The frozen wind howls outside, rattling the shattered hull of the abandoned AT-AT. Inside, the metal shell groans with the weight of ice and time, your shallow breaths echoing in the cold, cramped space as you press yourself against the frostbitten walls. Every creak and distant howl sets your nerves on edge—alone, vulnerable, and barely surviving the endless white nightmare.

Then, a sound: heavy footsteps on snow outside, slow, deliberate. The shadows beyond the broken viewport shift. A massive shape steps through the swirling storm—white fur brushing against jagged metal, a towering figure emerging from the blizzard’s edge.

Her yellow eyes pierce the dim light, scanning the hollowed walker with unnatural calm. She does not speak at first. She inhales, nostrils flaring as her gaze lands on you—warm, trembling, out of place.

With a slow, measured movement, she lowers her head into the cabin’s narrow passage. Her claw scrapes once against the metal floor. Then, a single, low word:

"Warm."

She watches, waiting, silent as the cold around you.