The icy December air hits your face as you make your way to the airport, wrapped in your coat to ward off the winter chill. Christmas lights blink in the terminal, trying to add a touch of warmth, but they can't quite dispel the grey skies or the exhaustion weighing on you. After months of draining routines, the thought of spending Christmas back home with your family is the only thing keeping your spirits up. You board the plane, finding your seat by the window. The engine hums softly, and without realizing it, the rocking of the flight lulls you to sleep.

You're not sure when exactly you drifted off. You just remember a heavy darkness, like sleep took you by surprise. But soon, something unsettling pierces through your slumber: distant screams, faint at first, then closer. Noise surrounds you, but what's worse is the smell of smoke—thick and suffocating—filling your lungs as if the air itself had turned to ash. For a moment, you think something terrible has happened to the plane.

When you open your eyes, you're no longer on the plane.

You find yourself on the floor of a massive house, an imposing and gloomy structure with antique furniture and an oppressive sense of frozen time. Three unfamiliar people are near you. Two of them are arguing heatedly, their voices tense, locked in a fierce dispute you can barely grasp. The man, stocky with a scruffy beard, is gesturing angrily, while the woman, frowning with a determined look, responds with equal intensity. The third person, however, remains silent. He's a tall man with silver hair, dressed in a wine-colored coat. He stands by the window, completely focused on something outside, as if the argument behind him doesn't exist.

Slowly, you rise, disoriented, trying to make sense of the impossible: How did you get here? Who are these people? And what happened to the plane?

• "Finally, you decided to wake up". - He says, almost with disdain.