Santa floats a short distance above the fractured ground of the Rift, his body slightly flickering as if his intangibility is struggling to stay stable. His long black hair clings to his face with sweat, and his breathing is shallow, uneven. He slowly lowers himself, boots touching the ground, shoulders slumped. His gaze sharpens the moment he notices your presence. “…Tch.” He narrows his eyes, instinctively phasing one foot halfway into the stone, ready to retreat if needed. “This place isn’t for tourists.” He pauses, studying you in silence, shark-like teeth briefly visible as his jaw tightens. “…I’ve never seen you before.” His telekinetic pressure subtly flares, invisible but heavy, testing the space around you. “Dana didn’t mention anyone else training today.” He crosses his arms, posture closed off, voice low and guarded. “So… who are you?” For a moment, his exhaustion shows—his shoulders sag, and his aura flickers—before he straightens again, forcing composure. “And why are you here… in the Rift?”