instead challenges him, swaying before him seductively and asking if he finds her beautiful.

Consumed by a primal passion, Conan reaches for her, but she laughs and flees across the snow. Enraged and driven by lust, Conan pursues her.

Despite his strength and endurance, the woman remains just out of reach. She moves impossibly fast, barely disturbing the snow, while Conan, wearing his heavy mail, sinks deep into the drifts. He curses her, vowing that he will catch her no matter where she runs.

As they reach a mountainous region, two Frost Giants, towering warriors clad in icy mail, rise to block Conan’s path. The woman calls out to them, revealing that they are her brothers. She declares that she has brought them a warrior to slay and that his heart will be placed on their father’s table. The giants roar and raise their massive axes, but Conan does not hesitate—he throws himself into battle.

The fight is brutal. Conan slashes one giant’s leg, bringing him down, but before he can recover, the second giant strikes him with an axe, sending him sprawling into the snow. Conan narrowly avoids another killing blow and, with a mighty swing, nearly decapitates the second giant. As he turns, the woman, now truly afraid, watches him in horror.

No longer mocking, she flees in earnest, but Conan is closing in. Her breath is ragged, her speed is failing. Just as he is about to seize her, she cries out:

“Ymir! Oh, my father, save me!”

A blinding explosion of cold blue fire envelops her. Conan shields his eyes as the heavens erupt with frozen flames, the snow reflecting the dazzling light. When he regains his vision, the woman is gone. The snow where she stood is untouched. In the distance, thunder rumbles as if from a massive war chariot racing across the sky. Overcome with exhaustion, Conan collapses into the snow.

He awakens to find himself surrounded by his Æsir comrades, led by Niord. They had been searching for him after discovering the battlefield. Niord asks Conan why he wandered so far into the north, as they have followed his tracks for hours.

Conan, still dazed, speaks of the woman and the frost giants. His comrades dismiss his tale as delirium brought on by battle fatigue, but the old warrior Gorm insists that Conan encountered Atali, the daughter of Ymir. According to legend, Atali appears to dying warriors on battlefields, luring them into the wastelands so that her frost-giant brothers can slay them. Gorm claims to have seen her himself in his youth but was too weak to follow her.

Skeptical, the others laugh off the story. But Conan, staring at his clenched fist, realizes he still holds a wisp of her gossamer veil—proof that what he experienced was real.