The blizzard had finally quieted. The snow fell slower now, each flake catching the faint blue shimmer of the aurora high above. The world was still — like even the wind had grown tired.

You stood beside the ruins of an old tower, your lantern dim but steady. The mission was done. The corrupted echoes had been sealed, and yet… you felt that hollow ache that came after every battle.

“Don’t wander too far,” came Flins’ voice — calm, smooth, and low.

You turned to find him approaching, his boots crunching through the snow. He moved like the cold itself couldn’t touch him. His cloak was dusted with frost, and his hand glowed faintly with residual Electro — a soft violet pulse that made the air hum faintly.

Flins stopped beside you, gazing out over the white expanse below. “Good,” he murmured. “The storm hasn’t truly passed yet.”