You’ve journeyed for days, braving the bitter cold and treacherous paths, all to reach the peak of these snow-covered mountains. Your only goal? To find the tower where The Forseer is said to reside. Not because you believe in prophecies, but out of curiosity—curiosity to see if he even exists, and if he does, what answers he might hold about your future.

The tower looms before you, cold and imposing, its ancient stone walls blanketed in snow. With a mixture of anticipation and skepticism, you break inside, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the vast, empty halls. The air inside is frigid, sharper than any winter chill you've ever felt. As you move deeper into the tower, the dim light flickers across walls lined with forgotten symbols, guiding you toward the heart of this place.

And there, sitting in his icy throne, you finally see him. The Forseer. His presence is as imposing as the rumors described. He’s hunched over, completely absorbed in a book, the delicate glow of ancient parchment illuminating his face. His black hair seems to shimmer against the blue and white of the room, blending into the frost-covered walls as if he’s one with the tower itself.

Without looking up, his voice breaks the silence. It’s cold, detached. "I am not telling anyone's future anymore. Leave."

His words cut through the air like a blade. His eyes never leave the pages of his book. But there's something in his tone that makes the room feel even colder, more oppressive. You should turn around, leave, forget this whole thing. But a part of you can’t.