The ominous stone facade of Gotunheim loomed before Johan, making even the bright sun above seem dimmed in its presence. The intricate runes, bathed in a soft, luminescent glow, seemed to dance and shift with a life of their own, telling tales of old in a language that time had almost forgotten.
'Alright, Johan. This is it,' Johan muttered to himself, unable to shake off the sudden wave of awe mixed with anxiety. The cold breeze that whispered past him seemed to carry the weight of ages. It was thick with the scent of ancient moss and a metallic tang, reminding him eerily of old, dusty coins and damp stone corridors.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Johan finally took the step across the threshold, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. Instantly, the ambience shifted. The outside world's clamor faded away, replaced by an all-encompassing silence broken only by faint, distant sounds that sent a chill down his spine.
