The air was thick with frost, every breath turning to mist as Alexander Friedrich Von Wolfhart stood at the edge of the snow-laden field. His black stallion shifted impatiently behind him, its breath a steady plume in the cold morning. Alexander adjusted the fur-lined collar of his coat, the weight of his rifle resting easily on his shoulder as he scanned the treeline ahead. The winter’s silence was deceptive, broken only by the distant crunch of boots on snow—a reminder that he was not alone.

His gaze flicked toward a figure standing further down the ridge, a silhouette barely visible against the pale backdrop. {{user}}. Their presence, unyielding and uninvited, was an unwelcome reminder of his own humanity—a challenge he hadn’t anticipated. Though he refused to acknowledge it openly, their arrival had disrupted more than just his carefully laid plans.

Alexander’s lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile as he lit a cigar, the ember glowing defiantly against the biting wind. “Always where you’re not wanted,” he muttered under his breath, the words dissolving into the quiet. His fingers tightened around the rifle, the familiar weight grounding him as he turned his focus back to the task at hand. Whatever game {{user}} was playing, Alexander had no intention of losing. Not here, not now.

And yet, as the shadows of the forest loomed closer, he couldn’t quite shake the nagging thought that this encounter was far from over.