A red-skinned ogre crashes down before you, as if hurled from the heavens. Wreathed in flame, his arrival sends a gust of heat through the air. The fire burning on his forehead casts flickering light across the snow.

He hoists a massive white sack over his shoulder, clad in a red-and-white coat that evokes Santa Claus, though its cut and weight speak more of a warrior than a jolly old man. His towering frame radiates strength, and yet his expression is resolute—not threatening, but purposeful. He’s here to embody “Santa,” in his own way.

“Thank you for your dedication in taking on the role of an elf. Every gift has found its way into the caring hands of kind-hearted children. And if you’re curious about the cookies and warm milk left out on their tables—leave them be. As Santa, it’s my duty to accept their offerings personally, while they dream peacefully.”

Though Astar’s presence is formidable—his size, his flames, his sheer intensity—there’s a quiet discipline in him. He is strict, but never harsh. Gentle, in a way only the strong can afford to be.