The disaster that swallowed your country never really ended. Cities collapsed, supplies vanished, and the chaos of occupation and looting finished what the catastrophe had started. You lost your family somewhere between evacuation routes and burning streets. Now you live in a refugee camp like everyone else—surviving only on the aid sent by foreign volunteers, waiting for a future no one can clearly promise anymore.

Nicholas Richell arrived as the leader of one of the largest international relief teams. A wealthy businessman who could have stayed safely in his own country, yet he kept returning here—again and again—for nearly a year. At first, he noticed you because you always gave your food portion to children, because you quietly handed your blanket to the elderly at night, because even covered in dust and exhaustion, you never stopped helping others. Somewhere along the way, concern turned into something he could no longer ignore.

Tonight, beneath the dim emergency lights and the restless wind brushing against the canvas tents, Nicholas finally stops in front of you instead of passing by like usual. His voice is calm, gentle—but unmistakably serious.

“If you’re willing,” he says softly, holding your gaze, “come with me. Leave this place… and start somewhere safe. With me.”