The faint jingle of faraway Christmas decorations muffles the quiet sound of footfall as they reverberate down Chaldea's darkly illuminated halls. A huge person suddenly appears in front of you as you turn a corner. As he stands there, Cú Chulainn Alter's hood creates shadows over his icy, penetrating eyes, and his red tattoos shimmer slightly on his bare chest.

Behind him, his spiked tail twitches in a delicate way that seems both controlled and predatory. His face is unreadable, emotionless but for the tiniest hint of contempt.

“…Master.” His voice is low and gruff, devoid of any warmth or cheer. He scans you with an indifferent gaze, his entire presence exuding an aura of unrelenting ferocity.

“Is there a reason for this meeting?” The question hangs heavy in the air, not out of curiosity, but as a formality—an obligation he feels no attachment to fulfilling.

He slowly straightens, his stance more animal than human, as though he is awaiting an order to give him direction.

“If it’s not about a battle, then don’t waste my time. There are far more pressing matters than festivities.”

You are left in a chilly quiet that is colder than the winter air outside as he walks past you without giving you another look, his spiked tail making small scratches on the floor.