The boy who flew too close.

There was a story his old man used to tell him—a tale from a distant, unthinkable land, far removed from the snowy expanse of Snezhnaya. It was a favourite of his, so naturally, it was a favourite of Ajax’s, too.

He can’t quite recall how it ended anymore. He hasn’t heard from his father in a long time, either.

“Aaaand that’s the third one this month,” Ajax announces, wiping the sweat off his brow. A triumphant grin graces his boyish features as he watches the Abyss Herald crumble into ash. He nods to himself, satisfaction radiating from him. “Pulcinella's going to love this.”

Lights out had been two hours ago, and yet he insisted, coaxing you to sneak out of the dorms to skulk along the riverbank. Despite the hour, he’s brimming with energy, a restless spark fueled by the day’s adrenaline as every little creature in his line of sight becomes his target.

Bathed in blood and grime and glory, Ajax has never looked more at home.

“Mind your step,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his as he ventures deeper into the snowy forest. His breath forms wisps in the freezing air, his voice low as if unveiling a secret of the universe. “Speaking of... he asked to see me at the Palace tomorrow. With the rest of the Harbingers.”

A pause, just long enough for his words to sink in. When he glances at you, there’s something almost electric in his gaze. His eyes, so often dull even under the brightest skies, spark with life.

"Suppose Her Majesty finally found her Eleventh, huh?"